Walking, just walking.
The journey is hard for me.
Silent still, moving body.
The streets pass by.
Lan Kwai Fong.
Sai Yeung Choi.
Tsat Tsz Mui……
Each one carries my past.
Amid these
mournful moments.
A wistful feeling,
of so much lost.
So, I walk on…..
to the day’s end.
And in a streak of moonlight.
I see you, waiting for me –
deep into the night.
A love, that listens
to the wind.

I sat down
and listened
to the wind singing
in my veins.
In such a moment,
your gaze appeared.
A single pattern,
so constant.
Unrelenting in
it’s embrace.
As if, your were
beside me.
Like a shadow,
or a friend.
And every thought
and action, I have.
Now more sacred,
to play the purest delight.
In this moment,
I found fullness.
Without an ending.

Lights around the harbour.
An indifferent
anthem to the sun.
I wait and wait
for my return.
A journey I dreamt, again.
Blue clouds
on the horizon.
Breath wrapped
around me.
And when the nights
are loud.
Your love steals,
my thoughts.
Half an angels eye
and solace
surrounded.
You, and I am home.

Flecked with life,
and from a whirlwind.
A twenty-third floor
butterfly dance,
on my window.
Alive as you and me.
To be born again.
From the emptiness
of Hong Kong.
One last teatime.
We put the wheels
in motion.
And both staked
our claims
As the world grows
still.

Facing a life.
Flirting,
then a denial.
Photos
of her husband.
In the people’s
uniform.
I stop to count
some.
And said
goodbye.

I close this autumn’s
poetry book.
Exit through the pen.
A make shift hope
that everything is normal.

The so-called,
something on my mind.
Are bruises against my soul.
A peeling, like a snakes skin.
Unable to touch the
enormous things.

With no lines set down.
The sea heaves up.
My lungs filled with stems.
Calling out…not
the shadow well.
Only more, precise fears.

By a shrug of the shoulders.
I watch the last rays
of sunset fade.
And wait for those
wildflowers, to sugar
the fields – once again.

Some people told me
‘ The man does not know’.
” Do you know, Mr Tourist?”
they said.

So I told them
‘I’m just an Englishman,
trying to find my way home’.
Remembering, how far
I have come.

A butterfly of unknowing.
Darkening mountains
around me.
And the door to the past,
still open.

I call the dead, each day.
No matter how you
look at it.
And fall in love, with
the anger and anguish of Plath.
To deal with the present.

We were indebted
to each other.
A lesson, part history
part philosophy- whilst
drinking black lemon tea.
And went our separate ways.

The wind blew
in Hong Kong today.
Ears and eyes
of my old age.
The men played
Chinese chess.
Stone before
the Buddha.
A coolness of
winter birds coming.
Bright cats
at their heels.
Startled the moment.
And a lady,
who seemed to
be waiting for me.
Offered me
hot green tea.
To warm my hands.

I have known for some time,
that love is fragile.
One moment, it is there.
The next, a trauma on the body.
A language, rambling and flayed.
Blown out of future’s
golden cage.

But some of us, make it.
A road without loss
and correction – not most.
Standing in a beam of light,
where the fireflies thrive.
As large as the moon.

So, I thank you for loving me.
And giving me your soul
It won’t be enough…..
to ease the pain.
And shadows on the surface.
But still sound.

Lift up your head
red rose of England.
And hear the autumn roar.
Slow fireflies,
playing hide and seek.
As fear replaces joy.

Orion and polaris,
night walking on busy streets.
A wild dog, crying out.
In the vain hope,
of filling the long night.

Everything moving.
Clouds, buses, birds
….. and me.
Farther than last night.
And no longer blended
with laughter.