The Hawaiian Half-Full Moon

Chapter One

We are sure in our guts that we see
his spirit or soul, like a thin smoke,
ascend.
From the foot of the woody back hills
into the half-mooned sky
over the warm Hilo tide...

which ebbs,
in a native Hawaiian accent,
and stabs,
shamelessly...
like a drunken sailor gone mad,
into the side of the peaceful silver beach sand.

Or,...
Is it the clouds in our welling eyes?

Under a sea of simmering stars,
like two hapless parents just lost their most loved child
we sob, aloud, in silent grace
feeling nothing but sorrow inside,
over our old Earl Grey's
new death.

He's The smartest cat we have ever had.

Chapter Two

Still like yesterday, we remembered,
he came in to say goodbye
in our half-awake dreams

No pain, nor sorrow
he just sat there in the silent darkness
No tears, nor cries
only affectionate stares we exchanged

We were glad he's gone gracefully in peace.

Still so vividly the spirit of his often returned
riding the cool breezes of the Southern Pacific Trade Wind
into our insomniac dreams
while the night's deepened

Farewell, we said, be well Earl Grey, our child
while he remains, as always, silent
as mute as the half-full moon fallen
atop the distant quarter-mile-high mountain

It's impossible, we acknowledge, to have him once again
rubbing our thighs during the days
licking our faces at nights
and pulling our hairs
whenever we're in a chair

Or, play with him again the pin-pun game
for the old times' sakes...

O...
We shall be delighted to have him again
night after night
sleep against our sides
as it has always been
ever since the day he was only a little bitty bean.

Chapter 3

A Song Of Silent Words

There is a song keeps playing
in our head
We can't just make it out what it exactly singing
It's a song of silent words.

There is a picture always displaying
with no playhead
live images of Earl Grey in his hey day
He's never dead
Only taking another journey in another world.

It's like almost a melody of a reality
that contains no real entities
but forever eternity.

In the rolling live show We sees
cascading mountains and many seas

We sees we are seeing him playing
live
with his darling sister Darjiling
his childhood pal and company for life

We sees they are live in their old days
They touch noses they change notes
They run and chase and they wheel
on, and on...

They groom they rub and they wanton
Nothing to dare or fear
All is cheer

Life as usual
Everything is real

As real as the big sea
As far as We can see.

There is a melodic song in a lively picture
always playing...
keeps turning the wheels
within.

We begin to sing
without
aloud
to the song of silent words.

--- The End (or, never) ---

Half-Deaf Journals

chapter one

Above the gray sky in the violence of solace
a crow flies
a flight of no effort in the silence
of supersonic speed.

drawing traces of ripples only in a man's mind of stillness
while he cries
to the wilderness of emptiness
above.

Beneath the subconsciousness
like the moss upon an seasoned old tree
i crawl
upon a journey to the known futures of uncertainty
a designed destiny by the divined broken promises
sticking in my craw
like a snake swimming upstream the cripple creak
i fall
every step i take
heavily back into the downstream
beneath.

while i can still hear in the roar of solace
of his deafening supersonic silence
in my other ear.

Party of De-Party

It was a nice party, eating and drinking
But you are departing
for a distant town with a different destiny

Everyone was excited and happy, enjoying
the moment of fine wine and the together-ness
But who was actually thinking
that before the arrival of the new dawn
you'll be gone, away from us, and moving
on, without us,
for a new direction of the continuous life Journey


To the future of Uncertainty awaiting
Ahead we are headed, stormy or balmy,
or otherwise

We are told to go with the flow
and wherever the winds blow
so we go
or otherwise

So we go, without you, ahead
Into the Uncharted Sea
None of us
able to foresee

After All These Years

After All These Years © Rhyme Child
12/4/2004 Cold San Franciscan Night


After all these years I still remember the dream we had
when we were seventeen, looked young and green,
And clean like so much the cool fresh stream from the mountain spring.

