One Hundred Words A Day
Communism is an illusion
Illusion of sacrifice
Illusion of common good
Illusion of contribution
Of patriotic vision.
Communism suggests then … a union
of properties. Party owned, while billions
toiled … while roars that lion
“more, more” We are never done!
It always moves on … to newer slogans
Larger than life are banners where splashed words of passions
For games that’ve gone stale, it proclaims “reconstruction” (ĐổI MớI)
like strong magnets, it attracts. And under its magnets, electrocution.
Communism: a regime that paints well
The picture of a humanity in perfect commonwealth
It elevates the soul of parched individuals, for something beyond, unseen
Then to them who aspired toll the bells.
In remembrance of Black April
strange flotsam dusted through the limpid sea.
the back screen door banged,
a girl in blue
flying on two wheels. She sang
while the white dog dug
his way out of the yard, then sprang
at the grinding of brakes.
Perfume in the air
in the sweet smell paired
on branches still bare.
Are You a Poet?
People asked me
"Are you a poet?"
Um ...Yes! No ... I don't know!
I've written verses
and got lost in words.
My pen had run away
with ideas that may
surprise even myself.
I write knowing
my heart would one day stop
and between now and eternal,
are only words, swapped
with my life spent writing.
I've cried, but no one has seen
I submerged my sorrow in verses
Am I a poet?
until I am gone. My words
then speak for me instead.
Rain Clouds ...
The Rain Princess sits behind her veil of crystal beads
her chariot pulled by a team of Arabian horses
draped in black
Noses push forward
and necks straining.
This cactus land rarely sees her
The Rain Princess
in such glory.
I cannot mend what was broken
but with the irreparable shards
I would go on,
seeking a new mosaic.
Not everyone is a skilled potter,
but we can all be our life's plotter.
It was torn...
The myriad possibilities are there
waiting for collage.