Tula Baba (a poem)

‘Tread softly, dear child,’ the whispering

woods send out a grave warning.

Footsteps falter, seeking the path

that once seemed so clear.

 

Where are the breadcrumbs?

No more, no more.

The birds are full but the child is lost.

Tula baba, tula tula.

 

Around and around the same old tree.

Each time it seems new and hope is born,

but the wicked witch is waiting

with a wide friendly grin.

 

Have some cake! You’ll feel better, I swear.

Have more, have more.

The birds are hungry but the child is still lost.

Tula baba, tula tula.

Beijing dust storm.

In honor of the first blue-sky day we’ve had in weeks, I’m posting photos I took during one of Beijing’s dust storms a while ago. These photos have not been photoshopped, the sky really was that color. I went out on my little scooter with a scarf wrapped around my head and had a ball of a time. Needless to say, I cleaned about a bucketful of sand out of my camera, hair and clothes afterwards!

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Insomnia (a poem)

Night has wrapped its velvet blanket

‘round everyone but me.

All are sleeping, all are dreaming,

everyone but me.

Lying, dying, staring at the roof,

wondering what I did, what I should, what I will.

All I want is for a sign,

that I too will sleep.

It visits each night on its hollow-backed horse,

crowing its delight at finding me awake.

“Think and think some more!” It cries,

“I’ve brought a score of lists, for you!”

If ever I find that stupid Sandman,

I’ll steal his bag and tie him to a tree

for daring to wander and pass me by.

“Come back Sandman, it was only a jest!”

Night has wrapped its velvet blanket

‘round everyone but me.

All are sleeping, all are dreaming,

everyone but me.