Duy Bui

Duy Bui Poems

Cold drops of rain fall
Through the cracks they crawl
On his young bald head
With his ma they nest

A black dot Mr. Summers has drafted.
Followed ancient tradition from pebbles
To stones. Each darted the grey wind shafted
by friends and neighbors, no distant rebels.

Holding a loss with great esteem
He lay asleep with old shadows
Circumvent not, new waken dream

I was sure I knew sufferings
My journeys, never infinite
A carpet lay, if one not stray
Swell of days, be on their way

Sink deep in their yellow skins, autumn steams on.
Spent memory will depart, so will my youth.
My new steps flow in tautness, oh, so restive.
Life’s beats swayed its frosty chants, mine swathed along.

What I desire is not yet here,
but beyond this window before me;
dwelling in the air, the clouds that bring about rain,
the bare branches, the coming leaves,

The sound of temple bells echoing between two silent,
gray mountains as the silver raindrops upon a breezeless pond;
in its stillness I seek my own reflection.

Mercy would transpire in the enduring wind at the arrival of every departure.
Time past, present and future die and blossom in one single flower,
Under one faintest moon or one thinnest prism of sunlight.
Past and future effloresce in the never-ending blinks of the eyes,

Summer has arrived, bright and golden like once before; golden above the weightless ticking of days and became moonlight beating upon dark water of the nights.
Her golden hair hung down, touched and cuddled the green blades of grass, and when those grasses passionately grew like wild weeds, they begin to block her sight, mind and were cut away.
Perhaps both of our consciousness mingled unconsciously in the hearts, but when consciousness advanced and conquered, all was sliced apart and split. Her words begin to stir the moments like early autumn leaves rushing a summer sun.

Inspired by the Vietnamese prisoner who was in prison for 40 years and was finally released. He is now in his sixties and was asked if there was anything he would like to say by the Vietnamese-American Television, and he replied “Do you think I can fall in love anymore? ”

A prisoner to some, but the hero to most
was freed after forty years behind injustice

Treading upon dark sand, a woman was
seeking the truth of God, Who dwells high
beyond the gentle chandelier of
moonlight that hung above the sea;

Enchanting sound awakened and renewed my spirit, above all passing floods and tides,
Music of the heart, like morning bells caressing the green, grassy fields of a new day, a bluer sky,
Irises with purple skins sheltering by their green neighbors awaiting for the rising sun,
Light of the fresh dream, wish or reality could only shine from one possibility,

Waking up in New York city
I often do not know which is noise,
Which is music to listen for.

What if tomorrow the birds silent themselves to me?
Lying below disquiet yellow and red leaves,
Seeing their shadows sailing within the wind,
And the sun is shining far behind my eyes.

Countless miles of clouds and space between us,
The vigilant moon we first chanced on together
Pacing upon lavender sand, awaiting our meeting.


The wind hurried by,
an autumn package
of esoteric tales and secrets,
of loss and love.

That old cabin where I first held you
After we professed our fondness for each other
Will soon be far away.

Dear Chelsey as I board the bus home,
the same one I took to see you two days ago
now fills with nothing but empty space.
The excitement which came to meet me,

An old man, reclining on his rocking chair facing a mountain,
The one he has known since childhood when he came to
Stay with his grandparents every summer. The one he used to climb
Until reaching the top where earth and clouds form

First, you learn the word pretentious
from a dictionary on your lap or one
on the computer.

The Best Poem Of Duy Bui

A Mother, A Son

Cold drops of rain fall
Through the cracks they crawl
On his young bald head
With his ma they nest
Warming drops of falling tears
Creep out from struggles and fears
Alone a mother
Alone a son
Music whispering through those many holes
Though too soft and sweet for uncomforted souls
Protection, big minds seek
Infant souls endure.

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