SHADOW a poem written for the Poetry Challenge May 1, 2022
By Yuri Kageyama
when young,
one thinks of what
one will become
or what one
wants to be
^___<
as years pass,
we realize
what we are seen as
doesn’t really
matter
^___<
what matters
is who we really are
how we live
what it is that we do
day by day
^___<
which is not
the same thing
at all
that is what counts
in the end
THE AFTERLIFE
A poem by Yuri Kageyama Feb. 23, 2022
The mass of meat
In a heap like a grave,
Cold, still
Amid wafting incense,
The moans and chants of mourning,
Eyes closed, hands clasped
Frozen in motion,
I lose interest:
Those motions of burial and propriety,
Those greetings, sympathy, tears;
He is no longer there,
Not in that body,
Twitching twisting growling in incoherence,
More and more silent
Over the years,
He is no longer there:
At last,
He is gone
Haiku March 24, 2021 by Yuri Kageyama
つえをつき
見上げる空に
初桜
Cane in his hand,
He looks up for a long time
First cherry blossoms
The world suddenly looks like a splendid and hopeful place when sakura starts to bloom, right about this time in Tokyo. It happens without fail every year. But it’s so dazzling it feels unexpected. This morning, an old man was gazing up at a tree, probably the first cherry blossom tree he saw on his walk. His eyes, behind the glasses, I knew had seen so much, and was seeing all of that, again, in the flowers.
GIFTS FROM THE DEAD
a poem by Yuri Kageyama
Graves are always There
for those Who are still
Alive to Forgive
Accept Reconcile.
They don’t Speak Back.
They don’t expect much
because
they are ready
to be Forgotten
if not
really already
Forgotten.
So when You
Go There, You
will Be Forgiven:
Grave are Gifts
from the Dead
for the Living.
At a temple in Toyokawa, Aichi Prefecture, Japan. Photo by Yuri Kageyama.
My Poem “ode to the stroller” now part of the Public Poetry Series.
Poetry by Yuri Kageyama.
Read by Hirokazu “Jackson” Suyama.
Film by Adam Lewis.
we zip weightless like silent angels
up and down San Francisco hills
running on the mother of all energy
greener than solar
rolling rolling rolling
with laughter
cream acid rock ‘n’ rolling
lightning dazzling wheels
gara-gara-gara-gara
teethers jangling dangling dancing
going mad on strangle-free rubbery ribbons
up and down the Avenues
J-town, Clement Street
Golden Gate Park
Museum of Modern Art
we are singing:
“Ouma no oyako wa nakayoshi koyoshi
itsudemo issho ni pokkuri pokkuri aruku”
perfume wind in our hair
springing over potholes
not even stopping just for breast feeds
connected as one through this magical machine
me pushing
you riding
the Lamborghini of strollers
the Gundam of strollers
the little train that could of strollers
up up up into the joyous clouds
zooming wheeeeee
down slurping slopes
around swervacious curves
we are one
yes, we are one
tied in the past with our
umbilical cord
and
even in death
in our dreams
a poem for Kenji Goto, a journalist, Feb. 1, 2015
by Yuri Kageyama
i have already written about you
another journalist
your story as a hostage
somewhere far away
in a wind-blowing desert
your story about
how it all ended
today
i do not know you
but i have to write something
else for you
this poem
it just doesn’t seem right
unless i do
people say you cared
you were great to work with
you will live on in our hearts
you laugh in your own videos
“No matter what happens to me,”
you say before you leave,
“I will always love the people of Syria.”
you are calm
you look straight into the camera
you are gentle in your death
you are brave in your death
i just have to write this
in even that video
you are beautiful
HIROSHIMA
A poem by Yuri Kageyama
A reading by Yuri Kageyama
With Kaoru Watanabe of Kodo on fue flute, taiko drum and other percussion.
Recorded at Kaoru Watanabe Taiko Studio in Brooklyn New York
For a memorial for poet, publisher and educator Virgina Scott at Lehman College, the Bronx, New York
September 20, 2014.
they wander like a whisper
still
over this city
blending with the sea breeze
the soft light
the cracks of scars
not just one ghost or two
but tens of thousands
who all looked up and saw a flash
turning people into dead globs of charcoal;
there are no photos from that day,
they wander, crawling, naked, moaning,
flesh hanging like tatters;
they’re asking that question,
we did nothing wrong
why oh why
when all it can do is
kill kill kill kill
nothing else
turning skin eyeballs laughter head back legs
into a keloid of hell,
but no one really answers.
This is what death feels like
a poem by Yuri Kageyama
it is the end
you are gone
no more
it is only a dream so i
decide this must be what death is like
not your death, but my own
it is the end
you are gone
no more
my throat is hot with weeping
my eyes are blind from searching for you
my heart is bleeding with emptiness
it is the end
you are gone
no more
how can i keep on living
knowing only this waits ahead, i can’t,
this certain separation, this death
it is the end
you are gone
no more
but wait, this calm i own
when you are here now, close by,
or not so close, but somewhere
it is the end
you are gone
no more
this is what death feels like
i am always close to you, total, perfect
and it doesn’t matter
it is the end
you are gone
no more
photo by Yuri Kageyama
HIROSHIMA
a poem by Yuri Kageyama and the Yuricane
Hirokazu Suyama on drums, Hiroshi Tokieda on bass and Yuuichiro Ishii on guitar.
Film by Adam Lewis.
At the Japan Writers Conference in Okinawa Nov. 2, 2013.
they wander like a whisper
still
over this city
blending with the sea breeze
the soft light
the cracks of scars
not just one ghost or two
but tens of thousands
who all looked up and saw a flash
turning people into dead globs of charcoal;
there are no photos from that day,
they wander, crawling, naked, moaning,
flesh hanging like tatters;
they’re asking that question,
we did nothing wrong
why oh why
when all it can do is
kill kill kill kill
nothing else
turning skin eyeballs laughter head back legs
into a keloid of hell,
but no one really answers.
Photo by Hirokazu Suyama, drummer.
HAIKU SERIES
by Yuri Kageyama
Waaaaaah! So much like Wow!
A Child. Fluttering Sakura.
Language. A Moment.
わあああ！でも ワウ！でも
ちるさくらみる子
言葉は無
～～～～
a blue plastic bag
so hard so still no more
Tokyo train tracks
青いシート
もうかたくなり
東京の駅
～～～
in my deathly dreams
your sweet breath, fat knees, wet hands
a child forever
甘い息
死んで夢見る
赤ちゃんの手
～～～～
timeless tweet timeline
scroll blindly touch-panel light
mumbles of loneliness
タイムレス
孤独のつぶやき
みずスクロール
～～～～
stained glass
nudging colors into light
my wife’s fingers
ステンドグラス
ひかりを染める
妻のゆび
～～～～
dead grandchild
a blurring thought lost in wrinkles
skin lotion’s smell
なき孫が
小皺に霞む
化粧水
～～～～
at Hamanako
forgetting burying
beatings by my father
浜名湖に
沈め忘れる
父の虐待
～～～～
Red over green
You got that right, Matisse
Then Today Forever.
グリーンよりあか
そのときもいまも
せいかい
～～～～
spring morning
pink explodes
chiffon whirls
春の朝
ピンクが爆
発シフォン舞う