Remembering the Tsunami in Japan

Peach blossoms in the back yard. Spring

 

Three years ago this spring,  Japan was hit with a devestating tsunami.  Death and destruction of course followed, and the world watched.  The Japanese people rallied and set an example of courage and  fortitude  as they faced the aftermath of this tsunami.  Today, the scars still remain and there are areas in the North East Japan where it is a stripped no-man’s land.  Of course the radiation from the reactors were a big part of  this, but the waters came inland over a mile and took people, buildings, etc. mostly back into the sea. The death toll was horrendous.  Today, Japan is still recovering, but these are a strong people and look towards the future with hope.

I remember my own sorrow upon learning about the tsunami.  Poetry was the only way I could answer the flood of my own feelings.  It is so little enough, but the only way I had.

Lady Nyo 

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THREE POEMS UPON VIEWING THE MOON LAST NIGHT

 

1. 

The moon tonight

Blood orange orb

Duenna of the cosmos

Looms in a velvet sky.

 

Slipping her moorings

She floats closer to earth

A commanding  presence

Creating wonderment beneath

And pulling our eyes  to Heaven.

 

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2.

Is there a moon viewing party

In Japan tonight?

Destruction, sorrow

Covers the land,

Despair, loss

Regulates the heart.

 

Perhaps the moon presence

Is of little interest

And less comfort.

Perhaps sorrow goes too deep

To raise eyes above the graves.

 

Yet,

Her gleam falls upon all

A compassionate blanketing

Of the Earth,

Softening the soiled,

Ravaged landscape,

A beacon of promise

Of the return to life,

Beauty to nature.

 

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3. 

Two weeks and the cherry blossoms

Would have opened in Sendai.

Beautiful clouds of scented prayers

Falling upon upturned faces,

The eternal promise of hope for the earth,

Swept out to sea

With a good part of humanity.

 

I will sit beneath the moon tonight

Listening to frogs sing,

An owl in the woods

The birds settling in the dark—

 

My cherry tree is blooming

A small cloud of satin blossom–

I will count falling petals,

And offer these up as prayers.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels,

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