I Have this Garden of Poems






full of flowers that bloom
at first
and then carried away with my greenthumb
i planted everything
trees and more trees and shrubs and bamboos
and vines and hanging plants

almost everything
and so the blooming flowers died
and the grasses diminishing like some
hair of this baldness

but nothing is lost in this garden of poems
the birds came and built their nests
some are still coming
every morning
and then the chirping begins





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Is There Any Truth in Beauty?


Is there any truth in Beauty?
What of the lies beauty tells thee?

Could my beauty not be as worthy
As I make thy Beauty part of me?

Such is Beauty as to make one's sight loud.
This beauty that veils our sense in a shroud.

beauty: that which deters seeing the person.
Does Beauty not conceal what is and isn't?

Yet merciless time holds beauty as a hostage,
Defiles Beauty and scars it with lasting ravage.

Thus the years that pass send Beauty to its resting-place
For vain beauty will yield, to woefully fall from grace.

If beauty should ever lament on age's cruelty,
Let not Beauty forget how little it has wept for me.



Ronberge (anno secundo)

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