Hard Moon

16th Oct 201816th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Cover of a book of paintings by Lai Long and Bich Ngoc: Painters from Vietnam. I met them on a trip to Vietnam.

The hour is late
and I can’t sleep.
A hard moon,
consumed by ill-fate,
screws the night.

It came to me,
how it all slipped away.
A cold truth wooed and won.
Gravely, a tune of sorrow.

But I rather liked the
idea of being bad
And watching people
reproduce more of themselves.

The Harshness of Life

15th Oct 201815th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Xinxiang Cafe, China

A coffee in my favourite cafe,
escaping the harshness of the
cautious loners.

The coffee was hot and clean
and the staff always say “hello”
in practiced English.

Tonight a woman told a man
they were finished.

She told him he could go to hell.

Someone once told me to go to hell.
It was just after we made love,
and the phone call from a strange woman.

I only met her once, when I was drunk
and probably said ‘I love you’

That was my mistake.

Restless Farewell

14th Oct 201814th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Wei River: Xinxiang, Henan Province, China

In the darkness a dream came to me,
pale and waiting.
Beauty to destruction,
your head tilted but your face lost.

Rapturous and green eyed,
I drank each word from your mouth.
A sensuous scented sea of colour,
standing naked under unknown eyes.

Infused with lust and exposed skin,
I found a restless farewell.
And through the depths of blue I see
the last star, no longer dreary to be nobody.

It seemed by itself remembered love,
moments of breathlessness, but no sickness.
A cacophony of never ending whispering words,
dropping like flakes, fragile and complete.
Gentle as you should have been.

Lying in the darkness, I made a last wish
I am here.. standing alone
left looking …..
As you touch my soul and bleed into my dreams.

Awakening Solitude

13th Oct 201813th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Jin River, Chengdu, China

When alone, I thought
the crowd is wearing my face.
Silently judging,
safe in the knowledge of the tribe.
Transfixed by the multitude,
the lights flash on.

And as the daylight falls
the world is silent,
but for the sound of a singing bird
that comes from you.
The light that specifies the
face and the music,
swings as the deep abyss.

Night Father

12th Oct 201812th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

The Independent Newspaper. UK.

A Wandering Poet

As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.

Children

Hard Moon

The hour is late
and I can’t sleep.
A hard moon,
consumed by ill-fate,
screws the night.

It came to me,
how it all slipped away.
A cold truth wooed and won.
Gravely, a tune of sorrow.

But I rather liked the
idea of being bad
And watching people
reproduce more of themselves.

The Harshness of Life

A coffee in my favourite cafe,
escaping the harshness of the
cautious loners.

The coffee was hot and clean
and the staff always say “hello”
in practiced English.

Tonight a woman told a man
they were finished.

She told him he could go to hell.

Someone once told me to go to hell.
It was just after we made love,
and the phone call from a strange woman.

I only met her once, when I was drunk
and probably said ‘I love you’

That was my mistake.

Restless Farewell

In the darkness a dream came to me,
pale and waiting.
Beauty to destruction,
your head tilted but your face lost.

Rapturous and green eyed,
I drank each word from your mouth.
A sensuous scented sea of colour,
standing naked under unknown eyes.

Infused with lust and exposed skin,
I found a restless farewell.
And through the depths of blue I see
the last star, no longer dreary to be nobody.

It seemed by itself remembered love,
moments of breathlessness, but no sickness.
A cacophony of never ending whispering words,
dropping like flakes, fragile and complete.
Gentle as you should have been.

Lying in the darkness, I made a last wish
I am here.. standing alone
left looking …..
As you touch my soul and bleed into my dreams.

Awakening Solitude

When alone, I thought
the crowd is wearing my face.
Silently judging,
safe in the knowledge of the tribe.
Transfixed by the multitude,
the lights flash on.

And as the daylight falls
the world is silent,
but for the sound of a singing bird
that comes from you.
The light that specifies the
face and the music,
swings as the deep abyss.

Night Father

The United Nations High
Commission for Refugees,
told me that 1,500 died
this month.

Or maybe they told me
850 lives were lost
in June and July alone.
It’s probably fake news anyway.

But I hope someone finds a solution,
I’d like to help,
But I haven’t the time today.

I know you tried to save him,
He had a home once,
pictures from school,
his favourite toy, Buzz Lightyear
made in China.

Now his home is the
mouth of a shark, and
one dead night swimmer
is the same as another.

You tell of your anger,
fear and shame?
Of your hopes for the future,
as the world watches you die

A washed up tiny young life,
you say ‘sorry’ for disturbing the
sangria on a Mediterranean beach.

