What a warrior, long ago.
With spirit unbending.
More than one night’s dream.
Then standing with the ghost fires.
Everything burnt and crumbled.

Moving like cautious sunlight,
I found a way.
That dealt in change
and fleeting moments.
To find myself no longer in battle.

​

​
​I start a poem.
​Sometimes it overcomes me.
​The past, the present
​and the falling red
​autumn leaves.
​Such private voices.
​I carry on.
​Because each word
​has been sent to me.
​They are always present.

Broken dreams.
What saint and sinner long ago.
At least my presence
gave them both life,
and entertained a few.
Now, I have no
dark thoughts or regrets.
Suffering will come and go.
Polishing my moments of joy.
Into something of mystifying value.
Then, I can see things as they are,
just a little more.

​
​This day.
​Where did it come from?
​From a northern town.
And a woman
I met with.
Slender as a sword.
Her eyes like tiny acorns.
Her arms around
me like a tree.
That was some day.
I will never see
such a day again.

​

​Gazing through a bygone haze.
Full of days at home
and tinted gloom.
Only the magpies calling.

My days remain uncertain.
The path is narrow,
and sometimes lonely.
But I am happy, rarely turning back.

For I think, tangled in the clouds.
There is still a life for me
to meet and greet.
Even if the magpies calling
summon the shadows.

Walking on the cold streets.
I am laden with memories.
I see storms and the tipsy winds.
All living under a white cloud paradise.

As I watch the days disappear.
I see your lips, for the touch.
And ghosts of distance shrouds.
I think it is time to move on.

Clouds and mists.
Since the days of old.
In the morning,
I say hello and watch
the morning blooms.
In the evening,
when the breeze
is comfortable –
I say goodnight.
And my mind grows steady.
In between, I see that
all things are not lasting.
I think it is best to
cling to nothing.
The current of an
ordinary life.

​

” Ten thousand flowers in winter”
says Wu Men.

I say call it by its true name.
It still is a cold, cold winter.

Yet, I keep trying to wake and shine.
One day at a time.

And know that there is no limit,
to such blossoming beauty.

​
​The streets are vast.
People trying to avoid
the cold shadows
of life and death.
But, hanging in a poetic brain.
And eyes focused
on scenes to share.
I do not see curtains of gloom.
Just a repository of
life, to be touch and fulfilled.

Maybe, maybe not.
Things are what they are.
My thoughts,
my heart, my being.
Living a life warms them all.
And the struggle seems less.
So, I honour each moment.
Such is the way.
​
​