Tag: Tai Chi

The Art of War: Enter the Dragon
Bagua · Poem · Poetry · Tai Chi · Writing

The Art of War: Enter the Dragon

extraordinarysunshineweaver5 Comments

The Art of War: Enter the Dragon

He sees me at a distance

from the Salvation Army.

The soft glow of my white hair,

my short stature and square hips,

a slight limp,

a slow stride,

I am an easy mark

to a desperate bully.

Mam! Mam!

Come here!

Come here!

It’s like he’s found his prize.

He doesn’t see these deep lines

tracing the fingerprints of my soul

on my small face.

Each mark, a scar,

a battle won.

I am no kitten!

Come HERE! He commands.

I hear shouts of dominance,

impatience and irritation.

Does he think I’ll cross to HIS side!?

I veer into the parking lot of a bank.

It’s CLOSED!

Mam!  

He is crossing the

street in pursuit of me!

Come HERE!

He demands

like he is calling the pigs.

I take to the ATM area

to get to Broadway.

He’s advancing!

Leave me alone! I yell.

Go AWAY!

He’s on my back.

MAM! MAM!

Give me MONEY!

Leave me alone!

Go AWAY NOW!

I do not cower to extortion.

My duty is to self!

Give me MONEY! MONEY!

He flashes the cigarette butt

burning into his fingers.

He shows his teeth,

planted cock-eyed

behind tense lips.

I show him my piercing eyes. The flames,

my shield, my sword.

I am no stranger to bullies.

NO MONEY!

GO AWAY!

I advance to his face.

My scars deepen as I scowl.

My spirit finds its gateway.

My light is charged.

He persists, speaking loudly

in another language, but not imploring.

He isn’t my tribe. He doesn’t know

the rules here.

I’ve read the Art of War.

“Do not press a desperate

soul too hard,” says Sun Tzu.

However, I assess the enemy’s

slight build.

Should he touch me, I’ll advance

and strikehim under the jaw

with the root of my palm

and throw him into the ATM.  

His screams will be filmed.

MONEY! NOW!

He practically hits me

with his near-empty bottle of Dr. Pepper.

I see no tears or pleas

for pity. Only dominance

over an old lady.

“Show your banners!

beat your drums!” exclaims Sun.

I glare at the offender

with the eyes of a dragon.

Don’t let my shape or size

deceive you,

I am a round stone

gaining momentum

down a steep slope.

I will sweep you away

into a chasm.

Still he demands money. His tone,

You, Woman, give me money!

NO! I yell.

Leave me ALONE!

Go AWAY!

Sun whispers, “On contentious ground,

attack not. Lure the enemy by

pretending to flee.”

One moment. I suddenly nod my head.

I open my purse and the perpetrator

doesn’t grab it.

He thinks I’m getting money,

but I take out the phone.

Police! I yell, I’m calling the POLICE!

911!  POLICE!

I gather myself, my troops, and my honor.

I withdraw slowly, back onto Broadway,

my eyes always on my foe.

I wave my phone at him as a new saber.

The baying jackal curses

and retreats into the shadows.


Battle bleeds another scar.

Victory, purifying fire.

Harmony, restored.

“Such is the art of war,”

nods the smiling Sage.

Revised 02/07/2020

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©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Google search, Sun Tzu, The Art of War

