Haiku
The quiet sorrow
of a winter afternoon
pierces me deeply
8/4/92 Agoura CA
Tea in Chinese Camp
Duck Mary and China Sam
A cup of kindness
11/14/99 Northern Nevada desert
The autumn is sad
Red yellow and orange leaves
Melt into winter
8/17/92 Agoura CA
Different languages
All different colors and scents
My treasure of friends
9/14/92 Agoura CA
You made my heart blush
If only for a moment
I felt so alive
8/7/92 Agoura CA
The power of one
thoughtful lock of braided hair
The essence of you
8/5/92 Agoura CA
A letter from her
Like snowflakes kissing my face
I smile like a child
9/24/92 Agoura CA
Violet orange strokes
of God’s brush across the sky
A thankful moment
9/25/92 Agoura CA
Frigid living air
A deep breath of ecstasy
Cool air of autumn
9/25/92 Agoura CA
Two shiny steel rails
reaching to infinity
Waiting for the train
9/26/92 Simi Valley-Santa Barbara (Amtrak)
Faraway places
Midnight hair and almond eyes
Two ships in the night
9/26/92 Simi Valley-Santa Barbara (Amtrak)
A wooden foot bridge
Lazy tanning tumbleweed
Old brown western earth
9/26/92 Simi Valley-Santa Barbara (Amtrak)
No date for the prom
No kiss and no flowers
for the different drummer
9/26/92 Simi Valley CA
The steady rhythm
of the rain on my window
like drums in cadence
8/4-8/5/92 Agoura CA
Clouds are important.
They give personality
to a plain blue sky.
8/92 Agoura CA
What is happiness?
A collection of moments
The blink of an eye
8/7/92 Agoura CA
Asian legacy
Porcelain daughter with mom
sprinkled with aunties
5/5/95 San Francisco Airport CA
Crystals of music
Salt lake valley and mountains
Peaks of majesty
5/6/95 Salt Lake City Airport Utah
Far below the clouds
A geometric language
Signs in shades of brown
5/6/95 Between Utah and California
Red and orange earth
Alter of spirit and truth
The sun is rising
5/9/95 Sedona AZ
Just seven years old
A joyful spirit appears
and eases my heart
6/25/95 Agoura CA
Poetry
She Dances On The Left
Walls behind walls
behind walls of no walls.
Perhaps my view
through clouded sight
Different angles, different light
She dances on the left and I on the right.
And though she dressing like the night
A red dress resides among the bunch
A hint of color where there wasn’t much,
At least on the surface
or as I perceive,
but for some strange reason
I can’t help but believe
the pendulums out of sync, fall in line,
and words out of tune seek their rhyme.
It’s always just a matter of time.
Joseph Curiale
August 29, 1993
Agoura California
(For Michiko Dixit)
The Art of Tea
We tasted the art of tea
And shared the movements of strategy
Sipping each moment so gently
Breathing the fragrance of simplicity.
Joseph Curiale
July 13, 1992
Tokyo-Los Angeles
(For Kit)
The Colors of Miss Wong
Strokes of brilliance
Shades of darkness
A dab of kindness
A pinch of tenderness
One part modesty
Two parts decency
Strands of black silk
Across a yellow canvas
A Zen being
Sharp as a razor
Soft as a sigh
Heavy as a broken heart
Light as a breeze
One of three
Second to none
Warm is her palette
And flowing are her lines.
Joseph Curiale
November 23, 1992
Singapore
(Dedicated to Wong Tze Shiaw)
The South China Sea
Hung out to dry
Twelve stories high
The clouds rolled by
And catching their eye
Was my American fly
And to my surprise
Before the sunrise
Those jeans of mine
High on the line
Were washed by a stream
I thought it was a dream!
I shook my head and
Stumbled out of bed
Only to see
Two legs waving at me
Soaked through and through
So what could I do
Except change my point of view?
Now I see ships sailing through the weave
Threads of floating islands
Too gorgeous to believe
Dolphins in my pockets
Singing as they dance
Isn’t it a blessing
That somehow by chance
The South China Sea rained in my pants.
Joseph Curiale
June 7, 1993
Pasir Ris, Singapore
(Dedicated to: Joanne and Colin Goh)
Blue Windows
His blue windows stare into infinity
perfectly framed in a smooth sacred temple
accented in gold,
deep in contemplation of Mars,
of the heavens, and the secrets of the stars
that he learns to remember.
A blueprint etched in kindness
and friendship, like the gentle rocking of
the primordial ocean;
soothing and healing to my cells.
A material shadow in a void of intelligence
A hologram of space and time
An expression of eternity
An equation
Love.
I often stare into those blue windows
looking for answers; a sign, a kind word,
and often see a temporary resident,
walking the universe, traveling a parallel reality
groping for the ground of being.
Pristine windows with no panes
revealing dimensions without dimensions
and an expanse with no edges.
Who is that
on the other side of the blue windows?
Who is behind the dots and lines?
Who is behind the aural rhyme?
The weaver of sound’s liquid glass
melting patterns into a river’s flow?
Sometimes I think I know.
Joseph Curiale
May 17, 1993
Agoura, California
(Dedicated to Mark Lewis)
The Recital
She gracefully swayed
to the rhythm of her tender heart,
as Valentine rose red as her top,
stretched like a canvas on an olive frame
brushed by the gentle pendulum motion of
her shiny fawn silk ponytail,
dusting powder-smooth the soft tones of her essence
sustaining in mid-air hovering above me
then gently laying to rest
on the outline of my astral body
that she traced with her presence.
Long before the yarn covered pickup sticks
snapped into formation and translated the
dots and lines she memorized with love,
long before the ballet of "Woods, Metals, Drums",
long before being embraced by
the waves of her ocean
ebbing and flowing across my shore,
she drew her bow across my heartstrings
and played me like a song.
Joseph Curiale
May 2004
(For Deanna)
Fall From Grace
I heard it said that she’s a grump
this judge and jury
a committee of one
to screen and weed
I enter “not guilty” as my plea!
I found her quite the opposite…
An endearing smile
and friendly way
A laugh that cries for
borrowed time...
I liked her shoes
They spoke to me
And how her toes played in her socks
And jeans that fit her
like a glove
painted snug.
A dialogue among the three
in poetic synchronicity
spared of words and conscious patter
that doesn’t matter.
Descript as my uneven rhyme
this time,
I just can’t seem to find a flow…
The evening tea refused to show
the she that I had hoped to know…
Guess for now I’ll let it go.
So out of tune,
my fall from Grace
came all too soon.
Joseph Curiale
December 1, 1992
Singapore
(For Grace)
A Comedy of Errors
I tried to open up to you
about a poem that I had hidden
And as the words began to flow
you broke the spell,
shooing a bug that crossed your path.
It stung,
but what could I do
except retreat and laugh.
Just when I had found the words again
you managed to be there
right on time
to douse the fire with a shout
as you felt your neck go out.
I had to shake my head and laugh.
So much for wearing my heart on my sleeve.
But instead of raining down my rath
I should put this restless soul at ease.
I might be wrong,
perhaps short on long,
but sometimes when we dance Miss Chan
I find you just a bit
yin and yang.
Joseph Curiale
December 9, 1992
Between Singapore and Los Angeles
(For Kit)
Impressionism
The palette of impressionism
Soft tones
Light of a different eye
A blush of understatement
A smudge of perception
Shades of truth cast beyond
Shadows of doubt.
Joseph Curiale
(10/17/92)
New York City