George Bradford Patterson II is an American expatriate, living in Laur, Nueva Ecija Province, Central Luzon, rural Philippines. He has a Masters Degree in Language Education with a Concentration in Teaching English as a Second Language Education (ESL). Rutgers - The State University of New Jersey, New Brunswick, New Jersey, USA May, 1982. He also has a BA in Religion, January, 1974 from Temple University, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, including a concentration in Spanish courses. He taught ESL composition, reading skills, grammar, and syntax to non-native speakers in the Writing Program, called also the English Language Enrichment Center, Temple University , Fall Semester, 1982 Temple University, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. He also was a substitute teacher, teaching ESL and Spanish and English as a bilingual teacher in the Philadelphia public school system from September, 1984 to December, 1984. He also taught EFL/ESL in Korea, China, Honduras, Colombia, and Peru from 1982 to 1993 in universities, colleges, binational centers, and language institutes. Email: borgesmagic@hotmail.com

 

The Dreamer

I sang to the red roses

on the hillside: I love you! I love you!

Her image shot up

into radiant yellow lights.

Suddenly, she descends

upon the arching rainbow,

and she sleeps peacefully in the twilight world.

The stars glow kindly

at my soul.

 

Published in AETK (Association of English Teachers of Korea) NEWSLETTER,

Cheongju City, Central Korea, December 1992

 

The Third Eye

The flower

Fromthe heart

Is eternal beauty,

And the stars

From the heavens

Illuminate the rivers of dawn,

And evening’s twilight

Yearns forMother Earth’s elixir

Which renews our innocence

With a kiss

Sweeter than wine

Which intoxicates our souls

With joy

And which purifies our dreams

Which offer hope to humankind.

 

Cheongju, Chungbuk Province, Central Korea, May 1991

 

 

 

Reflections from a Himalayan Sojourn

 [After Wisława Szymborska]

 

Behold the Himalayas.

Mountains spiralling to the stars.

The split second of their start memorized

by angels on the stunning, slashed canvas

of the firmament.

Holes pricked in a sea of clouds.

Speared into vastness.

Echo—a white soprano.

Vibration.

Little Monkey, below we’ve obtained Thursday,

chapatis, Sanskrit, and the Vedas.

The discovery of zero.

Roses are red, pink, blue, and white

in the Rose Garden of Chandigarh.

LittleMonkey, communalismis not all

because we have Holi and Diwali.

Little Monkey, not every thing there

means hatred.

We’ve inherited Truth —

the gift of loving.

You’ll see how we find

rebirth among the ashes.

Little Monkey, we’ve obtained Tagore there.

LittleMonkey, we play bridge, drums,

and sitar. At dusk, we light candles

and lanterns.

Selected Poems of Love, Liberation, & Beauty 37

Up here, it’s neither stars nor earth.

Tears glisten.

Oh LittleMonkey, semi-star princess,

come back, embraceme again!

I chanted this to the Little Monkey

inside four walls of the hostel,

rubbing my feet for warmth

on the roof of the world.

 

Hill Station and Simla, Himachel Pradesh, India, March 1974

 

My Love at First Sight

 [After Wisława Szymborska]

 

We’re both persuaded

that a starry flash joined us.

Such light is lovelier,

but light amid darkness is lovelier still.

Since we never met before, we’re certain, that there’d been no angel,

whispering in our ears.

But what’s the rumour from the plazas, parks, and bazaars —

maybe we’ve dashed by each other a million times?

She wanted to ask us

If we don’t recall —

a few seconds face to face

in some passing lines?

maybe a “hi!” muttered in a peace march?

a smile in a candlelight peace vigil?

but she knows the answer.

No, we don’t recall

We’d be astounded to hear

that Angel Michael has been whispering

in our ears now for years.

Just not quite prepared yet

to become our Fate,

it prodded us close, wrenched us apart,

it blocked our trail,

stifling a sigh,

and then jumped away.

There were images and symbols,

even if we couldn’t read them yet.

Maybe forty-three years ago,

Maybe twenty-one years ago,

Or just last Wednesday

a certain bougainvillea blushed,

petals fell on one’s head and another?

They fell and we picked them up.

Who knows, perhaps the balloon that floated

into the plaza upon my arms?

There were door knockers and buzzers

where one touch had graced another

perhaps just beforehand.

Tables left and empty side by side.

Amoment earlier, a black-hairedmestiza

sitting across from me,

reading the Colombian novel, “Maria”.

One twilight, maybe, the same dream,

becomes foggy by dawn.

Every beginning

is only, a link, after all,

in the continuum

of Samsara, theWheel of Life,

birth, death, and rebirth.

And Love is eternal,

Love is Truth.

 

Quezon City, Metro Manila, Philippines, May 29 2005

 

Hailing the Propeller Luminaries

Hosannas to the condors of the blue heavens,

slower than sound today

and much slower than light,

we’ll change sound into the Sloth

and light into the Hare.

Two revered creatures

fromthemodern parable,

a majestic team, since recent times

competing hither and thither.

You soared so many times

across this holy earth

spreading His message

of peace, justice, and human rights;

now make another course

across the awesome azure.

The track’s still yours. We won’t

block your way: by then

we will have taken off chasing

the stars instead of you

while you radiate the message of His Holiness

of love and good will everywhere.

 

Quezon City, Metro Manila, Philippines, May 29 2005

 

Positive

Against a bluish sky

a whiter cloud

streaked silvery by the sun.

On the right, that is, the left,

a red cherry branch with white blossoms.

White shadows on my bright face.

I’d just taken a seat on the couch

and placed my hands, turned rosy-pink, upon it.

I look like an angel

who’s trying to light up the living.

(And since I am still one of them,

I should appear to her and touch:

good morning, I mean, good evening,

greetings, I mean, I bring you great tidings.

And I do not avoid answers to any of her questions

concerning love,

that serenity after the tempest.)

 

Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, April, 1977