Love Is Patient

Love is

A child who crosses a desert on barefoot.
Without the end in sight.

The child doesn’t believe the rumor that
The Earth is round so
The child gets closer to the small wish that
Is buried just beneath the horizon.

The child walks and walks on and on.
It is childish

Love.

Once Upon a Time in a Forest…

Long, long ago
Doesn’t matter how long,
Since it is too long for him anyway.
A boy played in a forest far from the world
Nobody couldn’t get to that secret place but
A small trail was wide open for the boy
Who was looking for a small cute pond for a cool bath
The boy, now a man, has a huge regret.
He didn’t explore the forest enough to remember
All the corners in detail.
He should have emitted his cherished desire.
He could have plunged in the pond without thinking.
Ah! He couldn’t enjoy the scenery, the touch, the smell, the sound
Of the forest and his relative youth,
‘Cause the cruel world suppressed his passion.
Now he misses the forest and wants to go there again,
Which is beyond his grasp.
He paints the forest and its small pond and
Hang it on the dark corner of his mind,
Wishing it were a real picture of the still wide open forest and
His sacred pond untouched by savage beasts.

Greedy Mary (Luke 1: 28-38)

I return to the past and am roaming around the Nazareth area.
I’ve found I believe I am a prophet.
I stop by a small house.
Through the window I can see a young girl praying.
She surely is Mary…
I yell in front of the window, “Anybody home?”

Mary stops praying and open the door to greet me.
“Who are you?  What brings you here?”

I tell her with an austere manner,
“I am a prophet from the future and I’ve been sent to deliver God’s message.”

May’s face brightens and says,
“Please come in…”

When I sit, Mary asks me with a curious look,
“What message do you bring here?”

I say with a cheerful voice,
“Mary, you are the blessed one”

Coming closer to me, Mary whispers,
“What kind of blessing will be given to me?”

I clear my throat and proclaim solemnly,
“God says Messiah will come to this world through you.”

May replies with a bit disappointed look,
“You say the child by my fiancé Joseph will become Messiah?
We’re still far away from getting married”

I straighten my posture and proclaim again like a thunder,
“Not the child by your fiancée.
This child is God’s son and he will come to your body through the Holy Spirit.”

Mary doesn’t bother to hide her joy and says,
“Then this means I will be pregnant with God’s son.”

I ask her with a concerned look,
“If a woman who doesn’t know man were pregnant, she could be killed.”

Mary says with a confident look,
“If the child is really God’s son, that wouldn’t happen.
I can take that risk if I can become the Mother of God.”

I am a bit shocked and say,
“Are you sure you understand the message?”

With two hands together, Mary says,
“May God’s word to me be fulfilled.”

Confused and foggy, I leave Mary’s house.

Mary was ready.
Out of spiritual greed and/or a modicum of secular vanity and
With something like passion-of-the-Christ,
She was getting thoroughly ready to
Take Messiah in her body
Even though she knew her life was in danger.

No wonder she said ‘yes’ without hesitation
When the angel delivered God’s message,
As depicted in the Bible.

A Hardcore

I sent her my picture.
It showed nothing but my core
That had been hanging tough
In my entire whole life.
She pretended to ignore
By not responding to my hardcore.
Perhaps she wanted to say ‘enough’
And show her eager interests in my sacrosanct stuff.
But I knew she was feigning sacred softcore.
Her passion should come to the fore!
She would send her picture of holy ever-hidden slough.
Then I could be rejoiced in despair.
I pushed her in my dark memory and latched the door,
Out of fear of my dream’s coming true.

Smelling Rose

I smell not-so-cheap perfume
From a rose climbing up the hill.
In three years, it will be over the hill
But still looks young
And hopefully not infested with too many butterflies.

I am not under a delusion on a gigantic scale
That the rose’s been awaiting me
For almost four decades.
Rather I might be in a fantasy
That the rose might be attracted to me
Or even it is blowing its pollen to my direction.

Ah! Unfortunately enough I have an odd feeling
That I am losing interests in roses.
Then I should call it a daffodil?
Not easy to give my innate habit to my dog,
I smell daffodil!

Or I feel September in August.
I have a pink Rose.
I had but lost a cosmos in early summer.
I have a strong sunflower too.
So it’s a daffodil?

That is why it’s alone but doesn’t look lonely.
But I am still smelling rose.

I am a male feminist.

A scary conversation between a father and a daughter;

Father:        Women are taking over the world

Daughter:    You don’t have to worry about it.  You won’t live that long.

Father:        Well, I don’t think my life would be affected by that, but
I have a general concern.  That shouldn’t happen.”

Daughter:    David should worry about it.

Father:        Looks like he doesn’t worry at all.
He thinks that won’t happen in his lifetime.
And even if it happened, he thinks he can survive…

Daughter:    Wishful thinking…  He is a laidback optimist.

Father:         Yeah, It might come a lot earlier than we think.
But, I don’t care.  I am a male feminist as you know.

Daughter:    I should take mom’s maiden name.

Father:      Sure!  Go ahead!  I don’t mind.

Daughter:    Looks like you are well-prepared.

Father:      So, are you going to jump on the feminist bandwagon?

Daughter:   I am not a feminist.
I just take advantage of feminist movement to my benefit.

Father:       Smart girl!  Just like your father!

Well, witnessing my daughter’s embracing attitude toward women’s conspiracy to take over the world, my thought wouldn’t seem as preposterous as it appears.  Too bad!  I might not have a chance to see the brave-and-feminine new world.  Come to think of it, why don’t I go ahead and help make that world come earlier?  I am a male feminist anyway….

Eve

Her voice sounds cute.
Her accented English makes her even sexy.
Her name is Eve but is she Eve from the Garden of Eden?
She is not naked but may want to shed her clothes,
Being seduced by my sultry baritone
Imbued with fluently accented Minnesotan English.
How old is she?
6,000 years or multi-million years?
Or simply 30-something Earth years?
Am I Adam tempted by Eve?
Or just a plain man hungry for a passion?
She might be an ugly short Asian-Californian
She might be a beautiful Asian-American and
Is a target for white trashes looking for exotic sex?
Why am I writing this?
‘Cause I am one of those kinds….