Shih in Honor of My Art History Teacher [English Shi]

I read about James Cahill on my laptop
and recollect those bygone Berkeley days
where mind is purged of balderdash & claptrap
might truth emerge like hills behind a haze?
such hills beyond a river gleam forever!
yet parting at the shore proceeds apace
insouciant like Ni Zan in bright endeavor
who knew bland beauty doesn't lack for grace?

Laptop Requium [sonnet]

My laptop died & so I write
an android verse in solomn shade
I tried recovery tonight
but Mercury is retrograde
it saw me through some years of life
& helped me land a job (God bless!)
it didn't chance to find a wife
but joined in many games of chess
its battery's been long since shot
but otherwise it's served me fine
this good Fujitsu that I bought
way back in two thousand and nine
or was it two thousand and ten?
whatever - fare thee well old friend

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postcript: the laptop's demise proved to be unwittingly exaggerated; it revived after a visit to the shop.  And this post is being typed on same.

The Poets of Goa

The poets of Goa were hidden
though mutterings pelagic were heard
does poetry reach us unbidden?
a beach with no poets? absurd!

a sky without clouds is a rarity
a field without weeds is most odd
sans poets how show polite charity?
is Goa as silent as God?

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This poem is responsive to a prose reflection (posted to Facebook) by Vidya Nayak (who hails from Bangalore, and is lately living part-time in Goa).  She wrote:

Was thinking I have not yet run into a Poet in Chinchinim. Or elsewhere in Goa. Not yet. The signs are all there. I have seen grown men with longish locks, stubble on chins, glasses askew, muttering at the sea. I have seen women sitting on rocks, looking into the sunset, tabloid in hand, the tips of their tongues sticking out, muttering at the sea. I have even caught myself looking into cobalt waters and seeing faint languid outlines floating and dipping beneath the sheen, muttering at the sea.
And the other day, at a party where all was merry and folks were doping and smoking and drinking and generally living it up, the host came up to me and said, you know what, you must meet this friend of mine, he's a poet.
Que sera sera.
(And to be honest, I'm missing them, my poets)
 

0 1 / 1 4 / 2 0 1 4 [poem]

We who've endured to two thousand fourteen
have lived through what cannot be easily said
at least we're enured when two thousand fourteen
comes laughingly quipping "at least you're not dead!"

the Y 2 K worries that fizzled away
have long since departed our "don't worry" head
it's true many say we've still got hell to pay
but let's be insouiciant! it's better than dread

some wizened now hobble while newlings yet spread
fresh-leafing delights as they brave the new day
through winter I've inklings tomorrow grows green
for we who've endured to two thousand fourteen

After Rumi [rubai]

Beloved! (I said)     you became
                                                         the beautiful Idol of my life!

If you are mine    why do you talk about
                                                    (replied the beloved) your life?

Well and why do you (my rejoinder)
                                                   jab me with your jewely blade?

Because still (his answer came)
                                      your claim's a lie!   you love your life!

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[Based on a literal translation done by Mehernoush McPherson, for which thanks.]