Image: Unsplash, downloaded (https://unsplash.com/photos/Ya3FqJdKVa) 27.6.2021.
NOTHING LEFT TO SAY (After Mei Yao Chen)
Alone, I watch night arrive.
Leaves die on the trees,
unable to survive. The moon
is an empty shoe.
I drink many cups of wine.
I drink for two,
so the bottle is almost through.
A year ago, my wife
would drink with me.
We laughed, enjoying
each other’s company,
but memories are bitter.
I too will soon be dust.
I will simply drink,
until I fall asleep.
or I’ve finally had enough.
THINKING DOESN’T MAKE IT SO (After Su Tung Po)
A black moon rises
in a blackening sky.
Overhead a hawk circles.
I hear a night bird cry.
It’s frightening, but
everything must die.
I fall into my bed,
but I’m unable to sleep.
The horizon is black.
The stars glisten
like a widow’s tears.
But they’ve been dead
for millions of years.
In my mind I crawl to
the edge of the night.
And if I could, I
would never come back.
THE BLUE GARDEN (After Liu Yong)
I stare over empty flowerpots
at my decaying garden.
The roses are dead.
Hollyhocks no longer bloom.
I can’t get out of bed.
The day drags me into night.
Stars flicker and fade.
They are distant dreams.
The moon is not what it seems.
Who can understand
what it means? My life
has gone astray.
I’ve lost my sense of place.
I am fifty-eight.
I know nothing.
And it’s getting very late.
About the Author: George Freek's poetry has recently appeared in "The Ottawa Arts Review"; "Acumen"; "The Lake"; "The Whimsical Poet"; "Triggerfish"; and "Torrid Literature".
