The black bamboo fronds reached high and low
Swinging to every blustery blow of the westerly
Up and down, to and fro, left and right
But rising to straighten not staying low for long
Like erect whips snapping lively at impassive clouds
Lashing out against phantom scars and imagined foes
With momentary lulls they spring back to uprightness
The tiny tenants at its lower branches stir and chirp
As if a siren sounded the respite and the return of the calm
The bamboo shed encrusted scales relieving the itch
Caused by the constant strain of heaving, stooping and rising
Then it stooped so low, creaked and broke its battered bole
Not even the sparrows at the bowers could, despite their cheering
Restore its poised air and proud bearing
The waste left by an unbending and unyielding pride
The litter of the green flaky rust lay on sodden floor
Who is to clean up? Who is to wield the broom?
No, not us. No, not the wind, not you nor I
Great poem! An easy tenner here. God bless poets, all-MJG. Jostling freely in the wind... Like a kite, precariously. Riding the winds tide us up and down.... Closer, closest to the ground. Rippling breezes eases us not... Not let loosened, easily a-knot. We are tied and weathered loosely taught... Trapped between trade winds, and unloosely naught.
I m agree wit lesilie u describes so simple bamboo in detail any wayz nicely write sir...
Eddie, This is poetic writing at its best. Excellent write.10 here. Jim
very calm and lulling...interesting description of something so simple but explained in such detail... Leslie
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is nice of you to capture this play between the wind and the bamboo. The wind can be very interesting when involving such ordinary things. I find your ending amusing.