Alien Sedition
Posted: 07 Apr 2018, 22:08
R#3
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
A bridesmaid, then two more,
mixed ages, breasts at the neckline
no bigger than water chestnuts.
Fashionable clothes wrap smoothly
over the sexless hips of women thin
as wonton soup.
The mother drapes a fur,
reads a Lin Bao poem, starchy
like an empress.
decorously places a red cash
envelope on the gift table.
The portly groom appears,
a rumpled, ruby colored tuxedo.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage of toes
in buff white pumps, toes I know
tanned when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
Talks on radio. He trades, seems rich.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, dim sum. A child in turquoise
sheath plays piano, sings.
Accepts applause.
The clouds clear.
I locate the moon. Saturn above
and to the left. String music sounds
surround me, every instrument a cello.
Look, I know this is just sour grapes,
my jealousy talking. Time to move on,
after all, it's only in American movies
a guy can lose his money
and still get the girl.
=============================================
R#2
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
I think she glistens, radiates.
I think of the opera for pearl fishers.
A bridesmaid, then two more,
mixed ages, breasts at the neckline
no bigger than water chestnuts.
The mother drapes a fur,
reads a Lin Bao poem,
directs starchy like an empress.
The portly groom appears
in a rumpled tuxedo. His arms
appear small, almost effeminate.
The groomsmen circle, seem stern
and anxious not to make a mistake.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage of toes
in buff white pumps, toes I know
tanned when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
Talks on radio. He trades, seems rich.
Puddles on the terrace, high church
windows glower, real candles burn
in slender tubes, red cash envelopes,
fashionable clothes wrap smoothly
over the sexless hips of women
thin as wanton soup.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, dim sum. A child in turquoise
sheath plays piano, sings.
Accepts applause.
The clouds clear.
Time to think on a quiet, empty night.
I locate the moon. String music sounds
surround me, every instrument a cello.
R#1
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
I don't say she is Venus De Milo,
but her face and smile
gladden the heart of any poor
pearl fisher.
Three bridal attendants march,
mixed ages and breasts no bigger
than green grapes, the shriveled
mother drapes a fur at the neck,
the portly groom appears
in a rumpled tuxedo.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage
of her toes in buff white pumps,
toes I know are tanned
when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
But he is the real thing,
probably a computer programmer,
or his mother pays for medical school.
Puddles on the terraced lawn,
the high church windows glower.
Real candles burn in slender tubes,
red cash envelopes, fashionable clothes
smoothly wrap over the sexless hips
of smiling women.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, even to me,
the loser of the year.
I saw her first, but not even
Confucius can repair my trampled heart.
Sitting Alone on Jingting Shan Hill
Li Bai
(Said to be one of China's great classical poets)
A flock of birds is flying high in the distance,
A lonely cloud drifts idly on its own.
We gaze at each other, neither growing tired,
There is only Jingting Shan.
Thoughts On a Still Night
Li Bai
Before my bed, the moon is shining bright,
I think that it is frost upon the ground.
I raise my head and look at the bright moon,
I lower my head and think of home.
Kate Tempest:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSVyyykaEOo
Robert Bly:
...It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
A bridesmaid, then two more,
mixed ages, breasts at the neckline
no bigger than water chestnuts.
Fashionable clothes wrap smoothly
over the sexless hips of women thin
as wonton soup.
The mother drapes a fur,
reads a Lin Bao poem, starchy
like an empress.
decorously places a red cash
envelope on the gift table.
The portly groom appears,
a rumpled, ruby colored tuxedo.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage of toes
in buff white pumps, toes I know
tanned when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
Talks on radio. He trades, seems rich.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, dim sum. A child in turquoise
sheath plays piano, sings.
Accepts applause.
The clouds clear.
I locate the moon. Saturn above
and to the left. String music sounds
surround me, every instrument a cello.
Look, I know this is just sour grapes,
my jealousy talking. Time to move on,
after all, it's only in American movies
a guy can lose his money
and still get the girl.
=============================================
R#2
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
I think she glistens, radiates.
I think of the opera for pearl fishers.
A bridesmaid, then two more,
mixed ages, breasts at the neckline
no bigger than water chestnuts.
The mother drapes a fur,
reads a Lin Bao poem,
directs starchy like an empress.
The portly groom appears
in a rumpled tuxedo. His arms
appear small, almost effeminate.
The groomsmen circle, seem stern
and anxious not to make a mistake.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage of toes
in buff white pumps, toes I know
tanned when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
Talks on radio. He trades, seems rich.
Puddles on the terrace, high church
windows glower, real candles burn
in slender tubes, red cash envelopes,
fashionable clothes wrap smoothly
over the sexless hips of women
thin as wanton soup.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, dim sum. A child in turquoise
sheath plays piano, sings.
Accepts applause.
The clouds clear.
Time to think on a quiet, empty night.
I locate the moon. String music sounds
surround me, every instrument a cello.
R#1
Guests dodge the withering rain,
pack the church, cough and stamp.
I don't say she is Venus De Milo,
but her face and smile
gladden the heart of any poor
pearl fisher.
Three bridal attendants march,
mixed ages and breasts no bigger
than green grapes, the shriveled
mother drapes a fur at the neck,
the portly groom appears
in a rumpled tuxedo.
The bride is spotless,
each step reveals cleavage
of her toes in buff white pumps,
toes I know are tanned
when she unfastens her dress.
She is Chinese, American Chinese.
But he is the real thing,
probably a computer programmer,
or his mother pays for medical school.
Puddles on the terraced lawn,
the high church windows glower.
Real candles burn in slender tubes,
red cash envelopes, fashionable clothes
smoothly wrap over the sexless hips
of smiling women.
The rickety cupola next door serves
cocktails, even to me,
the loser of the year.
I saw her first, but not even
Confucius can repair my trampled heart.
Sitting Alone on Jingting Shan Hill
Li Bai
(Said to be one of China's great classical poets)
A flock of birds is flying high in the distance,
A lonely cloud drifts idly on its own.
We gaze at each other, neither growing tired,
There is only Jingting Shan.
Thoughts On a Still Night
Li Bai
Before my bed, the moon is shining bright,
I think that it is frost upon the ground.
I raise my head and look at the bright moon,
I lower my head and think of home.
Kate Tempest:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSVyyykaEOo
Robert Bly:
...It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.