My Picture
No birds this morning
Environment
Rest for me
My Picture
What’s so wrong with this night?
Sky, moon and stars
all saying nothing.
And the clouds,
they often have something to say.
Free and unhindered…..full of Ginsberg and early Dylan.
Now hunched over art
eyes shut and silent.
Till death comes knocking at their door.
No noise, this time is uttered.
Out there, tends to diminish
a release of pleasure….. here to stay
An aged mirror, for us all
or acrid sweet smells of fallen thoughts?
So what’s so wrong with this night…..
You understand?
My Picture
I once followed the seasons,
pleasant souls to celebrate.
In motion, wings of memories
back and forth.
Now, there are no seasons…..
only one…..
To survive the guts and spillage of glances smiling,
once fashioned there.
In helpless, grim fascination
I watch every sunrise and sunset.
A slight depression in the ground,
and a blushing sun turned to rust.
Now the eerie, cold and delicate sounds
pound my body through this growing landscape.
And dance alone in the high, morning sun.
The nearest thing to being alive….. today.
Dreams left behind
My Picture: Tablecloth in a coffee bar I frequent.
I sat down for coffee,
in the shadow of a Xinxiang sky.
Without effort, I watched
people talk with their phones
hoping to make the moment work.
A young woman is making herself
look pretty, for a selfie……
trying to take off her unbecoming frown.
She seems to be struggling, I want to help
but she may misunderstand my motives.
She….is already pretty
beautiful black hair, shiny, as straight as can be
with a pick bow half- lost in an aimless flight.
Her lips as red as a rose, with all the allure
of a fleeting symbol of life.
Then, I left for home
bowing to the faint rays of light and sunset crosses.
Strange place, I thought
but no sadness on this day, at least.
Still falls the rain
https://www.deviantart.com/luthienelf/art/Qingming-Festival-294710525: Qingming Festival (also known as Pure Brightness Festival or Tomb-sweeping Day), which falls on either April 4th or 5th: Tomb sweeping is regarded as the most important custom in the Qingming Festival from which the name of Tomb-sweeping day is got.
So tired of running,
a mourning moment.
I stopped to look.
Flowers bloom,
a slight wind on Qingming day.
I was just sorry-ever-after.
I have loved forever
My Picture: Statue outside my apartment complex, Xinxiang, China.
A cold shoulder,
darkness silently screaming.
Yet, not lost
and feeling accepted.
A paper-weight
blow about.
Sleeping, walking
what else is life’s dream!
Slants of light slip away,
almost knowing.
Life sees life
none can teach it.
Renouncement
My Picture: A local coffee shop…I go to write and sometimes I meet people
“Come on, let’s go for coffee” I said,
with a bright and unforgettable smile.
The lights of Xinxiang played silently in secret,
an echo of the overwhelming urge to break and run.
A fresh breeze, an open door
and beauty in each single thing.
There was an intimate band of souls,
questioning…..
But you lived far away……
and the ways parted.
Dawn Chorus
My Picture: Xiahe County, Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Gansu, China.
Dawn, and the campus is quite.
Sun beams yearn to break.
Rows of baby-chewed medical books,
tinged brown and beaten flat
by thousands of little bare feet.
Sit quietly in the morning shadows,
watching old women sweeping.
It becomes a thing.
Faint strands of outdoor light,
half-warning, half fear.
Stand alone in a makeshift moment,
all for another day.
Stiff-bodies awake to slow-mo happiness.
And notebooks in the margins
are turned-slow by cold hands.
One page, soon others deepen the approach,
a slight chill to the morning.
A busy poem
My pictures: We all say we are busy. Some say they are ‘busy’…all the time. A little satirical poem…I wrote this morning.
“I am busy”, they say
Sorry, volume is busy
J’ai été tellement occupé
나는 도울 수 없다, 나는 바쁘다.
如此忙碌，我從來沒有時間去死。
I said “ I know, that is why I can’t write much….”
Autumn Sounds
My Picture
A Wandering Poet 