Aoi no Hi

To a friend

To D
18th February 2012

The hour of the pig was hardly half past,
When you bid farewell to me tonight;
Scarce a month remains,
Before a much longer goodbye.
Oh, you will return here this June
To walk in robes dark and lovely;
Perhaps Lady Fortune will even bless
Our voices to ring in the same hall in years to come.
But will we ever live together again?

In this spring to come, the Occom water
Will again shine a resplendent blue,
The fairy blossoms will make fragrant the Garden in the west,
But you will be amiss, studying your texts in far off Budapest.
Where will my expectations look to in the mid-week?
In times of trial, who will I approach for good counsel?
With whom will I philosophize and discuss the nobler things?
How rich is the banquet we share!
But there is no feast under heaven which does not scatter!

Yet even the seasons cannot hold back Helios’s chariot,
Nor the virgin spring not yield to summer’s buxom maid,
Nor the flaming-haired not bow to the pale-eyed Lady Snow;
Even the earth follows its tracks, and the stars make their procession.
The lords of higher realms quietly accept their fate,
As the great conifers silently let fall the last snows;
All things are destined for a time and place,
Surely, God’s law is a marvelous mystery beyond my comprehend,

Even as the lean winter distills the hardiest and true,
May we be as the cypress—stalwart and evergreen.

To a friend

What you said was simple thing,
But a surprise pure and bare,
No I wonder my heart so leapt for joy.
12th February 2012

Sometimes, life feels so good:

When the fields are brimming with color,
And a medley of flower-fume wafts into your nostrils,
There’s so much beauty
You’re not even sure where to look at.

Then a friend of yours,
Who you’ve not seen for a long while,
Between you and her there is nothing but peace,
A pure white ribbon of light connecting your hearts.

She taps you from behind on the shoulder,
Smiles at you, and makes a bowl with her hands
Holding a little snowdrop petal upon her palms,
Hiuh-hiuh she blows it at your face,

The flower flesh tickles your cheeks,
You can’t help but laugh,
Laugh a silly song freely into the wind,
And gently kiss her face as the two of you embrace,

And wheel and spin beneath a bright blue heaven.

The Snow Sculpture

Passing by the construction of the snow sculpture
Dartmouth Green
8th February 2012

Beneath a pale and misty full moon,
A hunk of snow reigns over the central green,
Constituted of over four full truck loads
Of powder shipped far from the north.

Here on the field, half a dozen brothers
Loosely circumscribe the giant block;
Garbed in yellow dungaree, they chip it away bits by bits,
Pitting their shared muscle power against the monument:

One whirls a chainsaw,  one swings a hatchet,
And another momently lights up my curious face
With his blinding blue headlamp—
Whirr! Kan! And a fleeting glare…

Walking past, I yearn for the warmth
Of my hut in Wheeler Hall, and I wonder:
What dwells within the marble they carve?
Oh—what will the morrow’s sunrise reveal?

My Warm Hut in Wheeler Hall

So many joyful times in this little room,
What crudeness is there?
4th February 2012

These winter mornings, bright and clear,
The sky, a pure and luminous blue—
The white snow’s glow
Bathes the red brick halls
In a radiance like silk.
Now a north wind rattles
The last leaves of autumn,
Its chilliness blushes my face,
As I yearn to return
To my warm hut in Wheeler Hall.

Today, our dreams

To D

Today, our dreams lie beyond the clouds,
As the sunshine warms the earth,
(He lies hidden beneath the shining snow)—
But spring is near, and she will set
A brilliant bloom upon the fields;
So, in years to come, will a zephyr reveal
A blue heaven, forever high and clear.

Scene on the Prairie

A fantasy
In the style of Wordsworth
27th December 2011

I.
The little napus petals
Lift by a warm wind.
Swirling and soaring
Up to yonder blue,
They meld into the daybreak,
Flecks of sunbeam.

II.
The Yangzi lazily winds
A ribbon of crystal blue.
Weaving through the yellow field,
She winks and sparkles
Delicate rainbow laces
And nets of noon-day gold.

III.
The old ferryman dips his oar,
Spurting forth a lissome craft.
Straw hat glowing in the violet dusk,
Tassels fluttering upon the wind,
He ventures into the misted west,
Leaving only a wake of silver spray.

Things pass away

To Y
22nd December 2011

Things pass away,
In a breath of spring,
Some beams
Of summer’s light…
Now, the north wind has chilled
The soaring flames of fall,
And shortly, winter cloaks
Half the earth in silver-white…
As by the drowsy fumes of yule
Sleeps the world sealed in ice.

Things pass away,
In a rush of spring wind,
Some chords
Of a careless melody…
Now, the elf Lady has quenched
This flaring flower of scarlet,
But shortly, winter’s chill
Will not let her carefree be…
Then will she bid her handmaiden
Fan the embers bright and free.

Oh elfin Lady, who can
In all this mysterious world
Restrain thee?
But I too am master of a land eternal,
And in these lovely fields,
I am free!

On a blessed day

30th November 2011

I have never seen a morning
So bright and clear
As after last night’s rain.
The falling silver cleared the Heavens
And this morn, our lone pine banner
Billows proudly in the breeze.

In golden beams, the sun
Caresses the late green grass,
And there is no hoar,
But the black roads gleam.

On my way to Commons,
I see from afar
My friend’s glowing face,
And together we break fast.

Rainbow

Over the white steepled Church of Christ,
The seven colors arc in glory—
Today, I made no wish,
But only took a photo.

On a travel to the Second College Grant

To CR

A sketch in mixed verse
In the company of friends of the Dartmouth LDSSA

Stoddard Cabin
Thanksgiving 2011

Today, the Heavens palely glow,
As the earth dissolves in white;
Upon these ice-glazed pathways,
Our voyage begins,
Into the woodland Grant we go—

Driving up
Water flows likes glass,
Ice flies horizontal,
Just the pine stands firm:
It bears its load silently,
In a cloak of radiant white.

Portage up the hill
The little laurel’s limbs are laden with snow,
Even the crisped leaves mutely sustain their load,
Joyful to bear is my own burden,
I delight in the gifts of my Lord.

Midnight
The flame cries like a lost child,
I light a silver path through the dark,
Kan! Kan! My axe strikes oblique;
No matter: wood still flies.

Daybreak
The loft is chill—a headache—
I scurry down the hardwood ladder,
To roast myself in the light of fresh flames,
Grateful for my diligent companions.

A walk in the morning
The sun basks the woodland Grant:
It pierces the dark-limbed pines
To light the virgin snow ablaze:
My eyes do not dare look upon
That white cold flame;
I only admire
Its incandescence
Suffusing the silver wood.

Gazing north
The Heavens are split over Twin Peaks Hill,
Blue sky, white cloud, and black raincloud;
Triple censers steaming,
Each lifting its proper incense on high:
All praise be to God.

Gazing south
The sound of water rushes through the silent land,
The mid-morn’s brilliance pierces the stalwart pines,
I look back at our footprints hewn upon the virgin white,
And recall home beyond the misty mountains.

We return
The vales are profound with mist,
The hills are bathed in silver light.
The mid-afternoon sun brightens
The west in splendorous gold,
And the open road beckons on:
Fifty miles to go.

Reverie
The morning sun lights the dew upon the trees,
Transforming frost into brilliant diamonds,
His warmth bares their garb of shining white,
And the pine forest glistens evergreen.

May such be our friendship.