like father like son

my poetry is very similiar to my father's.
He has recently changed his style and I am now adopting and adapting it.
I love him and his amazing vision.

Dad's poem

my dad wrote this poem. he used a short story of mine as his inspiration.





nothing was there

brown tie his loosen
polished amonia
gibberish terrif
ying
spitting
alleys catching up to me
bitch like a stung hollered bolted
ac
ross honk
ed cars
screeched skin
flesh te aring
my self over crotch
tree trunks
watermelons pointe
d
nose smiling a wrapped a
nkle
behind a wall hidden torture toys
on the ground bl
ood i
breathed cold air conditioned air
initial surge died hobbled
halls my waist no
thing
there
clean wrists
fogged memory
of me take care
nothing was there
swung head i my on
th
e floor
keep movingflatonmyback
i couldn't hear anyone
my feet at saw him
it ended
and i was a gorilla
playing three decker c
hess
head floating down in cement
winning money
it

- gishi bian
- robert payne
30 april 2008

well your revised edition of this paper was again full of images
i could use!
it was a completely different paper
polished
thoughtful changes
exciting
well done
i noted it was a bit longer
it seemed like a slice of turkey from the breast
just a eye into a longer piece
leaves one wondering and wanting more
i hope you like my poetic version
i started from the end
and went up
reversed some things and added an ending
comments welcome
love love love dad

thunder

thunder
clapssmile

a scarf a
hooded sweatshirt
he has a beard and
the other knows it
all; metaphysics as a pillow.
the last one is French
and I'm just learning.

unimaginably arrogant,
pretentious, and elegant.

teeth chat
er and we breath
e our hands.

she me

a frog to the sewer and over the drain while the trees
up in the air and back with the leaves.
She me and kisses while
mine are closed,
but still
she me with her smiling eyes.

she loves

she loves
(jowls lift &
smile);
gray messy-clean
listening eyes
and Tiffany's scarves

laughing to laugh

laughing to laugh
silhouettes
give life,
ocean
snow dash
es tomorrow

Black&White Poster

Joe cool glasses
die young
fastquick &
smooth

bearded smile

bearded smile
pay attention!
enviable genius&
sadcalm eyes
see happy
ness

self

it sits within
to be without

whites dust

whites dust
crawls
t
o
night;
the worlds forever
and&
then

Seven

Seven
enough
if tired,
unless an uncomfortable
chair, whenwhere
ever
I'm able
(ever
ywhere)

Now you can't talk

Now you can't talk
to a tree who stands
with both feet standing in
the air

Two, twisting to one.

Two, twisting to one.
Writhing, delicate and smooth.
Hushed moans of bliss and love's lust.
Bated breaths of passion on young breasts,
timid fingers, timid flesh.

A kiss of the lips, and they heave their chests

Raven Poem (part 2)

Senior Year, 2007

oh!



That raven slipped, and
oh! how gloriously
she swooped.
I watched with a creeping smile as
she finally plunged from her
steadfast perch, sliding beautifully
s
o
u
t
h.
She tilted, rocked
then dropped;
spread awkwardly her lovely wings
and glided downward
lyrically.

Raven Poem (part 1)

Senior Year, 2007

a Raven will Never slip



Thirty8 ravens rest ahead,
in the road I see them
cock-cock-cocking along.
I walk,
they stop.
I stop,
they fly.

Adoration is nothing but a twist of a lovely knife in
in a pathetic/needful heart,
guised in, well...
hmpf.
There is no disguise.

Infatuation becomes obsession,
a bane of existence/
an identity (?)
Who are you, who are you, really?

Really?

I don't believe you.
What makes you want me?;
what makes you want it even
more?
And what when it is no longer it, but that, what then?
Will you want that more than them?
and when will (if ever) it [that] be me [them]?

(Yes, Selfish, I know)


Now 20nine ravens sit,
wobbling along the tree branches deftly.
Yet I still wonder,
impatiently hoping one will slip,

No. It won't happen.

I'll wishandhopeand cross my fingers, but

a Raven will Never slip

and I won't get what I want.

Four short poems

in my Intro to Poetry class at
Macalester College, 2007.

1.
4:08pm

dreams (fall
happy) and
nightmares
(quick
ly curl)


2.
4:13pm

Can't fly? Oh, just run.
Move along move on, just live.
Time now, not then. Go!

3.
Never's end never ends
and
End's never never comes.

4.
Another cat's dance
stops to dab the saucer.

Haiku vs. Senryu

Senryu:

senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are serious

Senryū is a similar poetry form [to Haiku] that emphasizes irony, satire, humor, and human foibles instead of seasons, and may or may not have kigo or kireji.

Haiku:

a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one of the seasons.

Senryu

We're gonna work backwards.

These were written during Mr. Alex Spare's First Period AP English class on Thursday, April 26th, 2007.
While Spare was bobbing his head and asking permission, I was feeling pensive and my mind was a racin'

Naps are my favorite
My arm and face are now red
I want more sleep, Mraw!

Pleasures of the flesh,
Fleeting, often without love.
Is that all there is?
[Please! Can't there be more?]

Pleasantly, oh, yes!
we would lay together; peace.
Love me honestly.

Fire burns 'neath my flesh
life is nothing; lost and found.
Jessie, you smell bad.

Carnal needs unmet,
dangling herself over me.
Not even she knew.

'else is there to life?
Lovepassion, pleasuresin...
Over there! The sounds.