A New Year in Harbin

4th Feb 20194th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Harbin this evening….New Years Eve in China

Fingers slowly freeze,
on this New Year’s Eve.
The fast dipping moon,
cold sleeps around my face.
Clutches of deep red lanterns,
parade to empty streets.
And ice stars dance,
sick from half melting
and clinging to a desperate sun.
My skin stings in the cold wind,
ice white and torn inside.
I can see my breath,
now singing for the first warm day.

Year of the pig

2nd Feb 20192nd Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

hdrpl

My Pictures: Today – Xinxiang Medical University, Henan, China.

Last days of the year
I was sat in my favourite cafe,
drinking coffee.
Streets no longer crowded,
a city heavy and slow
with the flushing of the old year.

Shadows passed,
along with the other imitators of life.
But I am older now,
a part accepted
and conversations burning away.
I see the shadows for what they are.

I thought about a friend I know,
consumed by ill-fate and impossibility.

He asked me last night
……………“What is your life like?”

I took only a moment to answer
“There’s always better work down the line….”

Unseen Songs

29th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

rptnb

My Pictures

Wandering in a bookshop in Xinxiang,
I came across an Underwood 310 typewriter,
an Olivetti by another name.
It was not in good shape….
probably taken too many victims.

A young woman gave me a book about
the sex life of Andy Warhol.

‘You might find this interesting”

I thought this was a strange combination
of histories mingling….

In a moment of lighthouse flashes,
I felt a warm familiar breeze….
a self-moment of age.
There and then
I wanted to love someone.
Until death comes to visit me again,
the wind that brought me here still goes on.

How to show your age

27th Jan 201927th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

With daylight fading beyond the
silence, I went for coffee.
I was reading Bukowski….
‘Notes of a Dirty Old Man’,
when one of my Chinese friends joined me.
A young doctor with love rocking in the wind,
who is on the path in the desolate landscape.

“What are you reading?”

I ordered him some warm milk,

“A book about the space between
the covers of books……..
and why some poems have lived long enough….”

Unsure if he understood my words,
I suggested he sit down and order
this poem a glass of shaojiu.
We both found this funny…..

To the tune of life

22nd Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture: Poster on the wall of No 3 Hospital, Xinxiang, China.

How long is lifelong?
Years of tender colours,
taken away in a moment.

Once a life was so flat,
so bitter and cold.
But love and lust
never eluded me.

A year’s gone…
but moments are offered
up in song.
Dredged each day
from toil in the fine dust.

Yet… there are times
away from the crowd, when
the flowers fall fast in the hard rain.
Then I think of you.

Summer grass

15th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

A picture sent to me by a student.

Winter numbness
with clouded eyes,
memories full of the past.
A passing songbird
on a blazing street side,
still sadly the heart beats.

And yet I see the old dog,
a dawns light betrayed by the past.
Still hopeful of life floated above.
Somber moments and dreams
brisk departure, echo another day
and sooner the sun.

Winter–lull

13th Jan 201913th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: A book I found in a cafe in Xinxiang today.

Alone at 3 am.
A droll moon…..
because of the silent snow,
chews a hole to the sky.

An icicle drifting through
the morning coolness,
floats away through
the street dust.

Deep in my notebook,
the to and fro of a
lake of the mind.
Silence as the
dancing moon shadows,
and nothing to doubt.

What to ask yourself

10th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Evening Exercises: Xinxiang City, Henan, China.

At the height of an argument,
I cannot name most of me.
Remembering her,
I grow logical.
My pleasant soul shrieks at me.

Back inside something lingers,
before theirs and mine.
Listening to ‘Talking Heads’,
as we followed the seasons.

Mind wings full of motion,
and one-by-one
we proclaimed “Once in a Lifetime”
was our song.
Baked into our souls
till death came knocking at our door.

January Dusk

9th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

Harbin: Heilongjiang, China: sent to me by a friend today.

Confronting the dark,
what sadness there has been.
A feathered longing
retrieved from a thorn,
a dull commotion of typewriter-keys.

Beneath the feet
of a dancing dragon,
old age now grazing the barriers.
And yet…..
out of solitude
I swallow all things up,
and see a poet
surprise his audience.
With the neon glow of his words,
and thoughts turned inside out.

Drinking under the moon with Li Bai

8th Jan 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

rbsh

hdrpl

My Pictures: Wall Posters , Xinxiang City, China.

Last days of the year I was sat in my favourite cafe, drinking coffee. Streets no longer crowded, a city heavy and slow with the flushing of the old year.

Shadows passed, along with the other imitators of life. But I am older now, a part accepted and conversations burning away. I see the shadows for what they are.

I thought about a friend I know, consumed by ill-fate and impossibility.

He asked me last night ……………“What is your life like?”

I took only a moment to answer “There’s always better work down the line….”

Wandering in a bookshop in Xinxiang, I came across an Underwood 310 typewriter, an Olivetti by another name. It was not in good shape…. probably taken too many victims.

A young woman gave me a book about the sex life of Andy Warhol.

‘You might find this interesting”

I thought this was a strange combination of histories mingling….

In a moment of lighthouse flashes, I felt a warm familiar breeze…. a self-moment of age. There and then I wanted to love someone. Until death comes to visit me again, the wind that brought me here still goes on.

With daylight fading beyond the silence, I went for coffee. I was reading Bukowski…. ‘Notes of a Dirty Old Man’, when one of my Chinese friends joined me. A young doctor with love rocking in the wind, who is on the path in the desolate landscape.

“What are you reading?”

I ordered him some warm milk,

“A book about the space between the covers of books…….. and why some poems have lived long enough….”

Unsure if he understood my words, I suggested he sit down and order this poem a glass of shaojiu. We both found this funny…..

How long is lifelong? Years of tender colours, taken away in a moment.

Once a life was so flat, so bitter and cold. But love and lust never eluded me.

A year’s gone… but moments are offered up in song. Dredged each day from toil in the fine dust.

Yet… there are times away from the crowd, when the flowers fall fast in the hard rain. Then I think of you.

Winter numbness with clouded eyes, memories full of the past. A passing songbird on a blazing street side, still sadly the heart beats.

And yet I see the old dog, a dawns light betrayed by the past. Still hopeful of life floated above. Somber moments and dreams brisk departure, echo another day and sooner the sun.

Alone at 3 am. A droll moon….. because of the silent snow, chews a hole to the sky.

An icicle drifting through the morning coolness, floats away through the street dust.

Deep in my notebook, the to and fro of a lake of the mind. Silence as the dancing moon shadows, and nothing to doubt.

At the height of an argument, I cannot name most of me. Remembering her, I grow logical. My pleasant soul shrieks at me.

Back inside something lingers, before theirs and mine. Listening to ‘Talking Heads’, as we followed the seasons.

Mind wings full of motion, and one-by-one we proclaimed “Once in a Lifetime” was our song. Baked into our souls till death came knocking at our door.

Confronting the dark, what sadness there has been. A feathered longing retrieved from a thorn, a dull commotion of typewriter-keys.

Beneath the feet of a dancing dragon, old age now grazing the barriers. And yet….. out of solitude I swallow all things up, and see a poet surprise his audience. With the neon glow of his words, and thoughts turned inside out.

In these years, what I like is still the shell I take. Swollen shut and looking for something from the inside.

I love the lonely grasses that thrive by the roadside. Waiting for the rain to give witness, and the sun to send forth its faint rays.

In silence to and daffodil mornings, I listen to shell sounds and bursts of wet clay. While the moon wanders the sky, sober and unrequited.