Cherry Blossoms

Crane

She drew in a deep breath, held it, and released. The subtle movement of the autumn air had a quiet strength behind it – as if the potential energy of the day to come could be felt. How dark the night is before the sunrise! Akiko thought as she made her way along the path. The forest began to come alive with songbirds as she reached the end of the trail, where it opened up into a meadow. She traversed the border of the meadow and wood, moving with calm purpose toward the stately home on the other side. Nobody else seemed to be awake at this hour, and she basked in the moment of solitude.

Akiko paused at the koi pond in the gardens of the estate, the reflection of the rising sun mimicked the blaze of red, gold, and orange fish beneath the water surface. She was taken back to her childhood, when she spent time alone in the woods if her chores were complete and her father pretended not to noticed her slipping away. “When you are married, you will serve your husband from inside your home, not from inside the forest,” he would sometimes scold her when she did not return in a timely fashion. But she was drawn to the spot where she found turtles, fish, and countless other creatures. She recalled once watching a crane hunt on a morning not unlike the present one. It was waiting among the reeds – poised to strike – which it eventually did with a speed one could only hope to match. The water’s mirror-like surface parted in an instant and the bird’s head emerged, its beak piercing straight through a silver minnow lulled into complacence by the unseen hunter.

She slid the door open carefully and without a sound and entered the alcove. A jade buddha greeted her with a kind smile, and perhaps a knowing twinkle in its eye. Akiko gave a barely perceptible bow to the figure as she passed, and glided past the wood carved panels in the hallway depicting a hunting party cornering a boar, spears and arrows poised to make the kill, past the translucent shjoi doors of the now empty tea room. A most harmonious home, she noted to herself.

The daimyo, a landed nobleman who owned the country home, was snoring in his bedroom. This was the man she was sent for. Moving like a cat, Akiko slipped into the chamber without waking the occupant, who was fast asleep. His deep slumber was in spite of the fact that his samurai, on this morning, were poised to do battle with those of a rival lord. She unsheathed a curved dagger from its hidden pouch in her kimono. With one swift motion, the man’s throat was deeply slashed by the razor-sharp blade; crimson drops of blood spattered onto the bed like cherry blossoms against a spring snow.

Akiko then placed a black shuriken on the pillow beside her victim as a calling card, for soon all would know the deadly Kunoichi clan was responsible for carrying out this brazen assassination!

A Street Poet Rambles

It was all a function of the hand, you see? Started the great chemical drama that sent The Baptist out, collecting stars and galaxies whose light is still on the way, sent him out in the first place to render time and space irrelevant, you see? Circles diamonds squares lights in the sky, you see? One minute they’re there next minute gone but I guess that’s all of us in a nutshell. You see?

Doubt

There’s no happily

ever after;

Just hours of drawn

out tedium

Stretched like solstice shadows,

Swallowed screams muted

Muffled by pillows,

And rusty shackles

Emblazoned with

A single

word

Echo

Draw breath from

A self contained

Breathing apparatus

Filled with the cosmos

.

Exhume an

Echo; it returns

Slower and quieter

Than when it was young

.

Black water

Sick and viscous

Swallows tangerine flames

While the tower burns

.

Willing eyes

Looking skyward

Glimpse that which cannot be

Explained by pure science

An Accident On-set at Sesame Street

it happened so fast

the moan of twisting steel,

a lighting rig tumbling

back to earth

lost one immediately –

that’s for sure –

poor fucker

probably didn’t feel a thing

the other left a trail

.

   .

      .

later we followed it

and found it

musta dragged itself, drunk with pain and panic

behind some cardboard boxes

blue fur matted with dark dry blood

not moving or breathing,

twisted up

ah the glamour of show biz

When It Hits

Pray that when it hits,

Your feathers turn to steel.

Your mind as smooth as glass,

Collected on a beach.

Pray that when it hits,

Your eyes are clear and bright.

Though it will be dark,

And shadows will deceive.

Pray that when it hits,

Resolve will not retreat.

The worst thing is regret,

You’ll end up just like me.

 

The Opposite of Faith

What is the opposite of faith,

Is it something moving in the

Darkness, sailing the radius

Of your senses,

Or the night nurse

At the ER making jokes about

The voodoo doll in bed 29

Back from the dead again,

Or crooked cops

in unmarked cars,

Or the chains we put on ourselves

Straining without moving,

knowing without believing?