The world speaks English,
when we write poems.
And the poets would like to help,
but their hands are tied.

The hour is late and I can’t sleep. A hard moon, consumed by ill-fate, screws the night.

It came to me, how it all slipped away. A cold truth wooed and won. Gravely, a tune of sorrow.

But I rather liked the idea of being bad And watching people reproduce more of themselves.

A coffee in my favourite cafe, escaping the harshness of the cautious loners.

The coffee was hot and clean and the staff always say “hello” in practiced English.

Tonight a woman told a man they were finished.

She told him he could go to hell.

Someone once told me to go to hell. It was just after we made love, and the phone call from a strange woman.

I only met her once, when I was drunk and probably said ‘I love you’

That was my mistake.

In the darkness a dream came to me, pale and waiting. Beauty to destruction, your head tilted but your face lost.

Rapturous and green eyed, I drank each word from your mouth. A sensuous scented sea of colour, standing naked under unknown eyes.

Infused with lust and exposed skin, I found a restless farewell. And through the depths of blue I see the last star, no longer dreary to be nobody.

It seemed by itself remembered love, moments of breathlessness, but no sickness. A cacophony of never ending whispering words, dropping like flakes, fragile and complete. Gentle as you should have been.

Lying in the darkness, I made a last wish I am here.. standing alone left looking ….. As you touch my soul and bleed into my dreams.

When alone, I thought the crowd is wearing my face. Silently judging, safe in the knowledge of the tribe. Transfixed by the multitude, the lights flash on.

And as the daylight falls the world is silent, but for the sound of a singing bird that comes from you. The light that specifies the face and the music, swings as the deep abyss.

The United Nations High Commission for Refugees, told me that 1,500 died this month.

Or maybe they told me 850 lives were lost in June and July alone. It’s probably fake news anyway.

But I hope someone finds a solution, I’d like to help, But I haven’t the time today.

I know you tried to save him, He had a home once, pictures from school, his favourite toy, Buzz Lightyear made in China.

Now his home is the mouth of a shark, and one dead night swimmer is the same as another.

You tell of your anger, fear and shame? Of your hopes for the future, as the world watches you die

A washed up tiny young life, you say ‘sorry’ for disturbing the sangria on a Mediterranean beach.

The world speaks English, when we write poems. And the poets would like to help, but their hands are tied.

The hour is late
and I can’t sleep.
A hard moon,
consumed by ill-fate,
screws the night.

It came to me,
how it all slipped away.
A cold truth wooed and won.
Gravely, a tune of sorrow.

But I rather liked the
idea of being bad
And watching people
reproduce more of themselves.

A coffee in my favourite cafe,
escaping the harshness of the
cautious loners.

The coffee was hot and clean
and the staff always say “hello”
in practiced English.

Tonight a woman told a man
they were finished.

Someone once told me to go to hell.
It was just after we made love,
and the phone call from a strange woman.

I only met her once, when I was drunk
and probably said ‘I love you’

In the darkness a dream came to me,
pale and waiting.
Beauty to destruction,
your head tilted but your face lost.

Rapturous and green eyed,
I drank each word from your mouth.
A sensuous scented sea of colour,
standing naked under unknown eyes.

Infused with lust and exposed skin,
I found a restless farewell.
And through the depths of blue I see
the last star, no longer dreary to be nobody.

It seemed by itself remembered love,
moments of breathlessness, but no sickness.
A cacophony of never ending whispering words,
dropping like flakes, fragile and complete.
Gentle as you should have been.

Lying in the darkness, I made a last wish
I am here.. standing alone
left looking …..
As you touch my soul and bleed into my dreams.

When alone, I thought
the crowd is wearing my face.
Silently judging,
safe in the knowledge of the tribe.
Transfixed by the multitude,
the lights flash on.

And as the daylight falls
the world is silent,
but for the sound of a singing bird
that comes from you.
The light that specifies the
face and the music,
swings as the deep abyss.

The United Nations High
Commission for Refugees,
told me that 1,500 died
this month.

Or maybe they told me
850 lives were lost
in June and July alone.
It’s probably fake news anyway.

But I hope someone finds a solution,
I’d like to help,
But I haven’t the time today.

I know you tried to save him,
He had a home once,
pictures from school,
his favourite toy, Buzz Lightyear
made in China.

Now his home is the
mouth of a shark, and
one dead night swimmer
is the same as another.

You tell of your anger,
fear and shame?
Of your hopes for the future,
as the world watches you die

A washed up tiny young life,
you say ‘sorry’ for disturbing the
sangria on a Mediterranean beach.

The world speaks English,
when we write poems.
And the poets would like to help,
but their hands are tied.