On the Banks of the Blue River

By George Freek

ON THE BANKS OF THE BLUE RIVER 
(After Mei Yaochen* )

A goose floats on the river,
so near I can almost touch him.
In an ugly mood, he honks at me.
It’s what he has to say.
On this wind-blown day,
leaves fall, denuding the trees.
I can’t see that wind,
but I feel its chilling breeze.
We only know what
we can see. But who sees
the atoms in a cup of tea?
Life is a brief fantasy.
Fat clouds drift insouciantly,
then disappear. The river
wanders ambiguously,
until it’s finally swallowed
by a distant sea. I gaze
at it with querulous eyes,
And see confusion,
but that is only me.
and I’m just a momentary illusion.

*Mei Yaochen (1002-1060) Poet of the Song Dynasty

George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.

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