Ro'in Mao
Ro'in Mao Poems
With night-hued shadows dance the silver strips
Of lovely Mistress Moon's visage ashine.
The crickets sing the fairness of her lips,
Their strings lay praise in rows out line by line.
...
Welcome to this little odd world
Where your words are without weight,
Where what you work writhes in its rate,
And want-ward wending impearled.
...
I peer into the park, the revel-table
Sitting on the grass where memories are made.
I feel the breeze brushing in the gambols
Throughout the throngs of shrubby shade.
...
There once was a grunt so doubtlessly fair,
Black cats came out of his mouth with much flair.
They spread far and wide
On Earth's every side,
...
Go on, o ash—dye all thy grey,
And leave the naked wind to say
'Farewell', to sing low in the deep
A song of rest, or endless sleep.
...
Thy bitterness, again to me it calls
With naughty fingers and so sweet a voice,
In-soaking all my heart's unsavoury galls
And gets to me enthralled—far gone is choice.
...
What am I but a shadow of time,
An end of other powers memorized?
I am a grain of sand taken by the tidal flows
'Til I'm beached upon the rocky shore
...
Ro'in Mao Biography
A fresh start, a new mind; my old account was Renji Mao, which laid dormant for the better part of four years. Since I last published a work on Poemhunter, my written craft has expanded and matured. Now that I have found my voice, I can finally place my work here with confidence, instead of my halfhearted mental farts like I had done before- a promise I plan to always keep and never break. As divertissement, I am in the process of constructing an auxiliary language following the work of L. L. Zamenhof's Esperanto. Therefore, there will be the occasional poem in what looks like an Esperantid (dialect of Esperanto) , wherein I will put a translation as well.)
The Best Poem Of Ro'in Mao
Midnight Muse
With night-hued shadows dance the silver strips
Of lovely Mistress Moon's visage ashine.
The crickets sing the fairness of her lips,
Their strings lay praise in rows out line by line.
The hushed breeze that sunlessness made cool
E'er lightly strokes the trees with loving care.
The father of the world prepares their beds of mool
And paths them soundlessly into his ware.
So thus the dark shall shroud unwary eyes
And dye their sight the shade of Death's best suit,
In doing once brought end to mankind's lies,
By snipping specious sages at their root.
The deed was swift, no sleeping beast did hear—
The wilder of the night twitch'd not an ear.
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4/25/2024 11:02:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
