John Yau Poems
|2.||Confessions of a Recycled Shopping Bag||7/25/2017|
|3.||First Language Lesson||7/25/2017|
|5.||Ill-Advised Love Poem||7/25/2017|
|7.||The Missing Portrait (1)||7/25/2017|
|9.||A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices||7/25/2017|
|10.||Something to Look Forward To||7/25/2017|
|11.||Music from Childhood||7/25/2017|
|12.||In The Kingdom of Poetry||7/25/2017|
|14.||Egyptian Sonnet (2)||7/25/2017|
|15.||Egyptian Sonnet (4)||7/25/2017|
|17.||Father Knows Least||7/25/2017|
Comments about John Yau
It is said, the past
sticks to the present
that we are flies
struggling to pull free
It is said, someone
go so far
Nor am I Rembrandt,
master of the black
and green darkness,
the hawk's plumes
as it shrieks
down from the sky
The world weeps. There are no tears
To be found. It is deemed a miracle.
The president appears on screens
In villages and towns, in cities in jungles
And jungles still affectionately called cities.
He appears on screens and reads a story.
Whose story is he reading and why?
What lessons are to be learned from this story
About a time that has not arrived, will not arrive, is here?