My Picture
A moments decline
Vietnam
Stillness
My picture of a photograph I took in Vietnam celebrating the role of women in the history of this country.
saying nothing
has become part of the English language
held by it
like flashbacks in a forest
across the tables
conversations grinding away
a petal falls
and the afternoon drifts along
when I look up
migrating birds show the way
giving loneliness
in the taste of white peach
Kodokushi
Kodokushi (孤独死) or lonely death refers to a Japanese phenomena of people dying alone and remaining undiscovered for a long period of time…. sadly… this is not just a Japanese phenomena .. My view is that we need to talk more about why many die alone.. and quality in death…..
Last night I read about ‘Kodokushi’,
the politics of despair.
Grunts and strains upward,
counting the stars alone.
A 69-year old man
discovered three years after his death
….. no death poem, only the longest night.
An indented grey pillow,
on a winter sickbed.
No one to watch the threads of a life unfold,
many not even knowing.
I though, how will I die?
A soap bubble, before it bursts
or a chill before moonlight
….. the end of a long day?
An exhausted me, timeless drudgery.
Confusion, misery and apprehension
with only the slurping sounds.
Maybe I will write a poem, just before.
A simple happening…..
and yet, a drop of hope grown
…..a man’s end and mound of gleaming words.
Understanding
A picture sent to me by a friend in England.
I talked with my friend from Anyang this morning.
Upon a background of fading moonlight,
and recalling times gone by.
Once, we both had pure and romantic hopes… and lost them someplace.
You walk…. I walk.
Now there remains a heart in deep sadness….. estranged from this yellow land.
So I sent her a daffodil, from England…..
to pull along her threads of worries
and clean up these ancient wounds.
The Voice of the Cicadas
My Picture
It’s the edge of the world,
and I am tired.
The sound of water
says what it thinks.
Fish are walking
and sparrows singing.
Too often hinting of past things,
how far-off they are!
The moon taps at the window,
tap, tap, tap…..
Searching for the spotlight,
a slatted loneliness.
By the mountains, graceful
a kite ascends…
As the wind beats the wind,
pitying a lonely cicada voice.
Somewhere over here
A picture sent to me by a friend in Harbin, China. Northern China is experiencing late winter snow……..
Everybody run, run, run…..
a friend told me about death today.
Already naked
my dreams go wandering.
A vast empty autumn night
…..my very own constellation.
It reached the clouds in the sky,
an empty sickbed
and impotent doctors…..
watching the clock dial glow.
I awoke before the end,
a split second spirit.
And cast a cold eye….
I will not sell death today.
Midnight Road
rhdr
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My Pictures
During this time and through it all,
falling free from a lazy sky.
A sole evening star glows to the left,
overlapping the trouble I’ve seen.
The armies of the day, a mirror …..
reflect soft seeds of spreading hope.
Across the towering Taihang Mountains,
reigning heights….. echoed by a silent sound.
Now warming lights blink sober red,
and gather in the throat.
A voice that strives to strike the senses dumb,
floods its beauty to the sky.
Afterglow
My Picture: A accident on the way home this evening…our coach hit a car…all is well…but the fragility of life is all around us.
He sung this song
‘Sometimes I feel like a motherless child….. a long way from home…..
It took me back…..
Apples….. bruised apples
late October’s final song
an old dog by a cracking fire
nursed toward a loving light
grasping at the sky
even your life is tender
And then the call is made
a dull material world
numbed by mouth
and the song…..
‘call my brother…….’
A quite room
I walked around the building…..
it was messy.
I saw a man wearing a big sombrero
and singing ‘Pancho and Lefty’…
“you live around here?” he asked
So I walked over to the man and said,
“hello senor…. I’m just passing through… trying to keep myself free and clean”.
He smiled and pulled out a half-drunk bottle of mezcal,
he wanted to tell a story……and invite me into these things.
We rumbled through the moment
for that and only for that…..
How to spend a Sunday
A picture sent to me by a friend yesterday.
A Wandering Poet 