I passed the first
day of spring.
And then the second.
It was such a sound.
Learning tap-dancing softly.
The pitter patter
or rising hope.
Sending winter on its way.
The love of spring
Poetry
Before the bright flame
Walking in wind
through blossoms.
I will take it gladly.
The love that finds
no suffering.
Like a refugee
that finds a
beautiful hometown.
I am no longer left out.
The trees witness everything
Flipping the sky.
Always with respect.
Spring comes for an hour
and off comes the down coat.
Mute tears fall freely.
As if eating words like kissing.
And behold, a new pattern unsung
If the moon were a mind
Sometimes, I do not speak
of genuine things.
Such as skin or why
the moon shines on some
and not others.
Sometimes, I see the sick streets
walking like burnt toast.
Past the lonely and the possessed.
And everybody looks
disgusted and doomed.
Then, I awaken in a small bedroom
and a woman walks in.
Thorns and sticks matter no more.
Only the bloom and the passion.
Mindfulness in Hangzhou
Spring birds coming to feed.
An afternoon warmth
mindfully picks her route
around the city.
I name the moments, every time.
And my heart begins to sing.
The spring takes it
The sun sets
on a soft breeze.
The rustle of life
passing by.
Picnic for two
I thought.
But I was alone.
With a wistful look
in a poet’s eyes.
Under the exotic blossoms
of cherry petals drifting.
Rise from the dark days
The soft Hangzhou air
brushes my cheeks
like soft velvet.
But nothing compares
to the anticipation I feel.
In seeing you again.
Not behind sheltered clouds.
But in full bloom.
Grown from a poets love.
A poem for international women’s day
The laughter of women
wipes away my sadness.
To warm and comfort.
And creates such
beautiful rifts in time.
How should I share
these poetic thoughts?
With every woman in the world.
And the special woman
that shares my emotions.
In such a perfect flow.
A splinter of myself
Beyond the ruins
there is always life.
Towards fate in a moment.
So, the journey I craft.
Always close to my heart
and showing fate no mercy.
Hidden treasure
Money hanging out.
A jungle all the way.
Lives spent looking
for fortune.
But it is always
a long walk home.
But I love not money.
Only that which speaks
loud and clear.
A love for an island girl.
A Wandering Poet 