All along the mountain trail,
So many springs call to mind,
Cherry blossoms of Ueno Park(Basho)
As I close his dusty,19th century book
To candlelight and strung-long winter lights,
My circling-ear-worm repeats Kierkegaard’s
Words—that phenomenon called human
Existence, in addition to its spring and fall
mystery, and its strange “jolie laide” beauty,
Also means existing and tolerating those
Mischievous gods who linger in the shadows,
Waiting to surprise, trip us, and angst us up,
But when winter thaws with season’s sunrise,
Whispering sultry promises of fresh springs,
Images of ambrosia and sweet cherry cider,
Opening bouquets all along the river bank
And beyond the hay-bale field, where I see
Flighty, beige leaves drifting through boughs
And branches of Ueno Park, where Utamaro’s
Two ladies wearing floral “yukatas, sit silently
Under pale blossom shade, sipping tea from cups.
TWO
And when no more stones are thrown
Across the river and through the window panes,
And when all the poison arrows are broken
And the notched rifle stock wears down
To the bare, metal bone, and when the guttural
Sounds of Sartre’s existential paranoia,
“The other is the hell,” fades with the philosophical
Breeze behind a snowy, pine bough, and
When we do not hunger nor thirst and when
We do not squirm and double-take when
The tiger settles down at dusk with a naive
Lamb or rabbit, then the impatience and
Anger and the frustration and the greed
And the soiled air of distrust will slip away
Into the river’s flow under a late April’s snow,
Then, that’s when, we’ll hold close-to-heart
A cup of warming tea as we hoist the canvas
Up the mast—slipping our sailboat into the freezing
Water, knowing a swift current will take us out
To sea, where glows at dawn the pastel-pink
Sunrise—an eternal cherry blossom spring.
So many springs call to mind,
Cherry blossoms of Ueno Park(Basho)
As I close his dusty,19th century book
To candlelight and strung-long winter lights,
My circling-ear-worm repeats Kierkegaard’s
Words—that phenomenon called human
Existence, in addition to its spring and fall
mystery, and its strange “jolie laide” beauty,
Also means existing and tolerating those
Mischievous gods who linger in the shadows,
Waiting to surprise, trip us, and angst us up,
But when winter thaws with season’s sunrise,
Whispering sultry promises of fresh springs,
Images of ambrosia and sweet cherry cider,
Opening bouquets all along the river bank
And beyond the hay-bale field, where I see
Flighty, beige leaves drifting through boughs
And branches of Ueno Park, where Utamaro’s
Two ladies wearing floral “yukatas, sit silently
Under pale blossom shade, sipping tea from cups.
TWO
And when no more stones are thrown
Across the river and through the window panes,
And when all the poison arrows are broken
And the notched rifle stock wears down
To the bare, metal bone, and when the guttural
Sounds of Sartre’s existential paranoia,
“The other is the hell,” fades with the philosophical
Breeze behind a snowy, pine bough, and
When we do not hunger nor thirst and when
We do not squirm and double-take when
The tiger settles down at dusk with a naive
Lamb or rabbit, then the impatience and
Anger and the frustration and the greed
And the soiled air of distrust will slip away
Into the river’s flow under a late April’s snow,
Then, that’s when, we’ll hold close-to-heart
A cup of warming tea as we hoist the canvas
Up the mast—slipping our sailboat into the freezing
Water, knowing a swift current will take us out
To sea, where glows at dawn the pastel-pink
Sunrise—an eternal cherry blossom spring.
Reed Venrick is a writer from the Florida key islands; usually publishing poems with nature, aesthetic, or philosophical themes; he lived and taught over 5 years at universities and colleges in Hadano and Tokyo, where his favorite park was Hamarikyu Garden, situated on Tokyo Bay.
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