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秋風拂葉黃 |
The autumn leaves fall |
秋葉無常
The View from Behind
I know the turn that makes them look again;
I know the sway that draws the lingering eye.
I choose my clothes with mischief in my mind,
And let the leather speak for me instead.
It fits the curve, but leaves a little doubt,
A private hint beneath its polished sheen.
I take my time; I never rush the tease,
And let my footsteps write the rest of it.
I do not blush, nor ask to be excused;
I wear my shape as proudly as my smile.
I turn away, then pause beside the door,
And glance behind as if by accident.
I know the view I’ve left for them to keep;
I rather like the power of retreat.
Little Friday
Little Friday came to call,
With Friday’s charm, but half the gall.
A wink, a sip, a loosened tie,
And absolutely no reason why.
Thursday wore its Sunday best,
Declared the week’s demands repressed.
The inbox sighed, the clock looked bored,
The kettle called for something poured.
For just one night, let’s misbehave,
Be wicked, merry, mildly brave.
Let tomorrow mind its own affairs,
We’ve earned a little devil-may-care.
So raise a glass to Thursday’s art,
The weekend warming up its heart.
Not quite Friday, true, it’s fair—
But who’s counting? There’s wine to spare!
The Girl Who Kept the Stars
At five, I thought the moon could follow me.
I ran beneath it, laughing at the sky,
And turned to see if it was still behind.
The stars were holes through which the angels peeked;
The sea, a great blue animal asleep,
Would breathe its silver foam against my feet.
I asked the wind where all the birds went home.
It touched my cheek, but never told me where.
I thought the world was made for finding things:
A shell that held the murmur of the sea,
A stone that caught the moonlight in its heart,
An ant that carried kingdoms on its back.
The smallest things were large enough for me.
I had no need to know how stars were born;
It was enough that they were there, and bright,
And that the dark had room enough for all.
Now I have learned the language of the stars,
The mathematics of their ancient fires;
I know how light can cross the years unseen,
How time bends space, how matter dreams in waves.
I know the patient architecture of
The fern, the fractal, and the spiral shell.
Yet knowledge has not closed the doors of awe;
It only shows how many more there are.
For sometimes, when the evening gathers blue,
I find that little girl still running there,
Her small hand reaching for the first bright star.
She does not ask what distance lies between,
Nor care how many years the light has travelled.
She simply wants to show me what she found.
And so I stop, and let the moment stay.
The universe has never lost its art;
A blackbird still can interrupt my thoughts,
A drop of dew can hold the morning whole.
I have grown older, but I have not grown
So wise that wonder cannot make me smile.
Perhaps the greatest thing that time can teach
Is not to see the world with younger eyes,
But keep those eyes, and give them greater depth:
To know the stars, yet feel their ancient fire;
To understand the sea, yet hear it sing;
To meet the infinite in something small.
The child still runs beneath the evening sky.
The woman walks beside her, hand in hand.
And both look up, as if for the first time.
A Rose
A rose unfolds beneath the dying sun,
As though the world were made for just this one.
So pour the wine, and let the hours depart;
For what is brief may yet outlast the dawn.
Meiling’s Blues
Slow, smoky electric blues · 12/8 shuffle
[Intro – spoken, over piano and guitar]
Well, now…
Some women bring you flowers.
Some bring you sunshine.
Me?
I bring a little trouble
and I make it look divine.
[Verse 1]
I’ve got a little moonlight tucked beneath my skin,
A crooked little smile that lets the trouble in.
I’ve walked a thousand roads, danced on a few mistakes,
And I never learned to leave before the daylight breaks.
I’ve got silk upon my shoulder, got fire in my shoes,
A heart that plays for keeps but has nothing left to lose.
You can call me lucky, darling, you can call me wise,
But don’t go looking for the truth behind these eyes.
[Chorus]
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
The kind you never quite refuse.
A little sweet, a little wild,
A grown-up woman with a wicked smile.
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
No apologies, no borrowed shoes.
You can love me, you can lose,
But you’ll remember the Meiling blues.
[Verse 2]
I like my coffee strong, my conversations deep,
My promises kept, and my secrets mine to keep.
I can laugh like Sunday morning, curse like Friday night,
And make a wrong turn feel like everything’s all right.
I don’t need a silver castle, don’t need a diamond ring,
Just a little room to wander and a reason left to sing.
If the world should lose its rhythm, I’ll invent a different tune,
Then dance until the morning puts its lipstick on the moon.
[Chorus]
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
The kind you never quite refuse.
