Smell of Poison berries

(Part 3 of Southern Samurai)

A teenager lies on the edge of a training field.

Halfway underneath a bush full of poison berries.

Sweaty, tired, bruised, and sore.

 

One of those days.

Despite learning so much, still feels he knows so little.

Despite testing his strength many times, still feels he is inferior.

.

Bruised fingers and knuckles from practice matches. The smell of blood dripping out of his nose. Smell of mud and wooden swords scraping across his nose. The words of his teacher echoing through the day. “Power is not being able to command someone who respects you”. …Retaliate, annihilate, repeat…Retaliate, annihilate, defeat. Chants being echoed past the raindrops of storms and wind. “One must learn to admire barbaric beauty.” The sting of wasps from swatting away insects. “You must be fluid so you may flow with battle, a smooth movement is a swift movement.”The sting of splinters from practicing with wooden sticks. Smell of grass on sunny, cloudless day. “True power is being able to command someone who hates you.”

 

The teenager hears chants echoing from the other side of the field.

Voices ready for a war that has not been declared.

Stuck on the grass with the aroma of poison berries in his nose.

-Originally written in 2012

Kindness

(Part 2 of Southern Samurai)

 

One afternoon, the father rushed in the house.

Dripping with sweat from working in the barn where he made all of his tools.

He was passing down a weapon he just finished forging.

A gift that his child should learn to use for the approaching war.

The father said he was going to give his boy the gift of Kindness.

Then he dropped the katana in front of the boy’s feet.

 

He told the boy that if enemies were in his path,

That he should kill them with Kindness.

Everyday, the boy got acquainted with his cold steel .

Learned to admire every part of his weapon, including the character embroidered above the  tsuba.

From the hi to ha, handle to blade, how the sword looked in the light and the shade.

Ignorant children didn’t like him, and mistook his Kindness for weakness. Warriors use fists and feet!

 

Until the day thieves came through dirt roads to terrorize many of those children.

Finally, a test for the sword that will one day cut bullets.

When they finally came to the boy, the sword was drawn high.

Then came low to stab each thief in the thigh, and thrusts down the muscle

Then ripped the sword out the back of their knee caps with too little precision, too much force.

The boy rubbed the character embroidered on his blade and thought he was too kind.

 

- Orginally written in 2012

Dawn (Part 1 of Southern Samurai)

This is my first poetic chapbook. It is a series of poems that tell the story of a warrior in fantasy world that is at war.  It begins at his birth and tells the story of his journey throughout the war in random parts of his life.  I first had the ideas for this series in the winter of 2010.  I wrote a couple of parts to it in the 2011 spring and realized my skill level at the time could not high enough to achieve the power I wanted the poem to convey. I left it alone until late summer of 2012 when some classmates I was working with convinced me to finish it for a class since the ground work was already set. I completed the entire series by that December.

Dawn

(Part 1 of Southern Samurai)

                                                A baby lies in his crib.                    

His mother lies in bed.

She hopes that his outlook does not become pessimistic, but rather realistic.

There is no such thing as perfection

In a world full of deadly machines and barbarians that gouge eyes out with sticks.

That if something sounds like a lie, then it is a lie.

But aspects will be best when they harmonize.

She looks forward to the day that the child will receive Kindness from his father.

The child will be able to show what people look like on the inside,

And one day he will be able to cut bullets and blades with it.  

Knowing that they are living through a war that has not yet been declared.

The breeze over the sea may be soft now, but one day it will strike with the force of hurricane winds.

She hopes the child learns that when war wages, words will no longer be as powerful.

The language of coercion will be universal.

The only names of importance will be the heroes, their weapons and the leaders who command.

Those who use water are powerful.

Those who use fire are knowledgeable.

You can not take away one’s life without killing them.

And you can not kill someone without being known as a killer.

If one takes the high ground, that person will have the grace of the heavens by their side.

She hopes he learns that just because he is stronger than many

Does not make him weak to a few.

To look out for those who seek what they can not have

Because they ultimately seek self-destruction.

Do not focus on winning as many battles as possible but

Fight the battles that need to be won.

Do not focus on the complexities of the past

But react to the actions of the present.

 

The mother hopes he realizes no one will understand his suffering and sacrifice.

His grueling and repetitive work.

And those in the minority of understanding will be dead or just as silent.

True victory is not where most would seek,

Though everyone’s path is different.

She hopes he will learn that the words from a loved one will cut like a cold sword.

With all these thoughts, the mother rests while the scent of jasmine and lavender flowers bloom in air.

And the child still rests in his crib.             

 

 

- Orginally written in 2012