Shanghai quarantine Poem #6

Some days,
the sun goes missing.
And there’s nothing.
but silence and darkness.
I try and follow the news,
here are there.
And wonder,
what the Buddha would do.
Locked in hotel room,
waiting to be served?
So, I return to the past –
like walking all the way to Pluto.
And sometimes beyond……
The girl in my class,
who gave me my first dance.
So many Christmas days,
with empty crackers.
And you……
the warmth of your voice.
The softness of your hand.
By torchlight, I relive
when we first met.
Our love, in letter stars.
And lips, that
might tell the world.
 

Shanghai quarantine poem #5

How will it be
to be human again?
Like scrubbing me clean,
with wings enough –
to tell of life’s anger.
I’ve been gnawed,
like so many.
Abandoned and
unfulfilled..
Emptied,
without names.
But, I’m happier
than before.
And go on thinking,
without cease.
That I will fix
my soul, by a sun.
Whipping, and tied
between trees.
It’s loneliness,
unknown, and
pain free.

Shanghai quarantine Poem #
 
In every direction,
a loneliness epidemic
and bitter melon taste.
I plague a few
with my verse.
Some leftovers
for tomorrow.
You told me to take
everything from you –
and the world would change
But all I found
was a stale enclosure.
With dying words
to feed us.

Shanghai quarantine poem: #3

When you’re alone –
slowly floating.
The days shiver
in and out.
In the wink of an eye,
one set of footprints.
One lonely white rose,
a mountain star gaze.
But I look at the sky above,
and think about
the ones that love me.
A burst of jubilant colour,
and dancing plum rain.
Enough, for an honest man
to scream a new beauty.
And heal a wound, for now.
This is good for me.
 

 
The thing about isolation,
is that some people
no longer care.
No debates or
leering flirtations.
No opinions on Boris or Joe,
or which game to watch.
Barriers reconstructed,
an empty wind
dancing in the air.
So, I reach out to life –
to every leaf that falls.
A morning alone,
a workday alone.
But still, a wandering
interest.

Now, in a hotel room in Shanghai –

I am surrounded by Trane’s music.

And the smell of good coffee.

Enough, to make me

a fluid life dreamer – once again.

But the low waves are still there.

Of death, loss and repeat again –

sepulchral tones of indifference.

But, for now – I thank those souls

who passed my way.

Plum trees in bloom,

everywhere in the garden.

All over my garden.

And falling, I became a rainbow.

This is my last poem written in Hong Kong. Tomorrow, my odyssey continues. I will fly to Shanghai….and continue my quest 🙏

Autumn loses face,
on a windswept broom.
Even here in Hong Kong.
A desire for comfort,
but only mourning.
Leaving the world spinning.

To the east, distant
hills in silent colour.
Their image, burnt
into into my soul.
A wave moves,
peace and quite reigns.
A kind of paradise.
And the nearest thing
to being alive.

Inside my dream –
how many nights
without our lips touching?
How many dawns
without our eyes meeting?
There was something.
There was everything……
Lips of blue sky.
Eyes of the mountain moon.
Touch, with breath
of loving kindness.

Soft buzz of night-time.
Spins slowly
over Hong Kong.
ATM’s flash empty,
drained of life.
At midnight,
the past is cremated.
Sad wild days,
thundered away.
A new day begins.
 

Clouds hang heavy, dark,
like summer plum rain.
Each drop in the ocean.
Teases my transient thoughts.

Lazy drifts gather.
Inhaled, despite knowing.
An autumn signature.
Cold and digging into bones.