Po-em.

Oh, Bloggy. I've neglected you. But it isn't because I haven't become a pseudo awful normal. I'm still writing, just secretly.

Here's a poem I'm still working on; this is the second draft. I'm suppose to now focus in on one image or idea rather than a vast array.

Barrel Holidays

Dark heads and almond eyes scootered
At the Gong of the Miao’s drum, calling home.
Cylindrical metal barrels waited
The flame of a small match.
Inside the barrel caverns, yellow card-stock money burned
New Year red,
And smoke trails of ash twisted
Into the Long’s envious tail.
Thin sticks of incense pierced
Symmetrical lines of oranges.
Buddha sat on a cheap table top.
Last night’s ginger lingered in
Dancing globe lanterns.
Grandmothers barked at sandaled posterity
Sneaking strawberry chews and crackers.
The almond eyes followed the curious blonde curls, and with
Toothy beetle nut grins spoke,
“To Bai Bai the gods,” they bowed.
To Bai Bai the ancestors.