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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