Hoan Kiem Lake
chinese influence runs
so deep
Ba Din Square
in the quietness, a nation's
reverberating dream
Temple of Literature
on the myriad stelai, the crumbling
essence of confucius
Temple of Literature
children crowd to ancient sages
for good results
cold and stiller than a corpse
guards around Uncle Ho's
embalmed body
Considered the cultural center and former capital of North Vietnam, Hanoi's French influence shows in the charming tree-lined streets, lakes throughout the city, and abundant French colonial architecture, seen in buildings like the Opera House and the Presidential Palace. Romantic Hoan Kiem Lake is home to a variety of picturesque temples and bridges. Walk to the Temple of Literature, site of the country's oldest university, and then on to Ba Dinh Square, where communist revolutionary Ho Chi Minh ceremoniously declared Vietnam's independence in 1945. You can catch a glimpse of Ho's embalmed body at his mausoleum in the middle of the square.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Starbucks Cafe
starbucks cafe
the boy looks into
the eyes of the man
as he looks into his
cups of coffee from which
both draw their passion
their fingers stir a storm
both prefer to weather
by themselves
the girl looks into
the straining eyes of mom
limpid, brown, a shared
centrum they can hide
and blend their feelings
so that they do not spill over
both understand why
the bitter side of a beverage
is sometimes the most tempting
and fulfilling
a woman with crisp english
works hard to impress a
young british manager
in an engaging interview
their conversation often
hitting a pleasant high note
with short bitter sweet intervals
both intelligently hold off
with bursts of laughter
the conversant woman
recalls every place she had
worked from Hong Kong to
New York, and London, taking
the world around him to show
him how she could he his
piping hot tea or coffee
which ever he prefers
the waitor and a regular
guest eye and give each other
a cryptic smile as a new jazz
fusion tune trails the air
a cup of fresh brewed brazilian
without much waiting
comes onto the table
the aroma wafts through his senses
the innert looking male
quickly goes on to add
milk and sugar to draw the
best out of his day
the interviewed woman
fueled with enthusiasm
goes on and on
the manager listens carefully
in an effort to size her up - a
cup of coffee he wonders
he should be having year round
the boy looks into
the eyes of the man
as he looks into his
cups of coffee from which
both draw their passion
their fingers stir a storm
both prefer to weather
by themselves
the girl looks into
the straining eyes of mom
limpid, brown, a shared
centrum they can hide
and blend their feelings
so that they do not spill over
both understand why
the bitter side of a beverage
is sometimes the most tempting
and fulfilling
a woman with crisp english
works hard to impress a
young british manager
in an engaging interview
their conversation often
hitting a pleasant high note
with short bitter sweet intervals
both intelligently hold off
with bursts of laughter
the conversant woman
recalls every place she had
worked from Hong Kong to
New York, and London, taking
the world around him to show
him how she could he his
piping hot tea or coffee
which ever he prefers
the waitor and a regular
guest eye and give each other
a cryptic smile as a new jazz
fusion tune trails the air
a cup of fresh brewed brazilian
without much waiting
comes onto the table
the aroma wafts through his senses
the innert looking male
quickly goes on to add
milk and sugar to draw the
best out of his day
the interviewed woman
fueled with enthusiasm
goes on and on
the manager listens carefully
in an effort to size her up - a
cup of coffee he wonders
he should be having year round
Monday, February 16, 2009
Alma Mater Blues
feels like lonely chilly autumn
leaves thrown asunder
ruffling the calm of lake
falling, scattering
all over your feet
each pace you take
grasses dance feverishly
while sparing birds' songs
work an echo in a soul
still looking for a place
in his alma mater
the old brass bell
that long ago held our hearts
and fervently accompanied
us through every minute
of school still hangs -
a solid air of authority -
a no nonsense master
recognising nothing
except the hourly call
to each new lesson,
new knowledge
the rows of
crimson classes
still stand with
quiet open doors
there, shadows of chairs
and tables gently cast
their geometric lines
all the way from the sun
the only element
at constant with my heart
then and now
a filamen i could cross
to take a close peak at those
obscure school years
the blackboards beckon
though - holding gently
at an attitude that stamp of infinity
when it comes to learning
fiery glow of setting sun
on the window panes
reflects those waves
of alma mater sentiments
and affections tugging
at my heartstrings
dedicated teachers,
strict teachers
straight As geniuses,
smart sport lads
bookworms,
the pretensious
the overambitious,
lonely hearts, libido driven
dreamy eyed boys, bullies, sissies -
all but now a cool reflective evening
for an unknown still trying to find
his footing in his old old school
shadow among shadows
Hafiz Muzaffar Mohsin Date : 10/2/2006
Its a nice poem
leaves thrown asunder
ruffling the calm of lake
falling, scattering
all over your feet
each pace you take
grasses dance feverishly
while sparing birds' songs
work an echo in a soul
still looking for a place
in his alma mater
the old brass bell
that long ago held our hearts
and fervently accompanied
us through every minute
of school still hangs -
a solid air of authority -
a no nonsense master
recognising nothing
except the hourly call
to each new lesson,
new knowledge
the rows of
crimson classes
still stand with
quiet open doors
there, shadows of chairs
and tables gently cast
their geometric lines
all the way from the sun
the only element
at constant with my heart
then and now
a filamen i could cross
to take a close peak at those
obscure school years
the blackboards beckon
though - holding gently
at an attitude that stamp of infinity
when it comes to learning
fiery glow of setting sun
on the window panes
reflects those waves
of alma mater sentiments
and affections tugging
at my heartstrings
dedicated teachers,
strict teachers
straight As geniuses,
smart sport lads
bookworms,
the pretensious
the overambitious,
lonely hearts, libido driven
dreamy eyed boys, bullies, sissies -
all but now a cool reflective evening
for an unknown still trying to find
his footing in his old old school
shadow among shadows
Hafiz Muzaffar Mohsin Date : 10/2/2006
Its a nice poem
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Memoirs of a Geisha
between tokyo skyscrapers
her brilliant white powdered face dazzles
fancy of a thousand samurais
charming dainty seductive
unobstrusive sakura
first snow in summer
all year spring song
Sayuri Nitta (8/15/2008 6:05:00 AM)
this is a wonderful way to describe a geisha.
