Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry.
Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831)
I always look at your feet before looking at your face
They could have just been jumping, running,
Lifting, sliding and stretching to give you that
Slim, lithe frame. You could also be sweating and just washed.
Soaping, scrubbing, cleaning the nails and finally applying
Some scented oil or may be some cream.
You have no bow legs or flat feet
But I love your feet,
even if they were dirty, bow and flat,
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
and brought you to me.
Truth be told
The whip and rope are necessary,
Else he might stray off down some dusty road.
Being well trained,
he becomes naturally gentle.
Then, unfettered, he obeys his master.
-Chinese master Kakuan
This is the time to use the whip
To lynch and show what it is to
Go stark naked, without even the skin.
Red blood dripping covers the canvas
I am a woman only till I bleed
You have no use of me, when I don’t
In fact, to stray off down some dusty road
was not what I was hoping for
Until you brought the rope and the whip
To train me when I
do not become gentle, my master
or do not obey you or anybody
and when I am fettered, hold the nose-ring tight
and do not allow even a doubt,
they need not have told you,
You know better.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem