the man of tai-chi
with such sequestered ease
creates a clean calligraphy
of graceful peace:
a centre of concentration
to pump his heart and arteries
with measured arm-motion
and steps of gnarled artistry.
Ong Teong Hean The Tai-chi Man (2010)
My mother groan'd! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud:
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands.
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.
William Blake (1757-1827) Infant Sorrow