I dislike caterpillars.
They cling to fresh leaves,
as if coming
Crawling or curling up,
they seldom fear my coming near.
I must confess- I envy them:
Leisurely they nibble the green foliage
with an indifferent look.
I wish to get rid of them,
but I don’t want to touch their droopy bodies.
With a stick, I fling them
one after the other into the air.
Where do they land? In the bushes or on the soil?
I don’t care.
“Good bye!” I wave to the little noodles.
Hot winds blow in the early summer.
I almost forget —
near my garden, under threads,
green and light cocoons dangle,
all wrap in silence.
So they doesn’t bother me,
and I let them be.
On the hottest morning when the air is still
a yellowish pouch drops and cracks.
Something trembles and unfolds.
All of a sudden, wings flutter
and take off.
I only catch a glimpse of a butterfly.
I want to call, “Wait.”
The empty crust rolls aside,
“Too late!” as if a sigh drops upon my own skin.
It won the third place on http://wildamorris.blogspot.com/2010/09/september-2010-challenge-winners.html
For some reason,
you become my child—
like a heaven tree
conceives her seeds.
Stars and stones,
satisfaction and soreness,
you become the one
shining in my floral cup.
I want to tell you—
wings you grow.
And for this reason,
I let you go.
Poetry Contest for National Poetry Month 2010 |Poetry Contest Judges | Best poetry ever! booklist | Poetry – Local Authors booklist
After Reading Ted Hughes' "Full Moon and Little Frieda" (mp3)
I fall in love with you, Moon,
seeing you step back like a timid artist.
Listening to the night,
you come out, a pail lifted.
Moon, they are gone.
They left you watching over the river.
How many years since?
And you watch the small village
becoming a floating island in the dark.
Among rows of windows,
the night flows, and I wide awake.
How much I want to imitate Li Po,
dancing with his white sleeves,
a hum from his burning heart,
night after night inviting you for a drink!
The wine never drained,
yet he drowned in the silver river.
Moon, lift your bucket,
come out once again.
I won't make a sound.