Tibet Is Not In Peru She calls home to Aba from monks in the teahouse – mad Han hegemony awry Odd call I’m confused, heard Odd call home. She She seems to know Tibet Not a Westerner Speaks of forty days and forty nights Odd call home. She will not peruse the news She’s singing sweetly Seems she News of spring colors and flights. In China No calls, Tell me if a llama died greeting Molly of Lhasa Tibet Is Detached My cherished Lhasa Apso spearing Tibet Compassionate ones, A gamble on diplomacy A dialysis is For the tourists’ amusement But let us be Why would the world The Autonomous Evil Of China While some are wise enough I have found Mao Must I speak to Han shopkeepers in Lhasa Wang Zhongyong Yuan Qinghai The science of the missile, I know nothing of Lhasa I know Tibetans Maybe I have strayed, but
Sichuan Province, China
to hear the brooding
many dead in Tibet, from Lhasa
protests spread
with soldiers and
agent provocateurs
uniforms and robes
plainclothes
home. She sells
Buddhist statues still,
swears she doesn’t know
the Dalai Lama
she wants to
go to Peru
speaks in riddles.
is not Peru
she’s a Tibetan, yet
with biblical aspirations
140 dead, and
it seems she seeks
to go to Peru
from Lhasa,
or even Aba
or Luhuo.
Sichuan food for thought.
on the phone in English
an old Irish song,
“cockles and mussels
are dead in Peru.”
An odd call is this. Arresting…
might be going to
a re-education camp for torture
to learn spelling and about
Szechuan Restaurants in Peru
Aba green with
a flood of soldiers.
Whirlybirds hover.
she sells
Buddhist statues still
with cockles and mussels
alive in Peru
merry or odd. I
wonder
how is Peru?
on the high road
sweet and narrow
in spirit alive
my culture’s watchdog,
you are dead by Chinese
poison dog food
imported, trade imposed
stirring the air
with political pollutions
javelins
to teãr a tear
from fallen monks
shot in cultural genocide
we are the only true
clique for justice
is failing
like a kidney
on Chinese heparin
to bet Tibet
in a card game
with Artists of War
and propaganda
an atheistic clique
with bullets
let them people
the autonomous puppet government
with the buffoonery of their claque
the only true clique
left alone
for our prayers
and daily walk
be a lap dog
to search for the next
reincarnation of the Dalai Lama,
I am not, but
as a fly in a spider web
Tse Tung, or indulge
the tongue of my hatred
by laughing at he
who teachers mocked,
the angry secularist who
revenged himself by
collecting grievances, in
confusion, hate for relics,
for Religion, for Buddhism,
who is caught
in a spider web?
speak with condescension
of Tibetans they call
unworthy and lazy
ungrateful for smokestacks
calls us
“white-eyed wolves”
a Lhasa taxi driver
calls us filthy
not clean
like Han on their high tanks,
we on our horses
the rocket, entices
the Han jackals to embrace
the harmony and unity
of delusion
while plainclothes police lurk
have died
how would I know –
all my elders are dead, and
in ignorance of my faith I cry
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Archive for March, 2008
Tibet Collection
Tibet Is Not In Peru
She calls home to Aba from monks in the teahouse – mad Han hegemony awry Odd call I’m confused, heard Odd call home. She She seems to know Tibet Not a Westerner Speaks of forty days and forty nights Odd call home. She will not peruse the news She’s singing sweetly Seems she News of spring colors and flights. In China No calls, Tell me if a llama died greeting Molly of Lhasa
Sichuan Province, China
to hear the brooding
many dead in Tibet, from Lhasa
protests spread
with soldiers and
agent provocateurs
uniforms and robes
plainclothes
home. She sells
Buddhist statues still,
swears she doesn’t know
the Dalai Lama
she wants to
go to Peru
speaks in riddles.
is not Peru
she’s a Tibetan, yet
with biblical aspirations
140 dead, and
it seems she seeks
to go to Peru
from Lhasa,
or even Aba
or Luhuo.
Sichuan food for thought.
on the phone in English
an old Irish song,
“cockles and mussels
are dead in Peru.”
