Winter solstice

22nd Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

http://www.theepochtimes.com: Winter Solstice in China today.

When awake in the dark mornings,
a heart pounding and star frost outside.
I think of the sun, now turned away.
A vague mood momentarily out of shape
and living fast.

Each light stings and spins,
trying to rebalance the
the dark and light at the same time.
One continuous line dragging
each damp filled day from morning to dusk.

The hope…..
that light will return,
once more eager for sensation and meaning.
A pearl veil of day….with a laughing soul.

The language of medicine

21st Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: The end of the flowers…..

It’s windy in the courtyard,
but I can still hear
the chatter of the hour glass people.
A decade of things past,
like a winter night’s dream.
But a few aged words
will see me through the night,
and the world cloaked in moonlight frost.

When sadness comes

20th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture: Coffee, cake and Haiku…an evening in Xinxiang, China.

A chill wind today,
a curlew’s cry.
A whole day spent
in a spiders life.
Stone before stone
without a full stop.

A bare twig floats,
that tells the story again.
A Christmas dream time,
….. what light there is.

Winter Music

19th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Central Park. Xinxiang. Henan Province, China.

In deep winter, it is easy to be lost.
The uneven edges of life,
exposed by the cold hurried snow
leave little space between the stars.
Only the counted poems seem to matter.

I can envision loves, deep night
and the shapeliness
of lines borrowed from the past.
These lines of verse,
taut and unrepentant
offer the sun to my bones.
And the snow gathers on….

Fragments No 2

18th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Xinxiang Medical University: Henan Province, China.

The hour done,
the coffee drunk
and the big sky outside
waiting for me to
give it life.

In this half-light,
shapeless and overused.
I find a password in,
grown from a wound to words.
And feel again your
insistent fingers.

Lagos Blues

17th Dec 201817th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

Picture: http://eyeswiredopen.blogspot.com

‘Mr. Follow, Follow’
Said Mr. Kuti…
Words a thousand years old,
now conspired with other creatures
to remain silent.
Sounds that echoed the senses,
now alternate passions
with your mouth closed and pen retired.

‘If you cannot create
how can you pay back?’
asked Mr. Kuti
Just follow, follow……..
the pained thoughts found
and close those eyes.

A heart in winter

16th Dec 201816th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

My Picture: Flowers in my apartment. Xinxiang, China.

In the pattern of shadows,
the chanter sings from the
memories of the birds.
Of swollen tears
and half-moon yearnings.

But I could see
the white of your neck.
As you lifted your hair to me,
to taste your standing form
and beauties slow curve.

The shell I take

15th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

My Picture Taken this evening at my favourite cafe. Xinxiang, China.

Inside this place,
trying to make sense
of the winter season.
Once denying age had no meaning.
Summer afternoons
and snow on moss,
a lifting mist across the canal.

Now, a slow autumn swing
and sounds of night trains
turn the clocks ahead.
Under a deep violet sky,
the sunlight splits.
And bears down
on a darkness so deep.

A new earth

14th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My apartment door: Xinxiang, Henan Province, China.

Winter in Xinxiang,
it is not hot or cold, only warm.
Wind birds flying south
turning the sky in and out.
The sounds of people moving,
as life slowly unfolds.

Silent friends meeting
behind the camera,
in tune with the leafless streets.
Guqin stings barely
moving the night frost.

Somewhere beyond the grey,
tucked in a white wing.
A shadows rides over the frozen grass,
your shadow, ours…..
I await your arrival with a light.

Light in Zhengzhou

13th Dec 201813th Dec 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Early morning is Zhengzhou capital of Henan Province, China.

A Wandering Poet

As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.

Uncategorised

Winter solstice

The language of medicine

It’s windy in the courtyard,
but I can still hear
the chatter of the hour glass people.
A decade of things past,
like a winter night’s dream.
But a few aged words
will see me through the night,
and the world cloaked in moonlight frost.

When sadness comes

A chill wind today,
a curlew’s cry.
A whole day spent
in a spiders life.
Stone before stone
without a full stop.

A bare twig floats,
that tells the story again.
A Christmas dream time,
….. what light there is.

Winter Music

In deep winter, it is easy to be lost.
The uneven edges of life,
exposed by the cold hurried snow
leave little space between the stars.
Only the counted poems seem to matter.

I can envision loves, deep night
and the shapeliness
of lines borrowed from the past.
These lines of verse,
taut and unrepentant
offer the sun to my bones.
And the snow gathers on….

Fragments No 2

The hour done,
the coffee drunk
and the big sky outside
waiting for me to
give it life.

In this half-light,
shapeless and overused.
I find a password in,
grown from a wound to words.
And feel again your
insistent fingers.

Lagos Blues

‘Mr. Follow, Follow’
Said Mr. Kuti…
Words a thousand years old,
now conspired with other creatures
to remain silent.
Sounds that echoed the senses,
now alternate passions
with your mouth closed and pen retired.

‘If you cannot create
how can you pay back?’
asked Mr. Kuti
Just follow, follow……..
the pained thoughts found
and close those eyes.

A heart in winter

In the pattern of shadows,
the chanter sings from the
memories of the birds.
Of swollen tears
and half-moon yearnings.

But I could see
the white of your neck.
As you lifted your hair to me,
to taste your standing form
and beauties slow curve.

