Nomad Whispers by Dean Okamura

Nomad whispers: 

a wandering libretto

Dean Okamura

 

Nomad whispers

 

You start with silence, 

and then silence moves faster. 

You wait, 

clutching your latest present, 

walking down the street 

until you come to a point. 

Will you drop everything and listen to … 

 

fresh, free silence. 

 

She doesn’t know 

what she is waiting for. 

Looking off into distant places 

beyond the horizon, 

something appears in the blue sky. 

Could it be? 

The long-awaited lover? 

Could it be? 

The long-awaited teacher? 

Could it be? 

Just another fool? 

 

An angel passes, 

colored wings fluttering in the air, 

blowing sweet, gentle breezes and … 

 

that’s all we ever felt. 

 

 

Man’s drifting 

 

The homeless man 

pushed his precious cart. 

A bandana 

bound to sweating brow. 

 

Steps quickened a- 

cross the parking lot, past 

rows of autos. 

He dodged as they drove by. 

 

Our planet 

among celestial bodies 

must seem a- 

drift like the homeless man. 

 

All these con- 

sequences of unchecked 

Eons of 

the pleasures of Man. 

 

Withered leaves 

scattered in the Evil wind. 

 

 

Wrappers of conflict

 

It is not a war. 

     Super scary space aliens are not invading, 

          and your neighbor is not your enemy. 

     He doesn't have all the answers you need. 

Tonight was not a win, 

     but made everything worse. 

It is not a war. 

     Ultra-violent immigrants are not invading, 

           and your government is not your enemy. 

      She doesn't have all the answers we need. 

Tonight was not a win, 

     but made hope sail away. 

It is not a war. 

      Big bad Communist China is not invading, 

           and your teachers are not your enemy. 

     They don't have all the answers our world needs. 

Tonight was not a win, 

     but made bleak verses get longer. 

 

Reviving Ichabod

 

A scream of anguish rocked the Land, 

disturbing the peace of the Land, and 

the Land resisted as we (greedy) people 

tore society into pieces, into factions, 

destroying hard earned achievements 

forged with sweat and tears. 

I am starting where I am, 

holding what remains. 

The Land swept clean, and 

the Land waits while 

its dead laid to rest and 

creation forgets — 

four times fallow with 

deep barren wells 

and lost rains 

kidnapped away. 

 

Harvest seasons are past. 

The Land spent. 

We enter an era of reclamation. 

Not times of blessing, 

but glory departed, and 

we name our sons Ichabod. 

We are starting where we are, 

holding what good remains. 

 

Sunrise

 

let's destroy monsters of fear 

liberation from chaos 

play in clouds of joy 

at least in corners 

of our minds 

 

Tranquility tanka

 

a veteran 

comes with a damaged spirit 

to the garden 

she stops by a peaceful pool 

under red maple branches 

A silent splash haiku

 

a silent splash 

and this roaring breeze wash 

my stagnant heart 

 

To push us

 

There is something to learn from 

          the elderly man 

                    walking with a cane, 

in the slow pace 

the quiet determination. 

He moves untied to the energy of 

          his grandchildren 

                    dancing in their seats 

talking, laughing while 

eating their food. 

So easy to be enchanted by the children. 

Easier to look away from the old man. 

Ignore the crowds of people rushing around. 

It's then we see the diversity of 

          people moving 

                    at different paces 

in their life journey 

in this marketplace. 

Yet, today, the silent cane strikes loud 

          it strikes us how 

                    it does not thud, 

not to push him 

nor power each step. 

We imagine the cane has become 

          invisible to him 

                    a level of protection, 

reestablish balance 

avert total collapse. 

His demeanor shows he accepts 

          his faithful body 

                    despite its weakness, 

today's troubles 

will be settled. 

He has advanced to another decade 

          found peace where 

                    worry once reigned, 

solace in a time of 

constant chaos. 

We asked him, what was the greatest 

          lesson that you learned 

                    during your lifetime? 

He stared at the wall 

put his hand in his pocket. 

The elderly man walked without a word, 

          paused, turned 

                    toward us, 

smiled and said, 

I know nothing. 

I know nothing. Excuse me, 

          we are going to the park. 

                    I have to push 

my grandkids 

on the swings. 

 

 

oak (haibun: haiku with prose) 

 

I sit at a cafe. Constant noises of business and loud voices rumble like a factory. 

Meanwhile, a large silent oak tree sways in late afternoon sunlight. It has no big plans for today or tomorrow. This tree stands tall with total absence of attention getting. It is stability amidst a changing world, reaching every direction, even behind my ears, and before me …

the oak stands tall 

silent witness to the changing 

parade of life 

 

it could have been

 

I saw 

the poet 

transfixed 

along 

the lakeshore 

crescent moon 

rising 

sparkles 

of gold 

on water 

it 

could 

have been 

stardust 

or 

brilliant 

poems 

 

Natural connection

 

Sometimes, we die 

and go back to a time before 

the world built libraries, before 

books about science, before 

holy revelations, before 

civilizations, before 

tales to calm our troubling doubts. 

Did the sun shine truer? 

Were Spring rains purer? 

When animals ran, 

did they run straighter? 

After the amazement fades 

from moments of natural absorption, 

the mind tries to conquer 

what the captivated soul felt. 

Perhaps to brag, 

else to understand, 

returning us to the present 

era of libraries. 

When we complete the books, 

we feel more lost. 

Regret we chose 

the latest fashion 

over primeval connections 

we shared in earlier ignorance.