you can proberly tell i am a fan of the book, and film from my name.
sayuri nitta, its not my real name, its the geisha name from memoirs of a geisha.
Ana Monnar (7/30/2007 8:52:00 AM)
John, this is a beautiful poem. Thank you very much for sharing. I enjoyed it very much. The words are soooooooooo rich.
Raynette Eitel (11/21/2005 8:19:00 AM)
This is lovely, John. The image of the tiny geisha with dainty feet juxtaposed with the skyscrapers of Tokyo is memorable. Good poem. Raynette
Max Reif (11/21/2005 7:40:00 AM)
I know very little about Japanese traditions, but this is quite beautiful.
her brilliant white powdered face dazzles
fancy of a thousand samurais
charming dainty seductive
unobstrusive sakura
first snow in summer
all year spring song
Sayuri Nitta (8/15/2008 6:05:00 AM)
this is a wonderful way to describe a geisha.
you can proberly tell i am a fan of the book, and film from my name.
sayuri nitta, its not my real name, its the geisha name from memoirs of a geisha.
Ana Monnar (7/30/2007 8:52:00 AM)
John, this is a beautiful poem. Thank you very much for sharing. I enjoyed it very much. The words are soooooooooo rich.
Raynette Eitel (11/21/2005 8:19:00 AM)
This is lovely, John. The image of the tiny geisha with dainty feet juxtaposed with the skyscrapers of Tokyo is memorable. Good poem. Raynette
Max Reif (11/21/2005 7:40:00 AM)
I know very little about Japanese traditions, but this is quite beautiful.
The Stair
the quietness of the
setting sun is haunting
the hurried chirp of
the returning swallows
echoing round the school
evokes a forlorness this
evening chill works to thicken
those flighty years have
come back like swallows
to roost, each echoing
a pain, a joy, a tear, a
smile, a hug, a kiss, a loss
each step of this stair
spins a tale, walks me up
a time warp of yearnings
and disillusions
the stair where a thousand
dreams were spun and another
thousand trailed the wind
setting sun is haunting
the hurried chirp of
the returning swallows
echoing round the school
evokes a forlorness this
evening chill works to thicken
those flighty years have
come back like swallows
to roost, each echoing
a pain, a joy, a tear, a
smile, a hug, a kiss, a loss
each step of this stair
spins a tale, walks me up
a time warp of yearnings
and disillusions
the stair where a thousand
dreams were spun and another
thousand trailed the wind
Friday, February 13, 2009
A Poem for Valentine's Day
the girls they feel like flowers today
touched, fresh and loved
something to keep each leaf
of memory textured like roses
forever an 18 year old who could
dig into their garden of recollections
for a robust bloom of romance
fhe flower sellers too grin like love wishes
on the bright bouquets sent out to paint up
the life of blessed girls who have been
praying for a rainbow to love paradise
how they wish everyday can be a Valentine
when eager boys would help pile up
the cash boxes with their months' savings
when bouquet of roses can be sold
at five times their price right up
to three in the early morning
every sidewalk cafe and restaurant too
are a roaring scene as love spreads
from mouth to mouth, heart to heart
when love is in the air everybody
shares it with somebody over the dinner table
lighted like a candle, coloured like a cezane,
flows like a piece of swirling waltz
our feet cant keep up with and melts
like little blocks of ice in our glass of wine
so that we can warm up and reach
out to each other for a time to remember
touched, fresh and loved
something to keep each leaf
of memory textured like roses
forever an 18 year old who could
dig into their garden of recollections
for a robust bloom of romance
fhe flower sellers too grin like love wishes
on the bright bouquets sent out to paint up
the life of blessed girls who have been
praying for a rainbow to love paradise
how they wish everyday can be a Valentine
when eager boys would help pile up
the cash boxes with their months' savings
when bouquet of roses can be sold
at five times their price right up
to three in the early morning
every sidewalk cafe and restaurant too
are a roaring scene as love spreads
from mouth to mouth, heart to heart
when love is in the air everybody
shares it with somebody over the dinner table
lighted like a candle, coloured like a cezane,
flows like a piece of swirling waltz
our feet cant keep up with and melts
like little blocks of ice in our glass of wine
so that we can warm up and reach
out to each other for a time to remember
Monday, February 9, 2009
1.4 million years in a Second
a mood swing? an interval?
a pause in the mind? of the mind?
a single entity that plays out its evolution game
1.4 million years in all within a second of this
body of 48 giving another dimension to a face
a pause in the mind? of the mind?
a single entity that plays out its evolution game
1.4 million years in all within a second of this
body of 48 giving another dimension to a face
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