New Audio: Fair Maiden
Audio · Poem · Poetry · Tai Chi

New Audio: Fair Maiden

extraordinarysunshineweaverLeave a comment

Fair Maiden

White leather sown with straps and beads,
Braids woven in feathers
Though fair skinned,
I am a Native maiden,
On my path winding inward.
The forest tangles
Yet opens its vines and limbs
As a cave mouth,
Where I enter, greeted by a wolf and a hawk,
Guides to an overlook.
Wolf at my side, the expanse opens up.
I fly with Hawk,
The wind drumming my face
To where the dance is,
The drums, the rattles.
Wolf and I dance.
As the Fire strokes my hair.
Drumming, chanting, whirling.
I whirl my arms skyward,
Embracing air. I am small,
For the twisting air makes night a shape,
Looming before me, it asks if
I am ready to die.
I stand bold, warding off Death.
Fair Maiden to the North,
South, East, and West, all directions.
Night Dragon breathes Fire,
But I ward off Death in the fumes.
All around the drums beating
In my heart, steady beats, strong.
I stand like granite.
I am the chanting, the dance.
The songs open to me
The words I need to know
As I emerge from the rage
Of Night, asking for my Soul,
Of which I have many,
One for every element.
The elders sing my divination,
Their faces lit by fire and stars.
The Night Beast withdraws,
Warded off by my Spirit,
There he rests, waiting
For another test of me, but
He’s really an Ally,
Guarding a contract
Written in parchment
By the Sea of Forgetting.
I am here to be reborn.
To awaken to Truth
And to lead others to their sacred gardens,
Where Fear makes their beasts
And where they greet Death
As a passage to their Spirit Name.
And emerge as warriors,
Gifted with arrows, feathers, and drums.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: https://pixabay.com/en/native-sprite-dancer-folk-art-20341/

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New Audio: In the Emperor’s Throne
Audio · Poem · Poetry

New Audio: In the Emperor’s Throne

extraordinarysunshineweaver3 Comments

I am a stranger

In a strange land

Bone to bone with natives

Capturing a sight once

Forbidden by the kingdom –

The Emperor’s throne.

It holds secrets revealed,

Legends, unfolding like silk

In stories bound in parchment

And sealed by scholars

Tested in cages;

Their triumphs, their duty.

The Emperor’s throne,

Guarded by Fu Lions and

Heated by cauldrons

Brewing the spoils of

Valiant conquests

Ending in tombs with mercury rivers.

The Emperor’s throne

Gave birth to the Dragon,

Stretching for eras

In wakeful slumber

Tended to by the masses

And nurtured into stone.

Up his steep spine,

I am pushed and pulled breathless,

Stepping on the shadows

Of ancient sentries guarding

The Emperor’s treasures of

Jade, silk, porcelain, and gold,

Gilded, woven, carved, and

Etched to perfection

In the likeness of antiquity.

At the peak, visible to all,

The Great Beast ends –

That way of stone –

To a train station in Shanghai,

Where a doll-eyed girl with long black braids

Greets me at the KFC.

To a city park in Nanjing, where

People walk their dogs,

Play Tai Chi, fly kites,

Dance to music from ‘Grease”,

And bring their caged birds

To greet the sunrise

In the shadow of the throne.

To a country road

Lined with carts of fruit and vegetables

And a farmer’s wife waving

As I snap pictures of her

Roosters, hens, and pigs

In the gaze of the Great Dragon.

To a landscape of people

In their daily toil –

Cooks in white linen,

Fishers sorting their catches,

Vendors lining the walkways

With silk slippers, gilded bags, and wooden combs.

To a city intersection with

Young girls on pink mopeds

Darting between students on bikes,

Families in cars, and workers on buses,

All frantically moving head on into

A silent agreement to part ways.

© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image:

The Throne in the Hall of Preserving Harmony

Public Domain

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In the Emperor’s Throne
Audio · Poem · Poetry

In the Emperor’s Throne

extraordinarysunshineweaverLeave a comment

I am a stranger

In a strange land

Bone to bone with natives

Capturing a sight once

Forbidden by the kingdom –

The Emperor’s throne.

It holds secrets revealed,

Legends, unfolding like silk

In stories bound in parchment

And sealed by scholars

Tested in cages;

Their triumphs, their duty.

The Emperor’s throne,

Guarded by Fu Lions and

Heated by cauldrons

Brewing the spoils of

Valiant conquests

Ending in tombs with mercury rivers.

The Emperor’s throne

Gave birth to the Dragon,

Stretching for eras

In wakeful slumber

Tended to by the masses

And nurtured into stone.

