Fragments

1st Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Outside Sculpture: Hoi An, Vietnam.

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When alone, I think
I’ve lived half a life.
A small corner of the noise.
Half a fish.
Half, come winter.
A small white canvas, unfinished.
Smaller, and more smaller.

Half a heart from birth to now.
My eyes, half open barely
touching the ground.

A life waiting for halls of pleasure.
Only half caring a moment longer.
A day half offered, slowed to silence
that roles towards well, wanted solitude.

Shall I disturb this measured
life, and lessen my hopes of harder love.
Or wait…
to meet tomorrow, and beyond.

On The Move

1st Oct 20181st Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Ethnic Headdress: Beijing Culture Museum, Beijing China.

Everybody in China is moving now,
clapping hands for fair visions
and dreams half-forgotten.

It is the national holiday
when the sun shines brighter.
The old, familiar songs
a voice, a chime.

Now everybody
carries something.
Names, stories, memories
from the mountains.
And the dust from
the cities of concrete.

On days like these
there is no sadness,
no rancor.

Just a desire to taste
the salted tea.
And the wind breath
of the naked river beds
at dawn.

The daughters of the nomads
cry once again on padded knees.
And call upon the distant
twilight ghosts, shy and sullen
to lift the veil once more.

In the end, they make it.
And the last race is over,
for another year.

How to Characterize Pain and Suffering

30th Sep 20181st Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / 2 Comments

My Picture: War Museum” Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Pain and suffering is all around us and how ‘we’ as human beings address and characterize this aspect of the human condition is important now and for the future.

I teach medical English to medical students in China and one of the classes I teach is medical humanities. I would define this as ‘creating a sense of space for pain, suffering death and dying’. Of course this is a great challenge for me and my students. I use poetry as part of these conversations.

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.

Health

Fragments

.

When alone, I think
I’ve lived half a life.
A small corner of the noise.
Half a fish.
Half, come winter.
A small white canvas, unfinished.
Smaller, and more smaller.

Half a heart from birth to now.
My eyes, half open barely
touching the ground.

A life waiting for halls of pleasure.
Only half caring a moment longer.
A day half offered, slowed to silence
that roles towards well, wanted solitude.

Shall I disturb this measured
life, and lessen my hopes of harder love.
Or wait…
to meet tomorrow, and beyond.

On The Move

Everybody in China is moving now,
clapping hands for fair visions
and dreams half-forgotten.

It is the national holiday
when the sun shines brighter.
The old, familiar songs
a voice, a chime.

Now everybody
carries something.
Names, stories, memories
from the mountains.
And the dust from
the cities of concrete.

On days like these
there is no sadness,
no rancor.

Just a desire to taste
the salted tea.
And the wind breath
of the naked river beds
at dawn.

The daughters of the nomads
cry once again on padded knees.
And call upon the distant
twilight ghosts, shy and sullen
to lift the veil once more.

In the end, they make it.
And the last race is over,
for another year.

How to Characterize Pain and Suffering

Pain and suffering is all around us and how ‘we’ as human beings address and characterize this aspect of the human condition is important now and for the future.

This is a poem I wrote

“Are you in pain?”

The nurse asked me about pain
“Does it rain” I told her.

Most days
I am in pain.
It falls upon my soul,
and devours my dreams.

It is a friend, a close friend
A pristine memory,
somewhere in darkened land.

I don’t ask its name,
it has no name worth knowing.

But I wish the pain to be stranger
and fly like a bird.

.

When alone, I think I’ve lived half a life. A small corner of the noise. Half a fish. Half, come winter. A small white canvas, unfinished. Smaller, and more smaller.

Half a heart from birth to now. My eyes, half open barely touching the ground.

A life waiting for halls of pleasure. Only half caring a moment longer. A day half offered, slowed to silence that roles towards well, wanted solitude.

Shall I disturb this measured life, and lessen my hopes of harder love. Or wait… to meet tomorrow, and beyond.

Everybody in China is moving now, clapping hands for fair visions and dreams half-forgotten.

It is the national holiday when the sun shines brighter. The old, familiar songs a voice, a chime.

Now everybody carries something. Names, stories, memories from the mountains. And the dust from the cities of concrete.

On days like these there is no sadness, no rancor.

Just a desire to taste the salted tea. And the wind breath of the naked river beds at dawn.

The daughters of the nomads cry once again on padded knees. And call upon the distant twilight ghosts, shy and sullen to lift the veil once more.

In the end, they make it. And the last race is over, for another year.

Pain and suffering is all around us and how ‘we’ as human beings address and characterize this aspect of the human condition is important now and for the future.

This is a poem I wrote

“Are you in pain?”

The nurse asked me about pain “Does it rain” I told her.

Most days I am in pain. It falls upon my soul, and devours my dreams.

It is a friend, a close friend A pristine memory, somewhere in darkened land.

I don’t ask its name, it has no name worth knowing.

But I wish the pain to be stranger and fly like a bird.

When alone, I think
I’ve lived half a life.
A small corner of the noise.
Half a fish.
Half, come winter.
A small white canvas, unfinished.
Smaller, and more smaller.

Half a heart from birth to now.
My eyes, half open barely
touching the ground.

A life waiting for halls of pleasure.
Only half caring a moment longer.
A day half offered, slowed to silence
that roles towards well, wanted solitude.

Shall I disturb this measured
life, and lessen my hopes of harder love.
Or wait…
to meet tomorrow, and beyond.

Everybody in China is moving now,
clapping hands for fair visions
and dreams half-forgotten.

It is the national holiday
when the sun shines brighter.
The old, familiar songs
a voice, a chime.

Now everybody
carries something.
Names, stories, memories
from the mountains.
And the dust from
the cities of concrete.

On days like these
there is no sadness,
no rancor.

Just a desire to taste
the salted tea.
And the wind breath
of the naked river beds
at dawn.

The daughters of the nomads
cry once again on padded knees.
And call upon the distant
twilight ghosts, shy and sullen
to lift the veil once more.

In the end, they make it.
And the last race is over,
for another year.

The nurse asked me about pain
“Does it rain” I told her.

Most days
I am in pain.
It falls upon my soul,
and devours my dreams.

It is a friend, a close friend
A pristine memory,
somewhere in darkened land.

I don’t ask its name,
it has no name worth knowing.

But I wish the pain to be stranger
and fly like a bird.