For me poetry is about moments, bite-sized pieces of my life, and the truth is I never really know when these moments are going to happen. There is not always a ‘signal’. I just walk, listen, watch, look, hear and taste what is around me.

Yesterday was a warm day, so I walked by the river and a ‘poetry moment’ happened. I guess ‘life’ happens like this….but maybe we do not always see it.

So I wrote this poem.

 

A Walking Moment

An out-of-nowhere moment.
A mother breast feeding her baby,
a knowing nod and a peeking way.
My secret nourisher in a lonely place.

Two sleeping dogs, tethered
with rope and chain.
Enacting a punishment of
pain and pleasure.

A tidy breeze, unfastening frames
with great seriousness.
That spoke to me from the inside.

The rush of traffic stacked away
and slowed down by silence.
An armored peace to meet
my solitude.

An orange coated beetle caught
up in a freezing lament.
Rotting and waiting to die.
As the old man, consumed
by thoughts of his demise
drinks the last drop of Baijiu.

And a carefree boy walking
the silent streets, turns slowly round
and smiles anxiously as time sleeps again.
I still believe in moments.