My Picture.: A gallery I visited in Ho Chi Minh City…a collective of local artists.
Teaching poetry in Vietnam
Children
Uplifting spring
My Picture: Sanquan Medical Collage, Xinxiang, China.
A little boy looked at my hair
and asked me
“Why are you so old?”
A trick philosophical question from one so young.
Short sun in cold winter white,
I pulled out a small strand of grey hair,
going the same way.
Exchanging looks with the boy,
we smiled for a selfie.
A snow blanket mountain,
something tiny and whole and
the power of allure.
A soul with wings
and freedom felt in spring’s fresh lace.
Quite Neighborhood
My Pictures: Taken in Vietnam, Summer 2018.
Deep and dark now
whalebone and winter rain.
Thin plates to enlarge the circle,
a hand to the sky.
Unafraid, a black bird
watches me approach.
Trees shift, and gulls turn the day
no other words come.
Silent friends meeting,
the sound of chairs being moved ,in and out.
Tears in silver foil litter the ground
and white wind eyes darken the mood.
I look at the rain shadow and distant virga,
razored through and losing its name.
And yet, a fleeting symbol of life
a returning sea, seducing the summer sun.
Alive
My Picture: Part of railway that took Chinese prisoners to Unit 731: a covert biological and chemical warfare research and development wing of the Imperial Japanese Army that undertook lethal human experimentation during the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945) and World War II.
Humanity’s gift, a creation by love.
A life of spirit, branches, leaves, water.
Sailing in the sky and pardoned centuries ago.
For there is no core to throw away.
Words whirring over wide plains
Somewhere else, somewhere here
beyond the reach of your presence.
Already forgotten and born again.
A moments decline
My Picture
Uncertainty,
trotting timid minds out
in a closed space.
A pale gray train appears
stirred empty on the silent outskirts,
proclaiming a second coming.
His life, a kind of a freeze frame
a non-thinking matter.
Smothering the earth with a fast silver-whitewash
Not too unpleasant, these days.
The beauty and fun of it all,
a quick free trip with no return.
Stillness
My picture of a photograph I took in Vietnam celebrating the role of women in the history of this country.
saying nothing
has become part of the English language
held by it
like flashbacks in a forest
across the tables
conversations grinding away
a petal falls
and the afternoon drifts along
when I look up
migrating birds show the way
giving loneliness
in the taste of white peach
Kodokushi
Kodokushi (孤独死) or lonely death refers to a Japanese phenomena of people dying alone and remaining undiscovered for a long period of time…. sadly… this is not just a Japanese phenomena .. My view is that we need to talk more about why many die alone.. and quality in death…..
Last night I read about ‘Kodokushi’,
the politics of despair.
Grunts and strains upward,
counting the stars alone.
A 69-year old man
discovered three years after his death
….. no death poem, only the longest night.
An indented grey pillow,
on a winter sickbed.
No one to watch the threads of a life unfold,
many not even knowing.
I though, how will I die?
A soap bubble, before it bursts
or a chill before moonlight
….. the end of a long day?
An exhausted me, timeless drudgery.
Confusion, misery and apprehension
with only the slurping sounds.
Maybe I will write a poem, just before.
A simple happening…..
and yet, a drop of hope grown
…..a man’s end and mound of gleaming words.
Understanding
A picture sent to me by a friend in England.
I talked with my friend from Anyang this morning.
Upon a background of fading moonlight,
and recalling times gone by.
Once, we both had pure and romantic hopes… and lost them someplace.
You walk…. I walk.
Now there remains a heart in deep sadness….. estranged from this yellow land.
So I sent her a daffodil, from England…..
to pull along her threads of worries
and clean up these ancient wounds.
The Voice of the Cicadas
My Picture
It’s the edge of the world,
and I am tired.
The sound of water
says what it thinks.
Fish are walking
and sparrows singing.
Too often hinting of past things,
how far-off they are!
The moon taps at the window,
tap, tap, tap…..
Searching for the spotlight,
a slatted loneliness.
By the mountains, graceful
a kite ascends…
As the wind beats the wind,
pitying a lonely cicada voice.
Somewhere over here
A picture sent to me by a friend in Harbin, China. Northern China is experiencing late winter snow……..
A Wandering Poet 