Lê Vĩnh Tài | no. 20:12 – your mother did not give you a name

SONGNGUTAITRAM

By Lê Vĩnh Tài, translation by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

 

your mother did not give you a name

 

she instead tucked away all the rhymes

inside her recall

for you

 

the poem, you use it

to travel

where ever 

people may try to bid and bargain

 

you know that even

rhymes, like the shoes

you wear in the street

after the times you’ve found 

customers, those who like to buy

and evade tax when they sell 

you

 

like a tree after a storm

the wind can give you 

a stomachache

 

you end up with indigestion

go home

in an ambulance, thus many things may

wet you

no one to check or confiscate

 

your mother will place a dream in your heart

through mystics slips

once or twice

each night, dreams in a tiny room

causing your chest to shrink

like the rhymes and…

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Sunday Sonnet

Today’s sonnet is by W. B. Yeats. I pulled this poem from The Penguin Book of the Sonnet: 500 Years of a Classic Tradition in English, edited by Philip Levin.

References

Yeats, William Butler. “A Crazed Girl”. The Penguin Book of the Sonnet: 500 Years of a Classic Tradition in English. Philip Levin, editor. NY: Penguin Books, 2001. poem found on page 158.

Saturday Caturday

I was going through a box of pictures the other day & found this:

This is Max. Jet was his brother. I got them from a girl I worked with. Her cat had kittens & I was happy to take two of them. This is when I lived in Cleveland in 1991.

Jet lived a long life but Max died when he was six months old. He & Jet had just been neutered. My boyfriend smoked Camel cigarettes & he used to take the cellophane wrapper off of the packs of cigarettes & roll them up into small balls & throw them for the kitten to chase. Jet was never very interested but Max loved those little balls.

I worked nights at a downtown nightclub & when I got home, I would take a hot bath & go right to bed. When I got up, it would be mid-morning & the first thing I would do was call for the kitties. They always came running. But this morning, only Jet came. I called for Max but I couldn’t find him. I was in our small kitchen & I heard this small cry … this terrible sound. Max was behind the stove. I managed to move it. He was curled up in this tiny ball, crying, moaning, this sound I had never heard from any animal. He was clearly in distress.

I had made good money the night before but my boyfriend had raided my purse before he left for his job & I was flat broke. I knew that I could take Max to the vet & be billed but I didn’t have any money for a cab to get there. I got on the phone … after two hours, I finally found a ride. I didn’t put Max into a cat carrier, I held him in my arms.

I don’t need tell to you that when I dropped him off at the vet’s, that was the last time I saw him.

The vet called me just before I left for work. Apparently, he ate one of those little cellophane balls & it tore up his little insides & he bled to death.

I never allowed anyone to throw one of those balls to any of my cats ever again.

August, 1991, with Max & Jet. Picture taken by Scott Lemen.

That little heart picture of Max I had on my fridge for years & years. I don’t know how it got into the particular box it was in. But it’s on my fridge again. He was one sweet kitty.

except where otherwise noted, all photographs © polly macdavid

canadian autumn magic

Brilliant poetry on this blog.

finding serendiipitii

   Welcome home, the Earth says
              as the equinox draws closer
         the autumn is bountiful;
                   like sliding into a hot spring
         after the hectic summer.
                                     There is always magic in the air
   when September brings its colors forth,
         waving its flag proudly, cheers erupting joyously.
           We change over to hold the trees closer
          together, waters cold and sparkling like mercury
     bursts of fragrance lingering every day;
                                    oh what wonders await us,

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Amazing

Fabulous idea for a poem

Roth Poetry

All the world around me glows

Atop trees red leaves whisper

As birds sing sweet lullabies

Arias unique to each

Ants build hills under my feet

Albatross soars high above

Azure blue skies call me home

Today at d’Verse Laura introduced us to a form of poetry called Pleiades. We must pick a ONE-WORD TITLE then write a SEVEN-LINE poem of SEVEN SYLLABLES whereby each line begins with the FIRST LETTER of your title.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com Then click on the Mr. Linkey box and read other poems.

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

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You are here to be swallowed up

Peedeel's Blog

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.

Louise Erdrich
The Painted Drum

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MoonDay Musings: Begin anywhere

Inner Journey Events Blog

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Samhain has just passed, marking the end of one journey and the beginning of a new spiral journey in the Wheel of the Year. For many of us, this is a time to look back at where we have been in the last year — what we harvested, what we learned, for what we are grateful — and to look ahead to our journey in this new year, perhaps planting seeds for new goals or new directions.

I like to use this time between Samhain and Winter Solstice to dig deep into my thoughts and experiences, and look at them with fresh eyes with a view to new beginnings. I plant my seeds in my Inner Garden — my Wise Inner Self — for germinating and growing when the light returns with Winter Solstice.

I see this as not dissimilar to the…

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