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Many of the poetry seen within his books Dien Cai Dau (of which is encompassed in his other book Neon Vernacular) can be seen with a light of sorrow in most cases, of lust in a few cases, and of deep, rooted history in others cases. This section is created as a presentation to the poetry within this book to the left, and to his other poetry, readings, and general style.
The three poems below are as follows: "Little Man Around the House," "Apprenticeship," and "Thanks," all from three of his separate books of poetry compiled into the large collection of books most well known as Neon Vernacular. Later, there will be posted a Youtube Video of his recitation of a select poem or poems, and a sound file of myself reading a poem of which was not mentioned above (posted to Youtube and set as a link - possibly with a read-along).
The three poems below are as follows: "Little Man Around the House," "Apprenticeship," and "Thanks," all from three of his separate books of poetry compiled into the large collection of books most well known as Neon Vernacular. Later, there will be posted a Youtube Video of his recitation of a select poem or poems, and a sound file of myself reading a poem of which was not mentioned above (posted to Youtube and set as a link - possibly with a read-along).
Little Man Around the House
Mama Elsie's ninety now.
She calls you whippersnapper.
When you two laugh, her rheumatism
Slips out the window like the burglar
She hears nightly. Three husbands
& an only son dead, she says
I'll always be a daddy's girl.
Sometimes I can't get Papa's face
Outta my head. But this boy, my great-
Great-grandson, he's sugar in my coffee.
You look up from your toy
Telescope, with Satchmo's eyes,
As if I'd put a horn to your lips.
You love maps of buried treasure,
Praying Mantis, & Public Enemy . . .
Blessed. For a moment, I'm jealous.
You sit like the king of trumpet
Between my grandmama & wife,
Youngblood, a Cheshire cat
Hoodooing two birds at once.
Mama Elsie's ninety now.
She calls you whippersnapper.
When you two laugh, her rheumatism
Slips out the window like the burglar
She hears nightly. Three husbands
& an only son dead, she says
I'll always be a daddy's girl.
Sometimes I can't get Papa's face
Outta my head. But this boy, my great-
Great-grandson, he's sugar in my coffee.
You look up from your toy
Telescope, with Satchmo's eyes,
As if I'd put a horn to your lips.
You love maps of buried treasure,
Praying Mantis, & Public Enemy . . .
Blessed. For a moment, I'm jealous.
You sit like the king of trumpet
Between my grandmama & wife,
Youngblood, a Cheshire cat
Hoodooing two birds at once.
Apprenticeship
His fingernails are black
& torn from blows,
as if the hammer
declares its own angle of reference.
The young carpenter curses:
"Awww, fuck! Sonovabitch! Dumb shit!"
His girlfriend lowers her white dress,
then moves away.
She reappears nude,
props one foot upon a red chair,
looks him square in the eyes.
Her skin glistens like a woman
who's made love all afternoon.
Twenty-two stories up, he steps out
over the beams like a man with wings.
His fingernails are black
& torn from blows,
as if the hammer
declares its own angle of reference.
The young carpenter curses:
"Awww, fuck! Sonovabitch! Dumb shit!"
His girlfriend lowers her white dress,
then moves away.
She reappears nude,
props one foot upon a red chair,
looks him square in the eyes.
Her skin glistens like a woman
who's made love all afternoon.
Twenty-two stories up, he steps out
over the beams like a man with wings.
Thanks
Thanks for the tree
between me & a sniper's bullet.
I don't know what made the grass
sway seconds before the Viet Cong
raised his soundless rifle.
Some voice always followed,
telling me which foot
to put down first.
Thanks for deflecting the ricochet
against that anarchy of dusk.
I was back in San Fransisco
wraped up in a woman's wild colors,
causing some dark bird's love call
to be shattered by daylight
when my hands reached up
& pulled a branch away
from my face. Thanks
for the vague white flower
that pointed to the gleaming metal
reflection how it is to be broken
like mist over the grass,
as we played some deadly
game for blind gods.
What made me spot the monarch
writhing on a single thread
tied to a farmer's gate,
holding the day together
like an unfingered guitar string,
is beyond me. Maybe the hills
grew weary & leaned a little in the heat.
Again, thanks for the dud
hand grenande tossed at my feet
outside Chu Lai. I'm still
falling through its silence.
I don't know why the intrepid
sun touched the bayonet,
but I know that something
stood among those lost trees
& moved only when I moved.
Thanks for the tree
between me & a sniper's bullet.
I don't know what made the grass
sway seconds before the Viet Cong
raised his soundless rifle.
Some voice always followed,
telling me which foot
to put down first.
Thanks for deflecting the ricochet
against that anarchy of dusk.
I was back in San Fransisco
wraped up in a woman's wild colors,
causing some dark bird's love call
to be shattered by daylight
when my hands reached up
& pulled a branch away
from my face. Thanks
for the vague white flower
that pointed to the gleaming metal
reflection how it is to be broken
like mist over the grass,
as we played some deadly
game for blind gods.
What made me spot the monarch
writhing on a single thread
tied to a farmer's gate,
holding the day together
like an unfingered guitar string,
is beyond me. Maybe the hills
grew weary & leaned a little in the heat.
Again, thanks for the dud
hand grenande tossed at my feet
outside Chu Lai. I'm still
falling through its silence.
I don't know why the intrepid
sun touched the bayonet,
but I know that something
stood among those lost trees
& moved only when I moved.