Inside of me,
ants out of a hole.
A secluded road,
and the slow
swing of trees.
And of the suffering,
I practice peace in my heart.
Not knowing the true
nature of things.

A restless night, and difficult day. So I wrote a poem.

Stranded without love,          something you don’t understand.
I found my dreams                     amongst the flowers.
Memories, sheltered from
the weather – a road we used to ride.
It’s all here, the day has just begun.

The fog has clouded the sky,
and I am trying to find the sun.
Lucky for me, I still have
the trees and the spiders
with weaved webs.
Their voices, sweet songs
releasing laughter.
A gentle nature and gallant love,
a touch that shows the way.

A short poem, just written.

Exiled, alone
no way to spend
your middle years.
Or any day.
People, silently weep
and love those
who love you.
Corners echo with shadows,
and I think of life ahead.

Searching for beauty
on the streets of Kaohsiung,
I set out to have a haircut.
Each step did not fit me right,
but I have learned to walk, not run.
That’s it, slow down and breath.
I need this, I need this.

The earth breaks its chest,
a flame tormented.
Locked into a long night,
with names no longer considered.
Yet, each step brings a fresh breeze
and summer grasses chase the world.
I sit comfortably, listening
to the rain on my roof.

A poem written in difficult times, yet still mindful of life.

I saw a dead snake today,
a holy ancestor in our mythology.
It seemed to me, to foretell
a catastrophe to come.
A freezing dusty wind,
twisted in anger, dry riverbeds
no longer giving life.
I blessed the snake, an animal
no longer in the cage.
And walked on, as petty as a cricket.

A poem a drawing from this afternoons reflections.

From the window
to running track,
enough spots of sunlight
for dragonflies to
change their grips.
Until there is nothing
left in amber.
And the kids,
run as fast as they can,
always to the right field.

A poem about loss, reflection and memory. I wrote this afternoon.

Now, I see with my own eyes,
a small, patterned,
unprotected landscape.
A world built from a bang,
now crashing on the waves.
Promises wearing thin,
no more tales of immortality.
“Stay here”, you say
and I want to return, to my wife.
Dancing with the wind,
on Spanish shores.

A poem I wrote this afternoon.

Looking up, I thought
I saw a star from an old sky.
Filled with melancholic joy,
such a pupil of sorrow.
Then, I looked again
and saw the sky starless.
Yearning for another
golden dream, and a sweetheart
to be at peace again.