The Successor

One of the videos from my summer school English class.

Tanaka-san took over the group from his father. Now he is retiring and the group needs a new leader, but he has no son to hand the leadership down to. At a farewell party he is urged to name a successor. Who will it be?

The password to view the video is "shrek".

Blue

They were the same
shade of blue
as the waters

Where the
clownfish
weaved among
the pink anemone
Caressed by
the tentacles
Lingering
where corals shimmered
in the bright light of day

the same
shade of blue
as the waters
where migrating
schoals weaved
dazzling vortices
of red and silver
and wave led wave
exuberantly
across the expanse

the same blue
as the waters
on which hundreds
bathed on sun decks
from port to port
The cool sea spray
a constant companion
as they met
new ones on board
their floating city

Through life's vortex
Those denim jeans
blue as the waters
became
a shade of
their old selves

lost their colour
grew frayed
worn
tired
and tears
all around


They both
saw their world
fray and rip
like those blue jeans
Worn and tired
by tears
A blue irreversibly
discoloured
now
an ill-fitting pair


and as he watched
her draw away
not lingering
Weaving into
the anemone
of the crowd

he felt his
shimmering ocean
all its vibrance
colour and warmth

fade into a

pale

lukewarm

still

blue

months before
their day of
reckoning - "I reckon
it's a box of
chocolates" - they
welcomed
the green prophets
into their homes
with joy and hope

adorned them with
their finest
and bid them to
keep watch over their
tidings of joy with
lights flickering
like the ten virgins
waiting for their
bridegroom


the coming of Christ
mas over

the
green prophets
stripped and beaten
lie naked on
the streets
as the very ones
who bid them welcome
now trod past
without
second glance
how the mighty
have fallen


twelve months on
they will again
raise new prophets
in their homes

gift them their
finest gold and silver
tinsel

rid them
to the streets
when the season ends
where they will lie

forgotten

out of mind

just like He
who gave
the season its name

awaits outside
on the icy paths
ignored
knocking on
their heart's door

- "Merry Mas"

sweet child
eyes exploring
seeing but
not placing
the faces that look back

the voices that coo
the hands that
stroke your head
the fingers you grip
all from an
unknown universe
you map each day
through Thought
and Experience


dear father
seeing but
not placing
the faces that
speak to you in
muted gibberish

the fingers that clasp
your shaking hands
and wipe your drool

all from
a universe
where you were
once the centre

but now

your tattered map
landmarks lost
and memories
meshed into mush

my old child

You were my north
when I explored
the world
and gave it
boundaries
and meaning

And as you lose
your boundaries
I will hold
your hand

lead you
like
you once led me
into your
new world

where you will
always be
His sweet child

- "age to age"