The shell I take

Inside this place,
trying to make sense
of the winter season.
Once denying age had no meaning.
Summer afternoons
and snow on moss,
a lifting mist across the canal.

Now, a slow autumn swing
and sounds of night trains
turn the clocks ahead.
Under a deep violet sky,
the sunlight splits.
And bears down
on a darkness so deep.

A new earth

Light in Zhengzhou

I was driven to Zhengzhou this morning,
to have a medical.
Adopting the proper tone,
one of the Doctors asked me
how old I was.

I looked outside the window,
and saw an old man walking with
a dog by his side.
And wondered what the deal was.

So I told the Doctor that
that my anger has come to pass,
and that spring fever was
put aside long ago.

He leaned forward
like an indelicate December evening,
and told me there is nothing
wrong with me.
And everything continued
as I had written it.

It’s windy in the courtyard, but I can still hear the chatter of the hour glass people. A decade of things past, like a winter night’s dream. But a few aged words will see me through the night, and the world cloaked in moonlight frost.

A chill wind today, a curlew’s cry. A whole day spent in a spiders life. Stone before stone without a full stop.

A bare twig floats, that tells the story again. A Christmas dream time, ….. what light there is.

In deep winter, it is easy to be lost. The uneven edges of life, exposed by the cold hurried snow leave little space between the stars. Only the counted poems seem to matter.

I can envision loves, deep night and the shapeliness of lines borrowed from the past. These lines of verse, taut and unrepentant offer the sun to my bones. And the snow gathers on….

The hour done, the coffee drunk and the big sky outside waiting for me to give it life.

In this half-light, shapeless and overused. I find a password in, grown from a wound to words. And feel again your insistent fingers.

‘Mr. Follow, Follow’ Said Mr. Kuti… Words a thousand years old, now conspired with other creatures to remain silent. Sounds that echoed the senses, now alternate passions with your mouth closed and pen retired.

‘If you cannot create how can you pay back?’ asked Mr. Kuti Just follow, follow…….. the pained thoughts found and close those eyes.

In the pattern of shadows, the chanter sings from the memories of the birds. Of swollen tears and half-moon yearnings.

But I could see the white of your neck. As you lifted your hair to me, to taste your standing form and beauties slow curve.

Inside this place, trying to make sense of the winter season. Once denying age had no meaning. Summer afternoons and snow on moss, a lifting mist across the canal.

Now, a slow autumn swing and sounds of night trains turn the clocks ahead. Under a deep violet sky, the sunlight splits. And bears down on a darkness so deep.

I was driven to Zhengzhou this morning, to have a medical. Adopting the proper tone, one of the Doctors asked me how old I was.

I looked outside the window, and saw an old man walking with a dog by his side. And wondered what the deal was.

So I told the Doctor that that my anger has come to pass, and that spring fever was put aside long ago.

He leaned forward like an indelicate December evening, and told me there is nothing wrong with me. And everything continued as I had written it.

It’s windy in the courtyard,
but I can still hear
the chatter of the hour glass people.
A decade of things past,
like a winter night’s dream.
But a few aged words
will see me through the night,
and the world cloaked in moonlight frost.

A chill wind today,
a curlew’s cry.
A whole day spent
in a spiders life.
Stone before stone
without a full stop.

A bare twig floats,
that tells the story again.
A Christmas dream time,
….. what light there is.

In deep winter, it is easy to be lost.
The uneven edges of life,
exposed by the cold hurried snow
leave little space between the stars.
Only the counted poems seem to matter.

I can envision loves, deep night
and the shapeliness
of lines borrowed from the past.
These lines of verse,
taut and unrepentant
offer the sun to my bones.
And the snow gathers on….

The hour done,
the coffee drunk
and the big sky outside
waiting for me to
give it life.

In this half-light,
shapeless and overused.
I find a password in,
grown from a wound to words.
And feel again your
insistent fingers.

‘Mr. Follow, Follow’
Said Mr. Kuti…
Words a thousand years old,
now conspired with other creatures
to remain silent.
Sounds that echoed the senses,
now alternate passions
with your mouth closed and pen retired.

‘If you cannot create
how can you pay back?’
asked Mr. Kuti
Just follow, follow……..
the pained thoughts found
and close those eyes.

In the pattern of shadows,
the chanter sings from the
memories of the birds.
Of swollen tears
and half-moon yearnings.

But I could see
the white of your neck.
As you lifted your hair to me,
to taste your standing form
and beauties slow curve.

Inside this place,
trying to make sense
of the winter season.
Once denying age had no meaning.
Summer afternoons
and snow on moss,
a lifting mist across the canal.

Now, a slow autumn swing
and sounds of night trains
turn the clocks ahead.
Under a deep violet sky,
the sunlight splits.
And bears down
on a darkness so deep.

I was driven to Zhengzhou this morning,
to have a medical.
Adopting the proper tone,
one of the Doctors asked me
how old I was.

I looked outside the window,
and saw an old man walking with
a dog by his side.
And wondered what the deal was.

So I told the Doctor that
that my anger has come to pass,
and that spring fever was
put aside long ago.

He leaned forward
like an indelicate December evening,
and told me there is nothing
wrong with me.
And everything continued
as I had written it.