This frigid air, and laughter

turned upside down.

Suffocates a poets soul –

‘No one else’ he wrote.

But wet lips, not plum rain –

and life still has lessons for me.

For all you have done,

and not the time to be sad.

A forever,
deep in heart –
and stars of hope.
Then, a farewell….
You’re there,
and I’m sad again –
a flower in a
closed window.
Each night,
I look for the
blue-headed moon.
Decorated with
plum blossom –
like something alive.

Smiled at your
funny little ways.
Your dancing to
Jerry Lee Lewis.
A sweet song
of Argentina – the
taste of atemoya
from your lips
But, at the old
burial ground –
I saw your love.
A soft, silent lapse –
and eyes to be proud.
Whatever’s here,
is just here.

A long summer,
and a reason to believe.
Uncluttered beauty,
and a view of my turmoil.

And when I awake,
a mind of rain-darkened hair –
and leaves filling the spaces.
Such beauty to behold.

A poem about memory.

I’m watching a world
go by – scooters flying
and dogs barking.
A drunk man sleeping,
talking to an imaginary
friend about toxic times.
Daniel Johnston is
singing ” Somethings Last
A Long Time ” on my MP3.
A couple kiss in a car,
and I think of you.
And I don’t know why.

Poor sleep last night. I woke early and wrote this poem.

Plum blossom
storms my brain,
that’s how it starts.
I think vaguely of Buddha,
all that time thinking –
a clear surface and
no attachment.
But, my thoughts
turn to you –
to loss and mending.
And, I notice
the sun is shining –
weaving and dancing.
A resting place,
for my thoughts.

A poem I wrote this morning after meeting a woman, drinking tea and listening to music 🙏

A lady in Kaohsiung,
talked about Charlie Parker –
finger heard secrets….
and being in the mood.

I wanted to talk about,
doubts and disbelief –
and how a soul
selects music.

In the end, we matched
the steel stillness.
Lazy as a deep sax –
we drank old oolong tea.
And listened to ‘Bird’ sing.

A moment,
between two worlds –
is rocking me.

Your lips,
heavens work of art –
a lane of blue radiance.

To taste,
your kiss – and hands
held tight.

A memory,
from this island.
What could I wish for,
more than this….

Someone asked me ” What is the point of writing poetry?”. So I thought about this…one reason to write poetry is to find some thought, feeling, comprehension, question, music, lost to me or I did not know was in me, or in the world around me 🙏

I wrote this poem last evening for a friend. 🙏

I heard the birds sing today,
and saw the flowers smile –
as waves of heat turned cold.
The breakwater at high tide,
inner child you – laid bare.
Plum blossom, wet on the streets.
I am here, watching the
paradise fish swim – ready to listen….

Love, the murmurings of roots –
and life on an island.
Breathing and growing,
snatching this chance to flee.

Your eyes are bound to plum rain,
mine to blue flowers.
Stirred-up by your scent,
and sharp temptations.

The sky grows dim, through East.
Humbled, a booming sound –
a new realm far apart from us.
Love and words, a subsistence only.