My Picture: Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province, China.
Imitation of Life
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Their Day
My Picture: Quoc Hoc High School, Hue, Vietnam.
It’s been a long day.
Everybody wanted something from me.
Tracy wanted me to practice for
the line-dancing competition.
I said I couldn’t dance.
In the end I practiced the electric Slide,
cupid Shuffle and the Cha, Cha, Cha.
And felt like a dancing queen.
Josephine wanted me to talk to her
students on how to improve their English,
and good habits.
She gave me that look….it always gets me.
So I say ok.
Then Dave called me,
not in self-pity and something forgotten,
which is normal for him.
More, “I have an idea….”
It never strikes, but makes me despair at
the language and the scrutiny.
Now I feel like the only living boy in this place
Moving towards the night
My Picture: Early evening, Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province, China.
Late in the evening,
a cold day of silence in the city.
The lights of Number 3 hospital,
recovered from memory
days and nights on the wards.
Dances full of questions,
and a tall thin woman
swept through my bones.
I listened to the radio,
and voices from faraway.
A conversation about the
meaning of life I think.
Unpainted and twisted,
the voices boiled into a
gloom and silence.
Composed of new forms
of unrelated shapes.
Dancing Ladies of Xinxiang
My Picture: Near my apartment: Xinxiang, China.
Half eaten by the moon
and wrapped in cold sheets of rain.
Their eyeballs roll and hips sway,
and the dancing begins.
Always at the same time,
and without a blessing or leaf falling.
Music supersedes their days
on the long march, bellowing
to us all across a great distance.
A ritual that a poet can understand.
An existence that become endless,
and the power of preserving.
City Lights
My Picture: Xinxiang City, Henan Province, China.
When I first came to the city,
I was so much smaller.
The city was busy with
stories, hidden away and unsung.
Fog played at my feet,
and cold mists of rain
chorused a life
of tragedy and contentment.
Among the soundless solitudes,
I found a crowded room full of poetry
and thoughts of hope.
Song of the City
My Picture: Taken tonight: Xinxiang City, China.
The water glistens
and the moon hangs low.
Scooters and cars float by.
The people yearn for the clouds,
and the clouds
pine for the water.
All have forgotten to mourn
and yet they meet.
Weaving their dreams
and living on the road,
one and the same.
Cold Mornings
My Picture: Frozen River Wei, Xinxiang, China
I woke early this morning,
and grey marked the sky.
The many things that
claw and tear in my mind,
swept the crowded jungle clean.
In winter nothing stirs
along the ground.
An ample cold begins to fold,
a dullness touched my
thoughts of you.
Silent Fog
Xinxiang, China: Early this morning
There was fog in the city this morning.
It hung around for a while,
waiting for someone to talk with.
But no one came.
Living under a white
cloud paradise for so long,
they still blamed the fog
for their muffled silence
and loss of spirit.
The fog saw that everything
was dark, and began to howl
at the few passing cars.
But nothing happened.
So the fog moved on.
How to disregard me
My Picture: Burnt Scooter – taken today: Xinxiang, Henan, China.
Just tell them I am a frustrated poet,
that swears that he is an atheist,
and hates football.
But even this they did not get.
Just tell them, that
I promise never to listen to AC/DC again.
And I swear, I will never, never again read
that alcoholic sexist pig
Bukowski,
at least not for a while…
But even this statement of my ill-intentions
they did not get.
Just tell them,
that I will get back to teaching
cats and dogs, and promise to give more
time and marks for beauty.
After all, every day is judgment day.
And as they drift,
and fade away so slowly.
Some said
“you cannot be a poet”
Even though, I could show it.
Then I realized that I am at their mercy.
And a life on the road seems a good
way to sink into my dreams,
and write my open poetry.
On Reflection
My Picture: River Wei Today: Xinxiang, China
A Wandering Poet 