My Picture: I had acupuncture on my left shoulder today…to many years playing rugby…the Doctor said…….
To remain inside
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And as for the poets
My Picture” My Apartment door.
As the moon rises
I see steel hardened and standing,
silent as a water-worn stone.
Like a ghost from the past,
haunting present and future.
It visits me form time-to-time,
leaving behind legacy systems
and memory by memory of the mind.
Dark Waters
My Picture
After Christmas…
too many unsold trees
and damp mornings.
The river goes over and over
the curve of the winter hills.
A fallen oak branch
becomes an AK47
in the hands of the child.
As he watches his mother and father,
argue both sides of the story.
A pale replica of summer days in Jinghua Park.
Looking up,
I can see the rules of punctuation,
with temporary wings.
A contraction of darkness
unfolding the dust of others winters,
one limb at a time.
February 4th, 1989.
My Picture
the only girl I ever loved
a star bubble beautiful
Now I count the stars.
Snow song
My Picture: A walk in the backstreets this evening. Xinxiang, China.
In the cool gray morning
sounds of loud fireworks,
and the little dog trembles
to see such hope.
Braying aloud
and smiling from chin-to-chin,
he simply wants attention
and see you.
Form this mad place,
courage and creativity
is what will bring the days
and soft barks erupting.
Another body count
My Picture: A place to walk: Xinxiang Medical University.
Innumerable raindrops
fell today.
I tried to count some,
Pen in hand….. a poets mind.
But I stopped…..
when my Chinese friend
told me to go back inside..
And only count the winter flowers.
Razored through to a void place,
I saw the future of my bones.
A sudden applause and fog
filled streets.
This is no place for a poet.
Summer grass
A picture sent to me by a student.
Winter numbness
with clouded eyes,
memories full of the past.
A passing songbird
on a blazing street side,
still sadly the heart beats.
And yet I see the old dog,
a dawns light betrayed by the past.
Still hopeful of life floated above.
Somber moments and dreams
brisk departure, echo another day
and sooner the sun.
Slow drift of winter
My picture…my gift.
The lady with the dog
gave me a gift.
We cannot speak the same language,
but I knew what she meant.
In this cold Xinxiang sun,
repeated each day….
a sweet note.
Of two people
who drink from the beginning.
A flower shift….
out of a shadow.
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.
A Wandering Poet 