It seemed so vivid that
all differences are being worked out between all human beings,
all reservations made and the relations improved among all creations,
our environments and our planet.

We thought it is the way it should always be that
there is no longer man-made lines to separate peoples
no longer hatred and ignorance to devide any souls.

It seemed so clear in our dream that tomorrow’s
already here and we have all come together
to celebrate one another’s victories and share each other’s
grieves and sorrows.
And we are again all brothers and sisters,
as the bible says, after all.

We used to think the world is going to be always the way we knew,
the way we dreamed it in the years we were ourselves evolving
into something strangely new.

Too bad!
The reality betrayed our innocent old dream so bad.
What a shame and what a crime!
Only not long ago, we almost made it there one time,
for once we had a true destiny as a human being,
as a whole, after all.

I can’t help wondering these days whether we should hide or fight,
or dive right into the ignorant majority pool,
like a completely fool,
only to be part of the gang, playing their foolish game
having nothing to gain,
nor anything to lose, anyway, after all.

But I still often think of you and that
old-fashioned dream we once had
when we were young and green, and clean...

After all these years I’m still having the same old-fictioned dream,
again and again, as did in those days,
when we were seventeen, looked young and green,
And clean like so much the cool fresh stream from the mountain spring.

big moon circle

one night last week i saw the moon
©rhyme child 2/7/2002

one night last week i saw the moon bright and full
with Venus stalking below and after her
in the middle of a cloudy sky

the silver moon shone like a white lantern hanging high
in the center of a big circle of darkness
with a smoky fuzzy aura all around

so then i started feeling alright again about where i was
in the mists of the universe
invisible and let alone

Last night I saw (a broken-winged angel fallen)
©Rhyme Child 1/9/2003 (Revised -10/4/03) San Franciscan Night

Last night I saw a broken-winged angel fallen
From the shimmery heaven
And died when she crash landed
Into my dream
I cried as hard as a broken-hearted child

Half-awakened, I found only a sobbing me
Longing still to withhold the fading dream --

from the edge of the horizon
the fallen angel rose, slow,
with her broken wings dangling low
she glowed in a fluorescent hue
within a translucent dome
of a huge vaporescent dew

she arose
in a motionless trance
towards the glister -chromed entrance
of her heaven’s home
where she’d find her eternal acceptance
and soul

-- Then she’s gone
Vaporized, with my dream,
Into the ungodly darkest
Black-hole

Awakened, I saw me
Clinging still to the darkness around
And trying yet to define
A logical theme for the devine
Scene


-end-

The Golden Hill

The Golden Hill ©2002 Rhyme Child / June 16, 2002

Only the other day
We passed by your old residence
On the Golden Heights hill
The window's open as it always did
But we found no longer cats sitting
On the yellow window sill
And no more the family of Niceley
In the view

Realized then
It's already another life-era in The Past
The times we have always enjoyed the best
A memory we shall always cherish the most

So we rolled on
While the fog's rolled in
Onto the curvey Ortega Avenue

Thinking
Perhaps one of these days
We too will move on out of the scene
And be missed
By the ocean view

Before we are swallowed raw
Into the misty field
And become another displaced few
For the fill.

=End=

Last Cry

Blanche’s Last Cry
© Rhyme Child 10/17/2004

She was crying, painfully, for the past two long nights and days
Like a death song coming out of the deep darkness, she cried
And cried...
Like nothing she could relate...

She was breathing hard
And yet hardly breathing
struggling to hang on for another breath
Another, only weaker, when it came...
Then later, another, yet weaker...
Tears poured down her distorted face...
while she began to drop her little head sideways...
In her Moma’s arms and tears

Tears poured down Judy’s distorted face,
stroking still gently along Blanche’s curled-up still-warm torso...
In her soft arms
In her quiet breake-down...
a longest moment before the end comes
One that will ever last and never rest.

And the evening rolls on while
she cried...
And cried...
In her Moma’s arms and tears
Like nothing she can relate...