Tag Archives: poetry

Original poetry and translations of poetry. © Warren M Tang.

i see what you mean

if it is not with your eyes,
then what is it that you see
the world with?

some say
you see
with your mind.

if so, then why did god
bother with giving us eyes
in the first place?

the “mind’s eye”
is a great metaphor, but
in there it shall remain.

for words can do this –
make things appear
from paper thin air

and their appearance, it
may linger in the wind or
on the page for far too long.

God’s Imperfection

Time is important. 
Change and difference create value. 
God means nothing without man. 
The imperfections of man generates 
the perfection of God.

Yet, God’s perfection 
is nothing and everything. 
For that is the power 
of a knowledge that comes 
from nowhere.

halfway through the show

forever, we come in
“halfway through the show”.
never to go back
to the beginning of time,
to our parents’ birth or
even to the last minute
or second that had just past.
for that is time’s character.

there is neither reverse to reality,
nor fast forward, but only ‘play’
we must live with it, deal with it,
but also enjoy the show while it’s on.

still in the shadows

where is the law
when the law
is standing over you
and standing on you,

that a man can die
for no better reason
than for his colour
simply is unfathomable.

one has to wonder
why so little
has been learnt
all this time,

all these centuries.
how can someone be a threat
when one is cooperative,
patient and forgiving

only to be toyed with
then killed, murdered
as it were
in the darkness

that was apparently
not dark enough
for it to be captured
on film, as if

we do not have enough
evidence already
that racism is still
hiding in the shadows.

white paper from the start

a blank slate
or white paper –
our minds are
from the start
like this.

a mind
without sense-experience
will continue to be
a blank slate.
no perception,
conception, or signification
is possible
unless
we have
the initial
sense-experience.

Chemtrails, Beck

hollow awe followed by
the complete decadence
of drums

the scene is set in cold
cold waters
what exactly is happening
only we can guess

to be sure
the throng of people
is imagined
like a painting by Bosch
only in my mind
in psychedelic blue

no conspiracies here
just airy travel trails
high, up in the stratosphere

wild guitars stop abruptly
only to fade in once more
the drummer boy
not wanting to end

the euphoria of music
must continue