Pulled down shade

9th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

My Picture: Xinxiang Medical University (taken this evening)

The questions usually come in swarms
“Why did you come to China?”
“How old are you”
“Are you married….”
“Have you had some food?”

So, I usually tell them
I came to China for money
and to find a beautiful Chinese wife.
Something I thought was not possible.

Or I tell them about a fire inside
that ended in dust and disarray.
So they can see what I am dealing with,
and how you can’t always plan on the heart.

For some this is a first awakening,
and for others….
they can see what happens
when you sink into your dreams.

Enlarging the circle

8th Dec 20188th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Wall of Cafe in Xinxiang (taken today).

Down the streets,

cold turning the sky.

Silent friends are meeting.

So suddenly winter

comes to the city.

Pulling the shutters

on silent calligraphy.

Until next seasons stars.

About Pain

7th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Statue for the people, Beijing, China.

Sometimes I feel the cold,
usually it snaps and rips
at my bones.
Half hating you,
half describing life as a poet
walking the river of time.

But then again,
promptly and unexpected
a fire emerges from the cold despair.
A timid word,
a tenderness nothing can stop.
No matter who lives.

Dimensions of Space

6th Dec 20186th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / 4 Comments

My Picture (taken this evening): Xinxiang City, Henan, China.

When I walk around the city,
I have a sinking feeling sometimes.
We flow even when we stand,
searching for an elusive enemy.

As night slams down,
lights hover soft in an ageless dance.
Minutes and seconds turn their heads,
and I long for something far away.

Snow

5th Dec 20185th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Xinxiang, Henan Province, China.

A few faded cracked snowflakes
softly down on my hair.
Decorate this silence,
whitewashing the patched
walls of Xinxiang.
A fire deepens the silence,
but my soul now has depth.

Morning Rituals

4th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: View above Xiahe Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Gansu province, China.

Coffee first thing in the morning,
unfolding yesterday’s copy of China Daily.
I read the headlines,
you can see what I am dealing with.
An old bent and sour universe,
rancor dripping from the neon sign
that says ‘ Number 1 Hospital’.

Outside the youngest people in the universe,
discounted and distributed
wonder what wonderful things they are missing.
Each one looking for something
to be marked at a glance,
a consummate victory of sorts.

Here comes the music now,
that melts the night-shadow pools,
and reflects the morning peace.

New Beginning

3rd Dec 20183rd Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Angus Young

I dreamt last night that I was Angus Young,
and then I was Bruce Springsteen
suspended in my masquerade
and open to pain.

Then, I saw you
as eyes should see you at last.
The way I wanted to see you,
a key to the universe…..
a beginning quietly forming.

Sunshine on my shoulder

2nd Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

Picture: http://www.news.com.au

I watched the fight this morning,
the game plan was simple.
The bell, the nose,
fighting with love or god on your side.

Once I used to fight
and danced around the shadows.
I fought in the middle of nowhere,
in a world full of despair.

Then you told me
“fight for a better fate”
Your heart showed no sign of fear.
A boxing lady, waiting patiently
as the wind outside just blew.

A voice within

1st Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

My Picture: Helping a friend…..

The young woman asked me
“Why are you a poet?”
It was not a difficult question to answer.

I told her about the world being silent,
but for the gentle sound of a warming wind and the fluttering rain.

She looked confused.
Her eyes, so expressive
like a dangling drop of dew.

So I told her
“I am just glad to open-up and meet the thoughts of the past”

My Friends

30th Nov 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Terracotta Army, Lintong, Xi’an, Shaanxi, China.

This one lives with his mother,
and has never kissed a woman intending to please.
This one has no boyfriend
and thinks her legs are fat.
This one listens to Jay Chou,
on secret mornings driving back to his wife.
But at least his students are happy.
This one likes Micheal Jackson, and
practices moonwalking late at night,
alone and hidden from the outside world.
This one is a policeman
who thinks Britain is still great.
And the other, abandoned by wife after wife
finds hope in a cheap bottle of French wine.
This one wants be a professor,
but finds Charles Bukowski
rude and sexist.
And this one wants to be a poet
but is bored by the romantics,
and almost everyone is a poet anyway.
These are my friends
the poet, the teacher, the policeman, the professor… and me.

The questions usually come in swarms “Why did you come to China?” “How old are you” “Are you married….” “Have you had some food?”

So, I usually tell them I came to China for money and to find a beautiful Chinese wife. Something I thought was not possible.

Or I tell them about a fire inside that ended in dust and disarray. So they can see what I am dealing with, and how you can’t always plan on the heart.

For some this is a first awakening, and for others…. they can see what happens when you sink into your dreams.

Down the streets,

cold turning the sky.

Silent friends are meeting.

So suddenly winter

comes to the city.

Pulling the shutters

on silent calligraphy.

Until next seasons stars.

Sometimes I feel the cold, usually it snaps and rips at my bones. Half hating you, half describing life as a poet walking the river of time.

But then again, promptly and unexpected a fire emerges from the cold despair. A timid word, a tenderness nothing can stop. No matter who lives.

When I walk around the city, I have a sinking feeling sometimes. We flow even when we stand, searching for an elusive enemy.

As night slams down, lights hover soft in an ageless dance. Minutes and seconds turn their heads, and I long for something far away.

A few faded cracked snowflakes softly down on my hair. Decorate this silence, whitewashing the patched walls of Xinxiang. A fire deepens the silence, but my soul now has depth.

Coffee first thing in the morning, unfolding yesterday’s copy of China Daily. I read the headlines, you can see what I am dealing with. An old bent and sour universe, rancor dripping from the neon sign that says ‘ Number 1 Hospital’.

Outside the youngest people in the universe, discounted and distributed wonder what wonderful things they are missing. Each one looking for something to be marked at a glance, a consummate victory of sorts.

Here comes the music now, that melts the night-shadow pools, and reflects the morning peace.

I dreamt last night that I was Angus Young, and then I was Bruce Springsteen suspended in my masquerade and open to pain.

Then, I saw you as eyes should see you at last. The way I wanted to see you, a key to the universe….. a beginning quietly forming.

I watched the fight this morning, the game plan was simple. The bell, the nose, fighting with love or god on your side.

Once I used to fight and danced around the shadows. I fought in the middle of nowhere, in a world full of despair.

Then you told me “fight for a better fate” Your heart showed no sign of fear. A boxing lady, waiting patiently as the wind outside just blew.

The young woman asked me “Why are you a poet?” It was not a difficult question to answer.

I told her about the world being silent, but for the gentle sound of a warming wind and the fluttering rain.

She looked confused. Her eyes, so expressive like a dangling drop of dew.

So I told her “I am just glad to open-up and meet the thoughts of the past”