07-23-2012, 11:53 PM
Edit 2.All points noted. Thanks each
At dawn the light is stretched to ground, below the still and perfumed haze;
the aspic air aglow and held by pointed props of bamboo staves.
The dogs, asleep behind hemp walls or prowling empty alleyways,
growl at the hidden heron’s stab, its cover lost to circling waves.
As gold escapes the lidded eye that opens east on terraced slopes
the light-slit orbs of restless men, dog-barked in to the brightening day,
glint with the tear of parting dreams, of bellies full and fulfilled hopes;
just touched by death in restless nights, re-birth induced by warming rays.
Some few remain, in void of sleep, cold to the touch, as feigning death;
then rise in drowsy, languid time, with gnawing thoughts of breaking fast,
and with somnambulistic gait, and effort steaming in their breath,
they light stick fires to heat green tea and bubble rice; their sole repast.
But one lies late, and does not move; though dogs bark loud to end their rest.
Pale faced, upon his coarse reed mat, he lies inert in tightened skin.
The opium Peace has left her flower, one poppy placed on naked breast,
by one who knows that welcome death, will come to those who let her in.
Tom Kirby
2012-07-11
At dawn the light is stretched to ground, below the still and perfumed haze;
the aspic air aglow and held by pointed props of bamboo staves.
The dogs, asleep behind hemp walls or prowling empty alleyways,
growl at the hidden heron’s stab, its cover lost to circling waves.
As gold escapes the lidded eye that opens east on terraced slopes
the light-slit orbs of restless men, dog-barked in to the brightening day,
glint with the tear of parting dreams, of bellies full and fulfilled hopes;
just touched by death in restless nights, re-birth induced by warming rays.
Some few remain, in void of sleep, cold to the touch, as feigning death;
then rise in drowsy, languid time, with gnawing thoughts of breaking fast,
and with somnambulistic gait, and effort steaming in their breath,
they light stick fires to heat green tea and bubble rice; their sole repast.
But one lies late, and does not move; though dogs bark loud to end their rest.
Pale faced, upon his coarse reed mat, he lies inert in tightened skin.
The opium Peace has left her flower, one poppy placed on naked breast,
by one who knows that welcome death, will come to those who let her in.
Tom Kirby
2012-07-11