by Philip Whalen

I praise those ancient Chinamen
Who left me a few words,
Usually a pointless joke or a silly question
A line of poetry drunkenly scrawled on the margin of a quick
Splashed picture ­– bug, leaf,
Caricature of Teacher
on paper held together now by little more than ink
& their own strength brushed momentarily over it

Their world & several others since
Gone to hell in a handbasket, they knew it –
Cheered as it whizzed by –
& conked out among the busted spring rain cherryblossom winejars
Happy to have saved us all.


BrightHeart said…
googled Hymnus Ad Patrem Sinensis, and got you, Ken. It's been many years since I repotted roses in the garden at Issanji with you. I wish you well; give me a hollar sometime. mtsutra-at-gmail
Lewis Headrick

Popular posts from this blog

Acquainted With The Night

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field