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My pictures: Taken this evening. I discovered a new cafe on my evening walk…and wrote this poem.
Writing,
until there’s nothing left
of the light.
Outside gnats rise and fall,
on a spoke of faded sun.
Waiting for me
Age
A hand to the sky
My Picture: The Mekong River, Vietnam.
An unseen bird sings,
a summer redshift.
Just enough to remind me
of how it used to be.
With daylight fading,
and sun in my bones.
I see a distant virga, and wake
beneath next seasons stars.
Enough
My picture
Not just a pastime, to me
An invigorating swing
of medical English.
Wrapped around
the humanity of
William Carlos Williams
and Cicely Saunders.
Tailing with high gratitude…
and silver lamps of light…
always helping…for no reward.
Yet…alone
how lonely I feel
in the battlefield here.
But new writes spark,
old echoes
from days on the hospital wards
of Manchester.
Drop-dead rains of patient care,
here come the part
a poignant character study…
Sitting in the quite
My picture
Surrounded by people,
floating tea, paragraphs
and ancient calls.
Light conversations inside,
dancing along the lines.
One foot after the other,
watching assumed safety
and dreading a misstep.
Returning years
My pictures
7 hours of marking, a matter of choice.
Neurotransmitters
unfathomable, vast and empty.
Apoptosis and the death of cancer
always on a journey, ill
DNA and a cause for everything,
a mutation here
and a blue-eyed wonder boy there.
In the end,
I wanted to howl like Ginsberg
to feed my patience.
To learn to think,
and clean a wound that won’t close.
Another shadow in a fading light,
a vast and empty hole.
Not quite the truth
My picture: sometimes I jut cannot do what I am asked to do 🙂
By a falling tree,
soft leathery lies.
Small cracks appear
” Just ignore them”
they said.
Falsehoods of time,
they have no one to turn to.
Only their parents,
once again.
Not another sound
My picture.
Sprawled on a hard bed,
trying to read Bukowski.
Night runs through the campus,
half a world away.
As I see the sky,
sleep comes wearily.
Darkness, silence
and a dialogue with old age.
Then a tree shift,
to half a moon.
With fireflies dancing,
and bluing with night fall.
Fade to grey
My Pictures
Behind the bright clouds,
a sun on thin ice.
Eyelids – filter
smoke trailed habits,
through cold crisp mornings.
And ripple reflections
of monochrome buildings.
The clouds edge
My Picture
A warm day in the city,
say no words.
Time is collapsing
and a sea returning for now.
All to enlarge the circle,
why not?
(a poem of indifference)
The pain of time
My drawing: reflecting on a past moment this afternoon.
Looking back,
then the two of us
Loop after loop
and running fast.
A Wandering Poet 