first winter light ...
the snake of my desire
for the past
lies coiled around
the base of my spine
an immigrant
living on the winter land
of nostalgia:
the past is my home
although it’s lost
I hear
the siren singing
Home, Sweet Home ...
a part of me
jumps off the cliff
Chinese New Year
on the TV screen ...
I whisper of home
in a voice
now foreign to me
NeverEnding Story, March 20, 2015
Poetic Musing: Blooms and Smoke Tanka by Beverley George
-
you gaze at blooms
of black-boughed cherry trees
I am entranced
by the smoke of cooking-fires
drifting up through sturdy pines
*George Empty Garden*, 2006
...