Hachinohe Port:
hah, hah, haaaah!
The umineko gulls that perch
on the gateways and walls of Kabushima Shrine
are said to number over forty thousand.
At sunset
children in an empty lot
tickle the evening air
with the sound
of flutes and drums.
In open garages and
out on driveways
the busy mystical clouds
of red and blue
spraypaint shroud
dragons and samurai
apparitions
rendered in larger than life
styrofoam.
hah, hah, haaaah!
The umineko gulls that perch
on the gateways and walls of Kabushima Shrine
are said to number over forty thousand.
At sunset
children in an empty lot
tickle the evening air
with the sound
of flutes and drums.
In open garages and
out on driveways
the busy mystical clouds
of red and blue
spraypaint shroud
dragons and samurai
apparitions
rendered in larger than life
styrofoam.
On this full moon
the horses and tiger dancers
must charge down the streets.
Surely
the Sanchu Taisen fesitval
is in full force now.
On this full moon
I am far out at sea.
Even the umineko seagulls
of Hachinohe Port are
behind me.
Only now am I
an only tourist
to the gentle sway
of saltwater and the
open whisper
of the ten directions.
the horses and tiger dancers
must charge down the streets.
Surely
the Sanchu Taisen fesitval
is in full force now.
On this full moon
I am far out at sea.
Even the umineko seagulls
of Hachinohe Port are
behind me.
Only now am I
an only tourist
to the gentle sway
of saltwater and the
open whisper
of the ten directions.
--Glen
Snyder
clouds stirred into
the moonlit
miso soup
of madrugada.
each footstep
placed softly
steadily
on the warm
back of
dawn-hidden
penumbra.
both songbird
slumber and
the bowl of
vegetable scraps
dropped gingerly
into the bin
of returning to
this very
morning.
the moonlit
miso soup
of madrugada.
each footstep
placed softly
steadily
on the warm
back of
dawn-hidden
penumbra.
both songbird
slumber and
the bowl of
vegetable scraps
dropped gingerly
into the bin
of returning to
this very
morning.
--Glen
Snyder
