Red Cliffs

[curulambe]

I've been struck lately by the Battle at Red Cliffs (also known as Chi Bi), in AD 208. This is the first of potentially several poems thereon.

Fire shall meet Wood on Water, under Sky, by Earth.
Earth, the Red Cliffs that watch us as we die.
Sky, that bends to Sleeping Dragon.
Water, the Great River.
Wood shelters men.
Fire burns.

[gryphonpoet]

I love the way your bring the poem to a complete and satisfying circle. There are a lot of people who would neglect that aspect of the process.

As a stand-alone poem, it seems to need more than what is here. However, you expect it to be only the first of a series (or an opening stanza of a longer poem maybe?). In that light, it gives enough of a taste to tantalize the reader into going ahead with the rest.

I would be interested in seeing how this turns out in the end.

Joe

[curulambe]

For seven years the Emperor has lain
beneath the boot of Xuchang's tyranny,
while we stand powerless to strike.
The River binds our hands fast to the South.

The sleeping dragon stirs towards Chang Ban Po
as Lady Xu, phoenix's mother, dies,
rotating on a slender silken cord.
The River binds our hands fast to the South.

The governor of Jing, our enemy
for these past twenty years, descends to night.
The North begins to march, all pretense gone.
The River binds our hands fast to the South.

Down mighty Yangtze flies the house of Han,
until her uncle bows before our door.
There may yet be some room for him within.
The River binds our hands fast to the South.

At Jiangling sits the spider in its web,
stiffens to pounce upon its trembling prey.
What spider dares to struggle with the hawk?
The River binds our foes fast to their fate.

Cai Mao is dead; the sleeping dragon rules
the minds of any who would stand against
the glory of the Han. This man must die.
The River binds our allies to their course.

The phoenix moves in vengeance. Wood is bound
beneath the blackened iron. Horses, men
walk freely on the water to their death.
The River binds our foes fast to their fate.

The Way is manifold; the Way is one.
Atop the altar slumber dragon's coils.
Above, the very wind harks to his call.
The River binds our allies to their course.

The reaper stalks upon the ruddy waves;
his burning touch spares one man out of four.
Back to the North the cur retreats in shame.
The River binds our foes fast to their fate.

Phoenix and dragon fly. The Han are gone.
Green Jing now stands against us, who have fought
for twenty years and more to make it ours.
The River binds our hands fast to the South.

[curulambe]

One last footnote to this twisted thread - I wrote this in my study of Chinese, translated it to English, put it here. (Pretentious? Yes, I know. It's how I am.)

The Red Cliffs face Cao's North
Victory wine fills mouth and head
The river runs dark into Time