A Strange Journey/Michael Kwack

Entering a souvenir store on the road, 
I realized I’d lost my luggage.

The wallet was well kept in my back pocket; 
​But money for the remaining days,
And passport, business card, party clothes, etc.,
All were in that suitcase I'd lost.
​
I didn't remember
Which roads I'd been walking along,
And at which store I'd let go of my trunk.
​
I turned ar...

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The Flower One Day / Michael Kwack

While I was not out,

The flower bloomed;

That will fall,

The flower of love,

While I do not look,

One day,

Suddenly,

The heart will fall.

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The Thorn / Michael Kwack

It seemed a big bird had flown;

For, onto the desk of my own,

A feather was falling,

Through the air fluttering.

As if in a dream did I gaze:

A tiny bird it was!

I stretched an arm,

And the bird got on my palm.

The whole body, in bright gold,

Was the wing of this bird.

Should I hold it on my palm?

Let it go afloat in...

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letter to spring / michael kwack

in a wind

there i smell a scent of spring

i've passed the winter away

in a far place alone

but it was now

only hours of emptiness

i've got to write letters

the last confession to myself

then meet the spring

in complete quietness

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Résumé / Michael Kwack

Love is,

like art,

dull without passion.

Marriage is,

like enterprise,

tough without fortune.

Home is,

like chair,

harsh without comfort.

Life is,

like sleep,

dry without dream.

Death is,

like letter,

empty without story.

Will is,

like poem,

absurd without wit.

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Play in the Night

                      --Michael Kwack

From two o’clock

When owls hoot

Up to four when cocks crow

Surely I will be kept awake,

To watch the secret play

Of the conscious and unconscious.

However, I will not see

The queer performance inside me

As a mere dream in the night.

If I long for better plays,

More I will wander dur...

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Putting Out the Lamp

In the dusk of early evening one day

I awakened from a belated nap,

And came to find nobody back home yet,

Only the wall lamp flickering away.

I, the child, quickly getting quailed,

Started running away from the dark haunted place,

But soon stopped for looking backward

For some reasons I couldn't quite grasp.

Probably it was the left-a...

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Was it true,

sleep depends on tears?

To refill the well

that had dried up by day,

Or to wet the lids, at least,

by dreaming sad dreams,

With that tearful hope,

had the sleep come by night?

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A Pilot's Joke / Michael Kwack

Once upon a time there lived a flying man

Who kept flying on, never thinking of landing...

One day accidently he had to land

Somewhere, or nowhere, on the sand....

After having lived alone very happily ever after,

He left a poem in the sand when he finally left his land,

Quote,

I used to love sand,

For, where there'...

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What springs up in spring

All falls in the next fall;

Summer sums

All the fruit we have,

And says we are rich,

Not having to worry

Where and how to winter.

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Dominoes are hanging, like 88 wind-chimes, inside a

Record shop window;  whereinto an old Irish priest, once a dreamer of becoming

Michelangelo, or Liszt the virtuoso, today called

'Father Manyon,'  is peeping;  recalling the scented

Solitary pine, on the hillside of his home town; whereunder he used to recite

La Belle Dame sans Merci, often wishing to

See the pale sighing face o...

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Leisurely and alone,

I was wandering in a palace garden.

​

Flowers were completely gone,

But deep green summer leaves fully grown,

And on each branch

Small birds all the way chirping:

​

Certainly for me a perfect afternoon

To be lost in poem-reciting!

​

But suddenly a wind arose

When a human voice caught my ear,

Saying low yet rather vivid:

"It's me, s...

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On the wall of my empty room

I think I'll hang a picture of rain.

Hitting the ground,

And bouncing up to ankles,

The rain will be wetting my socks

And trousers from below;

My eyes will follow

Roof-edges,

Streets,

Sidewalks,

...tick, tick, tick...

Checking everything on the picture,

Until catching a black brolly,

And the shiny enamel shoes,

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The Poor Little Dove/Michael Kwack

To watch the wave play with the wind,

I sat by the museum garden pond.

Then a small pigeon came flying,

Landed to her feet, tiny and cute,

And stared up at me, a bit intensely,

Only blinking her eyes, no other move.

She was standing like a camera model,

And I recalled my infanthood pictures.

I started taking som...

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a word

whispered

in secret

a name

dropped

there-under

a woman

reflected

​there-over

The transparent sunlight

stirred by her 

thin fingers

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Raindrops are laughing,      

Falling

Like cherry

Blossoms

Onto the garden                   

Pond                                     

​I am alone                             

Floating on,

A little cooling the warmth                       

Of summer morning; 

As if flying

Big sky balloons                      

Of birthday party                    

Of frien...

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