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Non-committal

May my poem be up beat on sea,
As someone there rolls it down

And the turtle baby successfully
Enters sea that was in my poem.

Let baby turtle stay alive in sea
And the sea stay upbeat at sun

But sun is totally noncommittal
If it will rise behind gray cloud.

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Unhappy man

In the dribbling mango season
I land happy on its yellow juice.

Unhappy man has to swat a fly
And to brush its buzzing wing.

I wonder why he is not like me
And leave me alone on mango

A happy fly with song on wing.
I am happy fly if I live or I die.

(after William Blake’s poem The Fly)

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Fleeting spring

It is a temporary spring on beach.
A wintered body can splurge on it.

Spring turns green in an almond
By the beach with sparrows in it.

Tens of sparrows have grown fat
On a watered promise of spring.

A squirrel who decayed in my AC
Is the current spring’s last winter.

A porcupine fish dead on beach
Had no spring, only  last winter.

Spring is awaiting mother turtle
Dead in fishing nets this season.

Beach has moving shore breeze
With temporary spring promise.

Let a  wintered amnesia drown
Plastics in age old forgetfulness,

With bright green moss on rock
And ignore spring’s fleetingness.

 

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Morning on the beach

A silky sky will slowly appear
In color of a growing saffron.

There will be an old man who
Volunteers to be a silhouette

When he will bend to pick up
Beach plastics in canvas bag.

There will be the shells seller
In a lighthouse-striped shirt.

Find him on a rock awaiting
Chance customers for shells.

Dogs will sit in an assembly.
I will take stick on belly fear.

Navy man walks with a stick
And advises similar caution.

The butterfly boat is floating.
Fishes may fall for its beauty.

A dawn may not be all pretty
For fish in temptation’s way,

Anxious crows await result
Of a last butterfly boat’s trip.

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Capture the transience

While your sea softly bums
With dogs asleep on beach

And crows still at dead fish
Shells blow your empty air.

May your tea be green sea
With the gray of cloudy sky

Forming cassata layer with
The blue layer of a sea-sky

And at times with far ships
Like cherry or two on icing.

Catch every transient hour
Before clouds lift their veil.

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Whole of moon

I better not have a broken moon
Waiting on the calm fields of sea.

Instead let sea rage and swallow
A slice off moon to regurgitate it

And then let a moon stay a whole
And leave me a complete feeling

Like ruddy farmer face laughing
On an old poet’s neighbor fence.

Let a farmer laugh whole of face
And let it stay ruddy and whole

For the whole moon of face sake,
A part of my sense of wholeness.