So long ago
A dream in exile
Step – by- step, I walk the streets.
No home to the west,
no home to the east.
A wasteland of a silenced cry.
Looking at the dog, stretching
it’s arms towards the sky.
I see an alternative history,
a dream in exile.
This is the way it is, a struggle
in white on crumbling walls.
A smooth stone in my pocket
Camus asked us to imagine
Sisyphus happy.
People que for masks,
in Kaohsiung City.
An English poet, sits by
the roadside and writes
about life on an island.
Two lines on the paper,
and still no words being said.
I can imagine that Sisyphus
is happy, mending his fence
and waiting for the spring
rain to arrive.
A slow swing, to an imaginary lover.
Changing directions
Drinking coffee
at the road side.
An evening coolness,
urges a poets soul.
As dusk colours the earth,
how tender the streets
look now…….
Art of the journey
oznorCO
The mosquito
ceased it’s mad flight,
one limb at a time.
Down a side street,
old lovers kissed again,
another false dawn.
That’s how it starts,
a monologue,
with a single actor.
Fooyin Sunday
Sometimes I know,
it is Sunday morning.
By how the crickets sing,
and the neon currents.
But mostly, a soul
shining naked.
Sensual simplicity,
with slow exploration.
The onset of night
I try and walk for peace,
every moment.
Touching happiness,
as far as I can.
Sometimes, the night
is black – silently
watered by tears.
Yet, nothing is really mine.
And soon, I will
mingle with the dust.
One shrill cry
qrf
Grieving over
unreturning love.
Freezing clouds,
plunge from the sky.
Out of body,
out of myself –
a single butterfly.
Lost in a shaft
of sunlight,
silently longing.
There is nothing, yet
there is everything.
The eternal now
oznorCO
Wind whistling
a spring love.
Buildings going
up to the sky,
blowing away
sands of time.
Stealing all we love,
and so far from
the next step.
Turn around,
turn around
winter seems
so bleak.
A slow drift into deep water
A Wandering Poet 