China Jon's Syncretic Journal

At first I felt a softness,
like a warm hypnotic trance.
Then I sensed a rumble,
like thunder in the distance.

A smile bends my cheek,
like the wonderment of youth.
How can a little kitten
give me such loving truth?

Wisps of morning clouds,
Greet the borning of the day.
Angel’s shadows whispering.

My guest has gone with a carefree sigh,
and breezes swirl fragrant garden flowers.
Around the patio their fallen petals lie,
to be washed away by evening showers.

I have not the heart to sweep them away.
Their beauty soon enough disappears.
Like Spring like summer like an autumn day,
their luster will pass, though stained with tears.

Near my home is a shopping mall
with goods from near and far.
Window shoppers both short and tall
seek jackets and scarves and cinnabar.

Such lovely girls walk past my tower
but none of them can wear my heart
pinned to her breast like a yellow flower.
No, my love is of a deeper art.

Gone, my Queen of the Autumn Wind
who’s trumpeters play all night.
Their triumph sings to the breaking dawn
of a new day filled with glorious light.

Her Autumn fragrance lingers still
and weeping willows whisper her name.
Both soft green moss where dew drops spill
and summer breezes share her fame.

There is a statue with tears in its eyes,
Standing near an ice blue sea.
And clouds of pink wander azure skies
but know not when she’ll return to me.

Bronze tears upon a bronze face
will never be redeemed -
A leaden heart can be saved by grace
but not by the siren’s song.

Such pitiful withered orchids lie
upon the field where lovers danced
beneath a moonlit lover’s sky.
At the others the lovers glanced,
not believing that love could die.

Heaven has a feeling heart,
yet a thousand years have passed.
Lapping waves have kissed the shore
waiting for a love to last,
for a lonely ten thousand more.

It’s true that the moon’s grown old.
It sleeps in desolation.
It’s true what you hear it tales untold
but it’s no consolation.

The stone bridge took me roaming
though the wind was cutting and cold.
The sea waves chilly foaming
will wash clean my dreams grown old.

Play me!



I was carried by four tall men,
each with a full ponytail and muscular body, full serious lips.
Their long rough robes brushed softly along the sandy shallow steps.

I knew each one from a time long ago,
but I could not remember when, not their names.
I remembered the long rides upon the green plains.

I could only see these men and the space above them.
They slowly walked under a dome, faint,
far above in the darkness.

I strained to hear the words echoing around and through the darkness.
The foreign words or the echoes made comprehension impossible.
I let out a sigh and watched the flickering candles.

The candles dimmed and I could see stars through the arches of the dome.
The silver stars fell like snow upon my eyes.
So many stars. Carrying me away. So far away.

I hear the music echoing, echoing up through the cold arches.
Lifting me up. Carrying me home. So far away.

I was walking up this rocky path, along the mountain's side.
Then there was lightening, and thunder, and it began to rain.
It was a cold rain and I looked for a place to hide.
The wind got colder and the rain came with stinging pain.

I saw you sitting, quietly murmuring prayers of hope,
so honest, so kind, so open hearted.
That moment lingered and became forever,
and I felt my heart had found its place.
Your face turned up and the clouds departed.
Rainbows kissed your lips, and warm winds caressed my face.

Where there is a will, there is a way.
But where goes the won't, I can't say.
I do know it follows behind, nipping at my heels,
making me wonder, 'Is this how success feels?'

So, I refuse to be driven, neither here nor there.
I just relive each moment to understand just how the wind felt in my hair.

A glance to the side reveals in the mirror,
your lovely face as it grows ever nearer.

I have no doubt that you will soon pass me,
and all I hope is that you won't sass me!

I am pedaling as fast as I can, which is to say, as fast as I will.
And no matter how fast you pass me by, I know it is true, I will love you still.

Eyes will see what they choose to see...

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The sun glanced off the wave crests like laser beams,
and the riderless white horse proudly turned his head to the West, toward the sea.

His ears scanning like radar dishes, the stallion senses the deeper sounds, the dark blue sounds.

Does his more natural wisdom tell him of the ashes? The ashes of the man which drift within the deep blue currants? The man who once sat astride proud stallions such as himself?

The white sounds of sand softly washing clean the once lonely beach try to hide the darker tones of mourning. The man is gone. The man is gone.

What sensibilities lie within the heart of the beast we name ‘horse?’ Can he know the depths of despair as we do? Can he mourn the passing of his Rider? Can the deep blue sounds reveal the presence of his man?

And in his knowing, in his mourning, in this bright and glittering morning, what does the white stallion do? He nods his proud head toward the deep blue ashes, toward the deep blue Rider, and then he turns away, and never looks back.

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OK, can you write a poem?

Copy the poem into the comment box and add your words to match the pairs of letters.
(A) sounds like (A) like (blue) sounds like (shoe) or (try) sounds like (fly)

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