Fall 2022, Volume 33

Poetry by George Freek

At Loon Lake (After Liu Yong)

It’s January, when
resolutions are laid,
but it’s hard to think of a future
in this inclement weather.
An embalming darkness
smothers the pines.
The moon and stars
disappear, leaving
a black emptiness.
In the far distance
I see mountains,
blanketed in snow.
In solitude they’re majestic.
But life has fled them,
with more welcoming places to go.

The Painter Kuan Tung

How does one see correctly?
I no longer think it’s
only with the eyes.
I look beyond the trees.
The night wears a halo of stars,
I gaze at the moon
In a slit between two trees,
but it has nothing
to do with me.
As night gives way to day,
leaves begin to heap
at my sandaled feet.
In their stark way,
I’ve wasted many years,
they seem to say.

In Nature (After Su Tung Po)

I’m nearing sixty.
It happened so fast.
But in this world
things don’t last.
My dreams are dust,
blown away by a brutal wind.
I stare at the stars.
They don’t stare back.
I look at the moon.
It’s far away. I feel
I can see its scars.
I look at my maple tree,
naked as a lonely grave,
standing in this cold night,
bereft of its
comforting leaves.




BIO: George Freek's poetry has been published in numerous Journals and Reviews. His poem "Written At Blue Lake" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His poem "Enigmatic Variations" was also recently nominated for Best of the Net. His collection "Melancholia" is published by Red Wolf Editions.