Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Dah- Three Poems


Dah’s most recent book is ‘The Translator’ from ‘Transcendent Zero Press’.
His first three books are from ‘Stillpoint Books’. Dah’s poetry has been published
by editors from the U.S., the U.K., Ireland, Canada, China, Philippines, and India.
His poems recently appeared in Lost Coast Review, Recusant, The Cape Rock,
River&South Review, Acumen Journal, Sandy River Review, Stone Voices Magazine,
The Linnet’s Wings, and Diverse Voices Quarterly. Dah has been nominated
for the Pushcart by the editor of ‘Transcendent Zero Press’.
He lives in Berkeley, California where he is working on the manuscripts
for his fifth and sixth books.

poem 1:

Disheveled Boats
Tonight the wind tangles the waves
making sounds like distant chants
breaker after breaker gone wild
The current is a jealous lover
that pulls us apart, together, apart,
a net of salt, in, out, gasping, floating
                                               She says:  To float is divine
Our bodies, disheveled boats moored
against a dune
A sky of gulls roving, roving
Restless watchers
We fuck in the dunes
and sink into sultry bodies
Her black hair, as if night spilled
an apparition
A cantilever of darkness balances
the ornate moon
We are fire and sea, undulant
floating driftwood, lyrical,
something of a hymn 
Dune grass rises between our thighs
She curls beneath me like waves
that come one after another
Saltwater trickles down the dune
I burst

poem 2: 

Everyday Motion
Perfection and imperfection
a storytelling favorite
the fable
of yes and no, good and bad
We spin in between
sometimes dominated by one more than the other
the gravitational pull
wants to bury us
the ego wants to move forward
In everyday motion
we attempt to implement perfection
as standard existence, the perfect body
the perfect mind
to hold life at its most everlasting
Dark light in its perfection
Bright light in its perfection
both imperfect to the other
Tonight I feel imperfect
tossing and turning near the surface
of discomfort
because perfection is a con
a phony
a shopkeeper for the misinformed

poem 3:

My head is filled with last night’s dreams
or memories or both
At times I want to forget
that with most opposites
there is a gray line between them
which creates a reason for me
to not believe in anything
If memories and dreams are voiceless
then what is it I’m hearing
In a dream stars rose from the ocean
In the midst of that
a bodiless voice 
a mute voice
with memories seeking moments
that had vanished
At times I feel nobody’s home
that my body is soulless
and everything’s a dead dream
and having not fulfilled its life
a dead dream is imperfection
a dog-eared page
that nobody returns to
Along the way
I’ve lost my guardian angel
and between life and death
the gray line expands

1 comment:

  1. Dah is an intricate figure of words and thoughts -- his works are astounding creations of an earthly being. I am honored to be his friend in poetry.