The Xiasha Poet Society...

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  Xiasha, Zhejiang Sheng, China
Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Hullo,  I am a confessed member of the "Xiasha Poets society",    a few of us teachers get together each week to snack on munchies and read a bit of poetry.   Last week was fun since I had plenty of "Tahina" to eat (similar to hummus but with lots o' sesame" and bread.  And we all got together and read poem after poem in "Elaine's" lovely apartment.  It was fun, cept the only other man present bailed shortly after arrrive there.   I had no poems so I tried a fetching "Ice T" Rhyme which I only partly memorized.  (dont hate the playa hate the game)  it was an excellent poem but I failed to do it justice......


This week was more of the same yet this time I was the only man who had the cohoneies, to attend this thing.   Fellow southerner "Deb" and I do have a strong connection since both of us are from the South,  and we both write some (in yo face) lyrics and chit.    The other ladies are quite benign,  but still fun peeps to hang out with on poetry night.   I will give "best reader" award to Elaine who should be employed by a film studio because of her talent.  She can make anything sound excellent.   She is also quite the decent writer.   She read a bit of prose from her experience with an elderly Chinese man,  which was very touching and left us with the feeling that we had all experienced what she has.    Elaine has a lot of talent.

Deb had some excellent poems about growing up in the South (Georgia) and helped the rest of the group understand the Southern mentality,   which I joined in, agreeing with her insightful descriptions.   Deb's poetry rocks in my book!   

I managed to eek out one of my old poems (I have no new ones) and the crowd seemed to understand and enjoy it.   I could have shown them more obscure poems but why bother?  I like the choice that I read to them:



At Dawn...the Heart
of hope, and light-ray steel-drawn bliss
dust-rings circle the hemisphere where life abounds
steeped in folkloric pain and offal
 
Smoke stacks groan under cardinal waves of sun
consider the dawn and it's subtle nuances
sheathed and breath and flame
alive with fire and time.
 
Shot forth from the great lion of a watchful morning
Dawn. Welcome friend. Salvador Madre...
    glisten and haunt...

   the purple madness of the dark!

 
At dawn...The heart
awaken with the smooth nylon transition to morning
complete the combustion of time’s massive engine
seize the world and make it watch,
your ancient show.
 
 AB 97 - 2008


They seemed to enjoy the poem as well.  Since the hour was getting late,  all us old poets and non-poets filtered our way home to our respective houses,   and will perceive and view the basics of life,  just as we all have done before.   Year after year after year... 

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