A little sweet, a little wild,
A grown-up woman with a wicked smile.
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
No apologies, no borrowed shoes.
You can love me, you can lose,
But you’ll remember the Meiling blues.
[Bridge – guitar solo, then spoken]
Now listen, sweetheart…
I ain’t hard to handle.
I’m just not for sale.
There’s a difference.
[Verse 3]
I’ve kissed the edge of heaven, I’ve made friends with the night,
I’ve learned that being free means knowing when you’re right.
And if you think you’ve figured me, well, bless your foolish heart,
You’ve only seen the overture, and I’ve not played the start.
So pour another whiskey, let that old piano play,
I’ve got a thousand little stories that I haven’t told today.
And when the last note trembles and the morning takes its cues,
I’ll leave you with a smile and the Meiling blues.
[Final Chorus – full band]
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
The kind you never quite refuse.
A little sweet, a little wild,
A grown-up woman with a wicked smile.
Oh, I’ve got the Meiling blues,
Born to wander, born to choose.
You can love me, you can lose,
But you’ll remember…
You’ll remember…
The Meiling blues.
[Outro – piano and slide guitar]
Well, darling…
Don’t look so blue.
You’ve had your evening with Meiling.
That’s more than most folks do.
Autumn Rain
Soft rain veils the fields
A gold leaf trembles, then lets go
Earth dreams beneath grey skies
The Language of Your Eyes
Your eyes undress me, though your hands remain
Untouched, while something stirs beneath my skin.
You hold my gaze, then let the silence burn,
As though you know the places I conceal.
There is a wicked patience in their light,
A measured promise neither dares to speak.
They draw me near, then leave me wanting more,
With just the slightest mischief in their depths.
I wonder what you see when you look in,
What secret thought betrays itself in mine.
Each glance becomes a softly spoken dare,
Each lowered lid conceals a little sin.
Come closer; let the world fall out of sight.
I would not hurry what your eyes begin.
They find the hidden door beneath my skin;
I leave it open to their lingering light.
Monday, Unbuttoned
Monday has returned, but let it wait.
The morning wears a careless shade of gold,
And sunlight wanders slowly down my skin
As though it has forgotten where to go.
The sheets are warm; the world can fend for itself.
A cup of coffee cools beside the bed.
I stretch, unhurried, with a wicked smile,
And entertain the luxury of nothing.
There is a certain art to doing less:
The languid turn, the bare and wandering foot,
A shoulder slipping free of yesterday,
The sweet conspiracy of skin and silk.
No clocks shall dictate how my hours behave,
No solemn promises to seize the day.
I’ll let the afternoon arrive undressed,
And greet it with a little insolence.
Perhaps I’ll read a page, perhaps two more,
Perhaps forget the book against my thigh.
The breeze may find me somewhere in the sun,
Where even time seems pleased to lose its place.
And if the world should ask what I have done,
I’ll smile and say I’ve practised being alive.
For pleasure needn’t justify itself;
Some days, the finest thing is simply this:
To feel the warmth, to laugh beneath my breath,
To let desire meander where it will,
And give this Monday nothing but a kiss
Before I send it wandering on its way.
Shamain
At the turn o’ the year, when the veil grows thin
The simmer’s gone, the stubble fields lie bare,
An amber moon hangs low abune the hill;
The wind comes whisperin’ through the rowan trees,
While aince mair night draws in tae claim the land.
The auld fires sink, yet still their embers bide,
And unseen feet pass softly through the mist;
We mind the deid, wha walk nae mair wi’ us,
Yet leave their warmth in ilka heart they kent.
The veil grows thin where worlds o’ silence meet,
The stars look doon wi’ secrets in their een;
We stand between the ashes and the flame,
And bless the dark that mak’s the mornin’ new.
Sae let the blackbird rest, the wild wind sing,
For death’s nae end, nor life a thing tae fear;
The wheel turns on, through shadow intae licht,
And love bides on, though a’ things disappear.
The Wisdom of the Table
A fragrant feast, a ruby cup of wine,
The bread is warm, the stars above us shine.
What use is Paradise, so far away,
When heaven rests upon this plate of mine?
Let kings pursue the glory of their name,
Let scholars chase the stars and worldly fame.
But give me good food, laughter, and a friend—
And I shall ask no fortune to reclaim.
For life is brief, the hourglass runs fast,
The finest banquet, too, becomes the past.
So taste each morsel as the gods intended;
The sweetest joy is never made to last.
萬聖夜 · 狐仙笑
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月光偷偷爬上瓦， |
When midnight combs the crooked trees, |
