Memoirs In Verse

This poem is dedicated to unwilling butterflies everywhere. Listen to: Chrysanthemum's Song The season's first typhoon brought violent winds, And drenching torrents of storm-driven rain. Most people had gone home and left the streets, The shops and traders’ stalls, the bars and clubs Deserted, save for butterflies like me. While Mama-san cursed at the angry storm, I sang romantic ballads to my friends, And brushed aside their gentle-hearted teasing. The saddest songs soothed our wasted lives, And tightly bound our bonds of friendship. I sang a sad and bitter song of grief, Of a girl in bondage craving freedom, Denied her life, the chattel chooses death, And from her owner steals a vicious knife, And awaits her time to die—that girl was me. A young man appeared alone at our door As Mama-san worried at her profit. She'd gladly see the honest seaman skinned, She fussed and grumbled at the pouring rain, And led him childlike, by the hand to me. Before I left the stage to please

Listen to: Clydeside Steel It's better my faith rests with Clydeside steel,  than heaven's careless, unworthy deity,    for how fickle and uncertain He remains.  When winter’s seas reach out in frenzied rage, to test my abiding faith's resolve, I will rely upon those who forged this steel  to endure the cold and dark of winter days, for by their skill they've earned my well-found faith.  At the winter's end must spring emerge, from skies as grim and black as granite tors, and her fury give way to kinder seas, when boisterous spring wears only veils of rain that flutter in the season's breeze. Until then—and after— I'll keep my faith in Clydeside steel.