An odd call is this. Arresting…
might be going to
a re-education camp for torture
to learn spelling and about
Szechuan Restaurants in Peru
Aba green with
a flood of soldiers.
Whirlybirds hover.
she sells
Buddhist statues still
with cockles and mussels
alive in Peru
merry or odd. I
wonder
how is Peru?
on the high road
sweet and narrow
in spirit alive
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
The Fire of the New Bhutan
Glory to Bhutan Skillful diplomacy, Chinese hordes have The dragon fires Celebrating the vote of freedom, Allow every fool to debate. Honor the King Let the winners be humble, let them remember a silent love, Sunrise and rain. Let even corrupt winners see
last Buddhist Kingdom,
you honor the world by
preserving your heritage
politeness to India,
has buffered
the titans of super power
overrun Tibet
not Bhutan
have not allowed
such cruelty
remember to bless and teach
allies and opponents
to love the country
more than ambition,
to serve the people,
save the idealists
from the jackals
who hijack
young democracies
with the orderly slogans
of Stalin and Mao.
Laughter will sort it all out.
with a revolution of joy.
consolidate the humility they left
in pieces to campaign, let them
a unity of family,
to forgive and rejoice,
begin honorably
the rainbow, embracing the joy
their family will endow,
if they will share
in the magnificence of birth
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Secret Limerick
A depression to drink to a war She can try, she can lie, she can cry For a form unadorned, my forlorn For a whisper, she has died Release her soul I pray,
pusillanimous Chamberlain awed
but an Anschluss to ‘eight
‘oslovakia bait
the appeasement a launch for the war
for a list, for a tryst, kiss good-bye
a seduction of course
for ‘r freedom enforced
but as spies all the beautiful die
undertaken by sorrow at dawn
is to lay under death
for a world unimpressed
only she, if for me, would’ve mourned
a seduction in a
broken rhyme
but brave one:
I miss you
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
The Autonomous Evil Of China
While some are wise enough I have found Mao Must I speak to Han shopkeepers in Lhasa Wang Zhongyong Yuan Qinghai The science of the missile, I know nothing of Lhasa I know Tibetans Maybe I have strayed, but
to search for the next
reincarnation of the Dalai Lama,
I am not, but
as a fly in a spider web
Tse Tung, or indulge
the tongue of my hatred
by laughing at he
who teachers mocked,
the angry secularist who
revenged himself by
collecting grievances, in
confusion, hate for relics,
for Religion, for Buddhism,
who is caught
in a spider web?
speak with condescension
of Tibetans they call
unworthy and lazy
ungrateful for smokestacks
calls us
“white-eyed wolves”
a Lhasa taxi driver
calls us filthy
not clean
like Han on their high tanks,
we on our horses
the rocket, entices
the Han jackals to embrace
the harmony and unity
of delusion
while plainclothes police lurk
have died
how would I know –
all my elders are dead, and
in ignorance of my faith I cry
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Tibet Is Detached
My cherished Lhasa Apso spearing Tibet Compassionate ones, A gamble on diplomacy A dialysis is For the tourists’ amusement But let us be Why would the world
my culture’s watchdog,
you are dead by Chinese
poison dog food
imported, trade imposed
stirring the air
with political pollutions
javelins
to teãr a tear
from fallen monks
shot in cultural genocide
we are the only true
clique for justice
is failing
like a kidney
on Chinese heparin
to bet Tibet
in a card game
with Artists of War
and propaganda
an atheistic clique
with bullets
let them people
the autonomous puppet government
with the buffoonery of their claque
the only true clique
left alone
for our prayers
and daily walk
be a lap dog
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Throbbing In Crevices
Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch Broken down in Sugar Ditch The documentary camera came I pulled out my crying rag Honking horns daring me But no one told me I reached the skyscrapers After lightning struck this New York Mortar thoughts around me But a steam pipe was hissing Jaws of life jacking time Thought I heard, And when I sang right out Oh magical girl, Now I dream of you deeply: To whinny, my dream horse gallops, your You journey through my mind, your beauty in the hunt I have traveled into you– When I awake to you
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads
to dream away from poverty,
I bent my trumpets to heaven’s ears
evil flies to me
every place I go, and
King Sorrow would reign
over sovereign hopes
a tourist of bad timing
had to be the highest
place to see heaven
aside from you
I was lying under debris,
my quilted sorrow bristling
with cast off bricks
being so damn mortal, I
could be thundered away
to the heavenly scene
while lifted stones flew away
like missles whistling
choruses of dusty blues
they slid my body out in time
let the building collapse on through
old Joplin singin’
more on Earth
will be slapping you
if you
dodge more bullets
from another fool
across the clapping crowds,
my best laid blues
went right to you,
New York girl
in a rabbit hat
my new love,
you kissed the breeze
made illusions
fondle my wishes
my salvation laughing everywhere
giggling jiggling in my cortex,
cerebral fondness hunting for you
in pulsing fibers
embedded in desire
throbbing in crevices
of nerve-cell books,
passions hiding in no man’s nook.