Up his steep spine,

I am pushed and pulled breathless,

Stepping on the shadows

Of ancient sentries guarding

The Emperor’s treasures of

Jade, silk, porcelain, and gold,

Gilded, woven, carved, and

Etched to perfection

In the likeness of antiquity.

At the peak, visible to all,

The Great Beast ends –

That way of stone –

To a train station in Shanghai,

Where a doll-eyed girl with long black braids

Greets me at the KFC.

To a city park in Nanjing, where

People walk their dogs,

Play Tai Chi, fly kites,

Dance to music from ‘Grease”,

And bring their caged birds

To greet the sunrise

In the shadow of the throne.

To a country road

Lined with carts of fruit and vegetables

And a farmer’s wife waving

As I snap pictures of her

Roosters, hens, and pigs

In the gaze of the Great Dragon.

To a landscape of people

In their daily toil –

Cooks in white linen,

Fishers sorting their catches,

Vendors lining the walkways

With silk slippers, gilded bags, and wooden combs.

To a city intersection with

Young girls on pink mopeds

Darting between students on bikes,

Families in cars, and workers on buses,

All frantically moving head on into

A silent agreement to part ways.

 

© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: 

The Throne in the Hall of Preserving Harmony

Public Domain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Birth of Tai Ji
Audio · Poem · Poetry · Tai Chi

The Birth of Tai Ji

extraordinarysunshineweaverLeave a comment

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Wu Ji is Source.

Stillness, the Void,

No thing, Nothing.

The Essence

And Yuan Qi (Original Qi).

The Grand Ultimate.

The space void between Qian and Kun,

Pure Yang and Pure Yin.

The Essence

Tai Chi Chuan

Yang (Movement) and Yin (Stillness),

The Supreme Polarity.

The One plus The Two beget Life as

Source breathes the Ten Thousand Things and so

Tai Ji, The Grand Extreme, and so

Tai Ji begets Tai Ji Chuan.

 

Essence begets Qi,

Qi begets Spirit,

Spirit begets Void,

Void begets Essence.

Essence begets Qi,

Qi begets Spirit,

Spirit begets Void,

Void begets Essence.

This is the Great Mystery.

__________________

I am sorry about so many spelling differences in my poems about Tai Chi. Qi and Ji are Chi. I wrote this poem after reading Sun Lutang’s book on Taiji. His life story is fascinating. He was a scholar of the I-Ching and Doaism. Let me know if this poem needs details. I don’t feel this one is finished.

© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: https://www.google.com/

 

Tao Play
Audio · Poem · Poetry · Tai Chi

Tao Play

extraordinarysunshineweaver3 Comments

 

 

When they come to you,

They are but seeds,

Seeking redemption

In Tao play.

Taking their positions,

Centering in Wu Chi,

Nurtured by white cranes’

Wings and sparrows tails

Of which they knew

Little before they found Chi,

Embraced in a ball,

Encompassed by Tao.

They take to quarrels

With monkeys and prevail,

Warding off their fears

And sending them flying.

Seeds take sprout unfolding

In the light of the horizon

Through the temple gates

Out of the shadows of their lives.

Listening, they see

They are vessels receiving

And giving sustenance

From the source of life.

They sprout new growth

In swords and fans

And are lifted out of

Their birth place to new ground.

They find the balance

In all Forms, which,

When done to perfection,

Will make them immortal.

This poem was written to commemorate Kenny Greene’s 60th birthday. He has taught Tai Chi Chuan here in Columbia, Missouri for years for free. Many of us, and the classes are growing, have learned a great deal from Kenny not just about Tai Chi Chuan but also about community. He has received several awards for his service to our community. If you try to discuss politics with hum, he says, Grow your garden. He’s growing his garden and not getting caught up in negativity. He leads by example. He is also forever giving and unselfish. Someone in class today felt so behind by missing two Chen Tai Chi Chuan classes taught by Arthur Du, and Kenny told him to come by his shop. He would catch him up.  We indeed owe a great deal to Kenny Greene! Here I am reading my poem at his party. Kenny is in the background.

 

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© 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

 Image: http://www.marcusdargan.com/soul-of-the-world/