My Two Poems in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH
My two poems are published in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH online magazine Winter 2024 issue.
What a thrill. And what company I keep.
My Two Poems in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH
My two poems are published in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH online magazine Winter 2024 issue.
What a thrill. And what company I keep.
THE BROKEN FRAME a poem by Yuri Kageyama
The ambulances are screaming. We look up and see a big tear in a steel fame right by our apartment building. We wonder but figure it’s not a murder because we don’t read about it, and there aren’t that many murders in Tokyo. Every time we see the broken frame, we wonder who it could have been. And what might have driven this individual, whom we don’t know and never will know, male or female, young or old, happy or unhappy, probably unhappy, literally over the ledge to a dark deep definitive leap of death. It does not make us feel very good. Every time we see that broken frame. A few weeks later, the frame gets fixed. And we stop wondering.
FEARLESS AT 90 a poem by Yuri Kageyama
I am fearless at 90
Wrinkles deep as the Nile
Hair translucent spiderwebs
Varicose veins throbbing blood
A map of fate on a carcass of skin
I am fearless at 90
I rap poetry with my dentures
Jazz dance with my wobbly knees
I rock like Jimi Hendrix
We Boomers invented Revolution
I am fearless at 90
I’m so close to the pearly gates
I’m on speaking terms with the angels
I’m so near-sighted I read minds
My fungus breath slays dragons
I am fearless at 90
My wheelchair zips Ferrari-style
My voice resonates five octaves low
My cane duplicates as a samurai sword
My hearing aid just blocks out noise
I am fearless at 90
I have no appointments to keep
No bosses to please
No dates to impress
No one can put me down
I am fearless at 90
I barely remember what’s up or down
Or who is where anymore;
Beyond gender, race, class,
Or even age
I am fearless at 90
My skin like washi paper
My fingers gnarled like a witch
I am neither man nor woman
White, black, brown or yellow.
I am just 90, and fearless:
Those days are long gone,
Not trusting anyone over 30,
I’ve given birth to a thousand children
And have a million grandchildren
I am fearless at 90
Although death is around the corner,
I’ve seen war and peace
Endured abuse to survive;
Don’t expect or need respect
I’m proud to be fearless at 90
^___<
Note from the poet:
I am not yet 90, but I feel this way and wrote this poem.
When I’m 90, I will write my real fearless at 90 poem.
HAIKU FOR MY FATHER by Yuri Kageyama
A dead man’s desk
Snacks he’s forbidden to eat
Magic tricks for grandchildren
My father died in his 70s, a big man with big ambitions, prone to cruelty and violence but just as quick with his brilliance, generosity and humor. He calmed down a bit with age. And it was natural he was far more loved by his grandchildren, who found him just hilarious, than by his daughters, who had found him oppressive. His desk upstairs had to be cleaned out after he died. My mother found bags of treats like nuts and kakinotane he was secretly eating, because his doctors had put him on a strict diet for his heat condition. She also found toy magic tricks he had also bought secretly and had been practicing to impress his grandchildren. They adored him, played games, ran around outside with him, going fishing or going on goofy rides at a tiny park. They would laugh and laugh with this old roly-poly man, who was really just one of them, never mind he was a former NASA engineer and university professor. My mother used to say my father always acted as though he couldn’t care less if his grandchildren visited or not. She wondered why he would say such an obviously untruthful thing. That was my father, too proud and too big and strong to admit to any weakness, like missing his grandchildren. There is nothing as heartbreaking as love because even love must come to an end with death. But love that can’t be expressed openly, and must be stashed away like magic tricks in the drawer of a desk. I don’t know what to call such love. But it is love.
Haiku For Toru by Yuri Kageyama
deleting emails
name of dead colleague pops up
i’m thinking of you
^___<
Funny how the most unpoetic of activities can become all of a sudden emotional. That, to me, is a haiku moment. And I tried to capture that, as well as honor and express my gratitude for the long years of working with this colleague. I know I will think about him, now and then, like today. Feb. 9,2023.
My Poetry in Life and Legends
My poetry is in great company here in LIFE AND LEGENDS Twelfth Edition
July 15, 2022, Irvine, CA, USA. Thanks to the Editor-in-Chief: Kalpna Singh-Chitnis.
Haiku for Basho a poem by Yuri Kageyama
May 3, 2022
眼差しを
無に流すかな
芭蕉のかわ
He is still watching,
Though washed away to nothing-
Ness, Basho’s River