thơ thở: The Tarot Project


định làm một tập thơ, mỗi bài là tên một lá trong bộ tarot. Có thể sẽ được tiếp tục và update dần dần vào đây. 


Eight of Pentacles
I. These
shades of bronze, shapes of black ink, abstractions of the world, logs of wood
I carve into being: these are my life work,
I complete them, and through them, and by them
I connect
to the earth, to life, to physicality, to livelihood
II. One may ask: What meaning is there
in Aesthetics: silly outward appearances, and indulgences of the rich
in Communication: words don’t mean what we think, and we don’t mean what we word
in Intellectualization: hopeless mathematicians and economists who live and die for peripheral fanfares and squabbles on truth
in Utility: why do we kill the trees for tables and chairs?
yet one Forgets
that asking is a silly thing of the mind,
of silly outward desires, of losses of meaning, of intellectualization, of egoistic assertions
III. Jeweler, Printer, Theorist, or Carpenter–
these lives I have partaken, these countries I have been to
each of them has sorrows, and joys, and lessons
in each of them I find solitude, and healing in my work
so I always return to work: I shape, I carve, I think, I mold
IV. and what of boredom, of repetition?
deaths from overwork
cries from office cubical entrapments
circular rat racing between deaf men
the machining system, the governing isms, the bleeding soul
exoneration you seek, but
forget not, soul,
that carpe diem is seizing the the bright earthly day,
                                is not rooting for the mystical night of the underworld
forget not, soul,
“God, actually, indeed,
in the details”
Five of Wands
Ping, Ping, Ping, Ping
of basketballs bouncing on cemented ground, of unaware breathing and running and pluckering from the rhythms of the universe
of classroom discourses: young souls expressing their own ideas, thinking they are fighting
for some social, mutual good
maybe they are right, maybe they are wrong and hence wondering if participation is, was, will be necessary
necessitated a need to escape and burden oneself in the undercased pillows and raspy blankets
away from the voices, from glimmering sunlight, from conversations, from autumn-filtered oxygen, from the rain and the darkening computer screens
from education, in order to learn
in the libraries speak to me, but the voices of the living humans
undetectable, mysterious, hurtful, divisive
quick, charged, rough, deafening, are hard to absorb
these voices come from the children of the earth, and I am one myself but I wonder if as
children we could play tag, or run in circles, or draw silly faces
and not kill, threaten, question, or intellectualize
fight our way towards knowledge, holding the wooden sticks,
our benchmark for truths,
our measure of things,
but alas the fights last only 45 minutes
and 45 minutes are barely enough to hear the voice
of anyone, even the dead man on the assigned pages
and yet it only takes a single moment to look into someone’s eyes, and ask
if our inner being can see to the depths of their inner being, and learn
to not rip ourselves apart

Author: oligothoughts

poetic hermit

3 thoughts on “thơ thở: The Tarot Project

  1. Still shocked how accurate your reading was back in November of 2015. Sadly, well done.


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