"The dust by your side,
Has tried to catch a ride on your pantleg.
Straw hat blocks out the sun,
The meaning of a man,
The calluses on his hands.

We are so little in the shadows,
Of the trees that grow up with us.


A.N.-If we are men, let us be men now.

Hiroshima, August 6, 1945 (Morning)

He turned to her

He drank in his life with her

His love and what not.

Ra Ra Ragamuffin

When they see,
Before anyone else,
What we all were supposed to be waiting for,
The prophets will weakly blow,
Through cracked skin and lips,
Weak and warbling notes,
And we will look up,
And look in the higher places,
The mountains and old trees,
But we foolish,
Will not look into your eyes,
Or feel your body,
Until we can do nothing,
But say we're so so Sorry.


Felis catus

Recently, as part of a pact, albeit a small one, I was assigned to write a rondel. So, naturally, it turned out to be about my cat. The one I don't love. And my family doesn't love. So now I care about her more than ever. 

How Important her last days should be!
My fading cat pads down the hall,
Hard-breathing slow and shivering all,
Wondering when her time will be.

Poor senile feline is ambling towards me!
Me who cares least of all,
How important her last hours should be!
My fading cat pads down the hall.

Fragile head rubs up against my knee,
The dying only want company small,
Familiar and warm, quietly calm,
Over glazed eyes my own ending I see!
How vivid her last minutes must be!



So sorry,
For the funeral,
For the lowercase letters,
For my improper tie.

On the day I die,
Number those born,
Write it on my stone,