My picture…my gift.
Slow drift of winter
Philosophy
Winter–lull
My Picture: A book I found in a cafe in Xinxiang today.
Alone at 3 am.
A droll moon…..
because of the silent snow,
chews a hole to the sky.
An icicle drifting through
the morning coolness,
floats away through
the street dust.
Deep in my notebook,
the to and fro of a
lake of the mind.
Silence as the
dancing moon shadows,
and nothing to doubt.
Waiting out the storm
My Pictures: Taken this afternoon, Xinxiang, Henan Province , China.
Birdsong
bearing down.
Sometimes
a darkness to deep
to take outside.
A wind roars in,
my imaginary lover again.
The only living thing
in Xinxiang.
Interchange
A favourite place to walk: near my apartment, Xinxiang , China.
From the future,
a wind will arrive.
A storm unfolds
and words will play about
the edges of the clouds.
And the disaffected
will dance on tied-up
haiku, and rhymes
and meters in need of mending.
After the thoughts it raised,
all will appear as if seen before.
But the poets will know
how we all danced to measure.
And wrote of such dark goings,
all of which were words, words, words.
What to ask yourself
My Picture: Evening Exercises: Xinxiang City, Henan, China.
At the height of an argument,
I cannot name most of me.
Remembering her,
I grow logical.
My pleasant soul shrieks at me.
Back inside something lingers,
before theirs and mine.
Listening to ‘Talking Heads’,
as we followed the seasons.
Mind wings full of motion,
and one-by-one
we proclaimed “Once in a Lifetime”
was our song.
Baked into our souls
till death came knocking at our door.
January Dusk
Harbin: Heilongjiang, China: sent to me by a friend today.
Confronting the dark,
what sadness there has been.
A feathered longing
retrieved from a thorn,
a dull commotion of typewriter-keys.
Beneath the feet
of a dancing dragon,
old age now grazing the barriers.
And yet…..
out of solitude
I swallow all things up,
and see a poet
surprise his audience.
With the neon glow of his words,
and thoughts turned inside out.
Words heard, and lost
My Picture: Wall poster, Xinxiang, Henan Province, China.
Last night it rained,
then there were stars.
A ceaseless weaving
of a winter echo.
The water fell together,
as the moon dissolved.
Bleeding its light,
the thickness quite
with still intent.
You flickered,
I could not touch you.
Just enough of the rain,
to bring the smell back.
From those stolen moments
and flaming fornications.
Nothing, so lonely
My Picture: Coffee and Bukowski’.
The young girl said to me
“you look lonely”
I thought it was a strange way to say hello.
We looked around, at mind’s swirling with noise and nothing to say.
And street dogs
tailing with low self-esteem,
losing one-by-one.
With the red moon hanging low over a winter cityscape,
I told her
“go and ask them how lonely they feel in the cold of night”
And, “that beauty can be fake”.
Across the ridge
My Picture: Taken this evening Xinxiang Medical University, China.
Fog….. sitting here
without the trees.
A deserted basketball court,
wind weeping through the hoops.
And in the distance,
the train to Beijing picks up speed.
Dragging the night stars out
one by one
….. by one.
Unclaimed Territory
My Picture
A Wandering Poet 