An evening magpie call,
I look up from
writing to sadness.
Shadows of windmill blades
dancing all around.
Dragging sunset,
from island to island.
I see your face,
a long summer passing.

The blue magpie is the national bird of Taiwan. Almost four months now in Taiwan. I wrote this poem today.

A life, now in Taiwan.
One limb, one finger at a time.
The blue magpie,
calls her fledglings.
A new nest of
perfect mud awaits.
A lilt in her voice,
she tells the story again.
An outline of a child,
mending his fence.
Hair drawn back,
sun in the bones.
And the sound of life,
being moved.

A poem about a kiss. Sometimes it just happens.

Sunlight and rust,
fall from the sky.
Less and less nature,
in nature.
The sound of a kiss,
rippling around the island.
With you, I shift my stance.
Turning out the lights,
to hear the rain.
A tall sky sewn together,
one body in a sea’s motion.

I took a trip with a friend to Pier 2 Arts center in Kaohsiung, Taiwan – this afternoon. On my return I wrote this poem.

A breaking dawn,
still sleepy behind
the mountains.
‘How are you’, I said to myself.
As spring moves in,
I wonder – is there a road
that exists outside
of textbooks?
One that covers
you and me,
trees growing;
life growing.

A coffee, some reading and a poem.

A mourning magpie,
talks to a mourning magpie.
About the screams
passing through us.
And empty plates,
the shape of clay tomorrow.

In the back alley,
a spot of sunlight
on window slats.
A party staring
at the planets.
And an end, to the
new world order.

A poem about life in Taiwan I wrote this afternoon.

Spring moves in,
as yesterday’s rain
soaks the firewood.
The hawk’s circle,
to trigger an
uprising appetite.
But here, the wind
still has colour.
A heart yearning,
for the sunlight
of tomorrow.

The sun itself shines silently,
the signs say ‘no swimming’,                 – in two languages.
Good words with a radiant tongue.
So, for a while I stand alone
and taste a salty Taiwan.
And listen for another living                  creature’s sound.                                  But there is only silence,                        sinking softly into the sea.

Being alone is not easy, especially in a foreign place. But being disconnected, for me is even worse. Each day, I connect…..a walk, a picture..a poem. I wrote this poem a few moments ago.

After the evacuation,
a desolate dawn.
Even the sun bends
when a butterfly flies by.
A sun in skull.

But then, a calm
and thin air.
A mind gone, and reborn.
Straining at the padlock,
and chased back to the sea.

A veiled spring,
no sunshine of laughter.
Where to go for me,
in the future?
A curved street,
with deep indented eyes.
Or a flash sun and moon,
fractured by hands and feet?
With a feeling,
I regard my death, as rebirth.