scampering mind dancer,
doing wild animal tangos. I embrace
to capture your essence;
my dogs sense your scent,
a presence so foxy,
they transcend all knowing
rockin’ and rollin’ in serotonin.
touch me there
where thoughts are real
and lightning tingles fine:
hats off to
everlasting good times
I am in heaven
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Scratching Sounds
I don’t want a cat I put out I don’t want a cat Purrs don’t Mice carried But purrs don’t A mouse hopped It looked at me I don’t want a cat. I can’t afford a dog, and I’ve never liked I don’t want a cat. Rat poison I’m not fooled – I don’t want a cat.
that’s not loyal
not affectionate
always
the rat poison, but
I’m looking at
a vein, and
death seems so pleasant
next to
the dead mice
in my refrigerator,
a leaky cold box
that’s been
peaking my
electric bill
who knows not
how a couple
of humans love
fool
loneliness
green pellets of rat poison
into my oven
claw out
loneliness
in spasms
across my carpet
flipped on its back
and died
no woman would want
a dog like me
green food
they dye green
for distinction, but
every dog has
his green meal day
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Amendment And Declaration of Client 9
I am more than Client 9 , Whereas all men are every male politician In petition to Divine Providence As adequate food But, my wife,
due respect, like
The Declaration Of Independence*
and thus, in hubris, I say:
created with lust
without love
with anxiety
and the burdens of office
is endowed
by his Creator
with inalienable rights
to a mistress
who shall call on him like
a legislative body
a beauty, discreet
“distant from
the depository of his
public records … “*
and the Crown of hypocrisy
in the “rectitude of our intentions” *
we do as the creatures
of our Creator
proscribe that
Congress shall make
no connubial law
prohibiting the free exercise
of inter-body intercourse
across state-
-of-consciousness boundaries
is the right of all men,
“they are absolved from all
allegiance to the Crown” * of marriage
when the sexual bread
is unlike cake
I am an idiot
not to diet in
the abundance
of your love
with a simple request that
you would have granted
gladly like giddy children
in play,
if only my
arrogance hadn’t
stood so tall
*(out of context quotes) from A Declaration by The Representatives of the United States of America in General Congress Assembled July 4, 1776:
“…The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having, in direct object, the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these States. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world: –
…He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant form the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures…”
“…We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in general Congress assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by the authority of the good people of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies… of right ought to be, free and independent states: that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown…“
…”
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Blubber
The psychic woman She had a fifth Seeing her collapsing, She knew me at last– Turning from beige to blue
had showed her
rough seas ahead,
said beware the tides
and flowing kisses,
but that seemed like
shallow waters to her
her thick handkerchief
mopping up her eyes
highly high on her trumpeted mope
slipped on her poor spilled
cocktail of his love kisses
lost crawling
across the stage
where she was to sing beige
before a sea of mahogony tables
over drunks and hecklers
sticky stinky beckoning
bass strings plucking her heart
blubbering
woe tale wagging about him
the bragging whale
who blew his spout
and left her high and dry.
I could not bear her despair,
rose to say,
“I have always loved you,”
and we all stood,
hecklers and all,
to beg the last song
kissed me, the little one
caressing the mike,
she rasped in weeping harmonies
“Stand for me
the stood-up one;
harpoon my love and
sail me to the Port,
wine me down mellow,
me, a cello solo
singing this tale of prophecy:
the big ones get away, and
the little ones stay.”
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
