|
|
|
Best Poems From
YEN CRESS
(3/9/43)
|
|
| |
|
|
9.
|
Debutante in Green (Rondeau Redouble)
The young bamboo made her debut:
She sang to me a serenade.
She wore a crown of silver dew
And ao dai sewn of silken jade.
My meetings with the gentle maid
Were secret, like a rendevous,
Until that day, when in the glade,
The young bamboo made her debut.
The breeze was warm; the sky was blue;
The butterflies were on parade;
While 'round her head they danced and flew,
She sang to me a serenade.
The lilies shamelessly displayed
Their gowns of every brilliant hue.
My love stood proudly unafraid:
She wore a crown of silver dew.
Shy little shoots gazed up. They knew
Who most divinely was arrayed-
The young Vietnamese bamboo
In ao dai made of silken jade.
To her, polite respects they paid.
She was the slender maiden who
Deserved their every accolade
The glorious day they came to view
The young bamboo.
Yen Cress
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
10.
|
Early Date
She rises bright as sunrise floods
Her Grandma's garden tangle
To meet her friends out near the walk
Where fuschia blossoms dangle.
She peeks around the corner with
A shy anticipation,
And San Francisco's pigeons hear
Her gentle invitation.
'Come here and eat, sweet things, ' she coos,
And they accept, unscorning,
The crumbs dropped from her little hands-
A banquet in the morning.
Yen Cress
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
11.
|
Felix the Helix
Snail, Snail, lay your silver, slick, and wind-
ing trail. After you've dined, please be kind-
And leave a few uneaten leaves behind!
In sweltering July, in January cold or dry,
Gastropod, seal yourself in-don't ask why-
Just make your clear operculum-don't die!
Shoot your magic love dart; aim it well.
You have no need to ask, no need to tell.
Just watch out for Farmer in the Dell!
Felix, your single helix is pretty and artistic.
But I think some folks are petty and sadistic-
They'd have your double helix become a statistic!
Yen Cress
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
12.
|
Final Communication
The rising sun displaces eastward night,
Dispensing cool, sweet shadows by its light,
Then bit by bit the molten gold of day
Grows, glowing, gleaming, sending hence the gray
Of dawn, this Monday in the month of May.
Why then this heavy burden, heart of mine?
And why these cataracts of living brine?
The day, the spring, warm everyone but me,
While veils of grief forbid my eyes to see,
And shrouds engulf me so I cannot flee.
And then the zenith comes, a hot-bright peak.
No shadow stretches, long and slim and sleek,
But crowds my feet in huddled grotesque form.
My secret, dismal clouds defy the warm
Designs of day, an unseen, private storm.
At length the light begins to fade and pass
Like morning glories wilting in the grass,
Each sunlight-tendril curling up its toes
To die while shrinking in the daylight's close.
Upon his grave, I lay a single rose.
Yen Cress
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|