Poems

by
Scott Watson

October, 2015

Copyright 2015 Scott Watson

all rights reserved

swbotl@jcom.home.ne.jp

Close together small houses

set on concrete block. Power
lines from grey poles. Cracked
narrow asphalt streets--far from
a beautiful neighborhood design.
Lived simply, quietly, beauty is.

Waterfall
smoothing
rocks
soothing
thoughts
soothing
mind me

AROUND THE WORLD MEMORIAL DAYS

This nation is honoring its war

dead who killed that other nation's
soldiers. Another nation is honoring
their war dead for killing our nation's
soldiers and nations all over the world
are endlessly honoring and honoring.

POLITICAL POEM

The candidates. The lesser

and lesser evil. Then lesser
still. Until there is no evil left,
and no government. All good.

We can be
anything
for each other:
mother
father
sister
brother
Aunt Mildred
partner
friend
lover.
We are
amor
phously
all

BEFORE ITS TOO LATE

We want to experience what we've never

done or had before, or what we once had
or did but now it's gone. We think we've
missed out, feel life will leave us to wither
without our ever being watered by passion
again. At a loss, we want, we want. Alive.

God, if at
all, is now,
here. Just
as we are,
aren't we?

 [YJINB: PROTECTOR, BODY GUARD]

A stray cat that comes

for meals lies on grass
in a back yard, evening
breeze, settling silence.

Grey morning humid just

before day's bustle waiting
for a bus. Breeze moves
slightly high green grasses
on which a dog pees, not
knowing it'll be in my poem,
not caring. Very much like me.

Up in the sky radiation

from Fukushima meets
radiation from Chernobyl.
"Hi! How's business?"

With my dying breath

will I ask what life means
or will I try to breathe?

On benches under
park trees
homeless old
timers lounging
with their gear.
If their grimy faces
appeared in a
painting that costs
a lot of money
would they be
welcome in your
home?

Impenetrably naked air-bathing poem

EEL DAY

Placing the still

live and writhing
eel on a board,
securing it by a
pick stuck through
its head, a chef
tries to keep an
eel straight so
he can slice
its flesh away.

OPEN A WINDOW

To fart and pretend nothing

happened then make a poem
where nothing really happens.

Out of the cage of race, of nationality,

of ethnic group, Post-Human--at last
can we be however sweet nothing is?

Wading into a sea-a town behind me

half washed away-to feel this ocean,
to have no regret.

Knowing itself is denial.

Where does knowledge
come from? What was
there before there was
anything to know? I am
getting older. So I'm told.
They say I must accept
my aging. If I don't deny
it, what is there to accept?
All there is to know deny.

In my nature's depths there is

nothing in particular I know of
going on other than being in
my own breath but even here
what can I possibly offer you?
Thus I am, essentially. This
is my enlightenment: Nothing
world changing that will get
your heart beating or make
your eyes tear, nothing
to speak words of wisdom of.
But then there is all I don't
know which is all the wisdom
there is to life and death.

There was a land the people of which decided to be responsible citizens,

compassionate human beings, after which there was no longer any need
for government, for corporations, for police. People became happy.

Did number one son ever

want the world his parents
brought him to? There was
no natural interest in the
boy's life scene with sports
or fishing. He saw no
reason for schooling as
it was presented and was
not taken by a program of
moral correctness, but
what else coming from
a world was there? All
he could do was witness.
Hide and witness.

THE GENTLEMEN

There they all are, shaking hands, patting shoulders. Cleanly dressed. The
good people, the fine people; educated, in possession of rationality and
high moral values. Men of stature, men of state. Some aspire to join their
club that is called Civilization.
Just as becoming a member of certain LA gangs requires killing someone
in a rival gang, becoming civilized requires some barbaric act such as
exterminating millions or incinerating entire cities.

PARADISE

It's sitting on a lotus blossom. Above, yet born of,

a world's various confusions. It isn't necessarily
a bad world. It isn't necessarily a good world. It's a
world that isn't necessarily anything at all when
visions blossom that are all of you.

DON'T TOUCH ME!

If we knew what life

is like would we agree
to come out of a womb?

Birds still sing. Flowers

still bloom. We humans
have no choice: Rejoice!

A city's night lit up, life

is there. Love in many
forms is there. Days
alive with movement
laughter play people
shooting breeze now
is smoking ruins why

Reaching into sky

the money towers
heavily deployed

It is peaceful here silence

so deeply flowing that even
being does not debilitate

TICK TOCK

What if it was a bomb the boy

took to school? Bombs don't
kill people. People kill people.

-- Brought to you by The National Bomb Association

(((The United States Government)))

Nevermore
will this nation war.
So went the pledge.
So reads the law.
That's the f/law
with governments all:
there is no silence.

Natural disaster.
Nuclear disaster.
National disaster.

More tourists than ever.

Come, yes, while
there's something left.

This life that's me

is not an old man's life
is not a young man's life.
It's life's life this living me.
I'm as old as young as now can be.

RAIN-KU (based on Renku)

Rain rain rain rain rain

Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain

Cupping you
these hands
mountain stream

WHAT
EVER

Unapologetic for being

insufficiently whatever
this nearly full moon &
I weathering whatever.

IT'S ALL IN THE VOICE

Myth this, truth that. Where

we're all from. A frog croaks
without fabrication.

Izanagi and Izanami dropped substance

from heaven into sea. That became land.
kuni-nushi, Daikoku-sama, fashioned it
into what became a nation. Somewhere
else a spotted eagle showed the Spotted
Eagle Tribe where to live and how. Groups
have beliefs. Humans can believe and set
forth anything we choose. I'm from Poem
Land, which is where there is before there
was anywhere to be from. My original home
is voice. It is a voice of life. It is a voice of
death. It is the voice of voice, no choice.

Waiting for something to happen

then something does then you're
sorry it did then realize nothing is
better than something to wait for.

Without desiring to be free

of passions autumn gusts, fading leaves

A neighbor next door

running a vacuum cleaner
autumn sky

A universe's
loneliness is
me too even
asking what's
for dinner.

Seeing life in a favorable light

or seeing life in an unfavorable
light. Preparation for a journey.
Which vision will be gentle wind?

Sendai, Japan
Oct. 2015

Scott Watson