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Kakemono Kites of Spring

Kite hung in cerulean sky
invites comparison to scroll
as string unwinds see colours roll
ascend, descend, as butterfly
breasting current, soaring high,
then gliding, fabric on cross pole
stitched, kakemono parabole
whose history of times passed by
or vibrant dragon scarcely shy,
prints memory one may unroll
when seeking causal links whose string
plays out or reins in Chance's sting.

Kakemono kite portrays
chromatic hieroglyph within
rollers wooden, yang and yin
invite a glance. Attention stays.
Beyond horizon's curtain haze
kami set reeled wheels a-spin,
mislaid sensations may begin

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Fly

The kite was
Flying under
The sky...

Kite not need
to tuch the sky...

The kite
Flying very high...

Sky is near
Kite is near

Both are play
The fly...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Fly Kite

kite fly

with out tail

on rounding

with a tail..

good flying..

kite fly with

air..

thred...

tail...

kite will bee

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poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Kite Touch

Kite flys

Too touch...

The sky...

Miss the touch...

At sky...

Kite don't woory...

Sky was woory

'Why not touch me kite? '

Asking sky...

' you did not fly...

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poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Patanjali - for Alison

The boy Patanjali,
flying his kite in the breezy Thiramurti hills
one day cut the thread; the kite
sailed over the hills upon the wind;

asked why he had done that,
the child had no answer;
only his future life
and yoga sutras.

The kite was silent, dancing in its joy;
we, that joyful kite.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Beneath The Heights...

Beneath the heights
Flying along the tracks of floating rain clouds
My kite flies not caring for me ever.
Behind the kite my thread trails.
My hands hold it ever.

When the clouds begin to rain my kite sways
But as the sky clears he smiles.
I am not seen by him still.
Beneath my kite my thread shudders.
My hands hold it ever.

Above the heaven`s zenith
He flies, he alone flies.
Far down in the earth`s nadir
I stand alone holding my thread.
Beneath me the tremor begins...

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Flying High

My oh my!
What a gorgeous day to fly
Let's release that puffer kite
High in the crystal clear blue sky

We're running out of string
Send that kid on his bike
To the hobby shop to get more
What do you mean, what for?

Why, to fly that kite
Beyond the clouds, earth and universe
The wind is perfect today
We can do this beyond the moon and stars

oops! string broke over passing cars
Where is it now?
Where the past kite fliers now fly
My, oh my!
How high, this kite did, fly

poem by Matt Mondschein
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Dillard Sissman

The buzzards wheel slowly
In wide circles, in a sky
Faintly hazed as from dust from the road.
And a wind sweeps through the pasture where I lie
Beating the grass into long waves.
My kite is above the wind,
Though now and then it wobbles,
Like a man shaking his shoulders;
And the tail streams out momentarily,
Then sinks to rest.
And the buzzards wheel and wheel,
Sweeping the zenith with wide circles
Above my kite. And the hills sleep.
And a farm house, white as snow,
Peeps from green trees -- far away.
And I watch my kite,
For the thin moon will kindle herself ere long,
Then she will swing like a pendulum dial
To the tail of my kite.
A spurt of flame like a water-dragon

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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Fly my lovely kite in the rain

wet cloth me in the night, dress me with a
mink that feather my skin; warm my day
with joy in the lucky sky, return the smooth
of the mouth that sweating my tongue of
the fresh dew lips i return as you

fly little kite in the rain, the tail that guide, hide
it with the wind, cut it short as it dance in the
turmoil breezing skies with dazzling wiggle; just
parting each part with the tearing tail it fall, come
wash out the waiting wet tail in the high above
the land it fly the night may fall, but the rain it
speed up in the tailing sky, as far in a distance
light beneath the horizon of a different
Heavenly skies

rain. rain; touch my tail in the body it fell, thread
lost as far it could stood, hold where nobody should
fold, in the string the wet kite brings, the neon of
fresh, steer me to find the genuine face where

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poem by Antonio Liao
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The Kite-Part 1

I once was the kite, a beautiful, flying kite
I soared the sky, I dipped and swooped with all of my might
You were the tree, my tree, growing tall inside my yard
Growing tall and healthy, your strength mighty and hard
One day, unknown to all as to why, I got stuck
Stuck on your highest branch, freedom was no luck
The longer I was there, the more entangled I became
Tighter and tighter, knotted in my prison-like game
With every sharp wind, from every sharp word from you
I wrapped around more and more, as your ugly words blew
A tangled mess so bad, I was left atop this tree
This relationship tree I once depended upon, now traps and keeps me
Through storms of bad fights, your emotional wind blows
I get whipped and battered, around in knots my life goes
During angry weather, my body gets ripped and beat
Thrashed against this tree, where branches were my treat
The shade the leaves offered me, when the days were bright
Now is dark with mystery, keeping in secret the life of my kite
I am still there, for all to everyday see, although my color is gone
Faded and weathered, ripped and torn, endlessly trapped, I hang on

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poem by Deborah Cromer
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