My picture: A wall picture in a restaurant this evening.
A travelling poet
Art
Night of the firefly’s
I intended
never to grow old.
Or be a man,
with fish bones …..ambling
out of bed to find love.
But age comes,
on sand and each grain.
Yet, I still want to see sunshine
at the beginning of summer.
And meet you once again,
on thin ice.
Snow is on the way
My drawing this evening.
A tune of being,
filling the void.
A paradise by the river…..
I wonder where the winds
of winter have gone.
And then……
I shift my pillow
closer to the moon.
Tangerine dream
My picture taken last night.
22 hours without electricity.
My apartment feels like
a Finnish sauna,
clouds and water running
wild all over my body.
How striking this smell
of damp flesh.
Outside explodes with laughter,
as people chew the darkness.
While others sleep like tangerines,
drifting in this instant…..
a little casual death.
Recovery
My picture.
When you see me
sitting alone, writing…..
what do you see?
A pain that goes on and on,
counting his grey hair…..
more white shining.
Or a poet,
slashed by snaking tree lines…..
and sharp – rugged mountain peaks.
All I am doing is listening to myself.
To know the painful past,
and drum beat marching forward.
A truth is never taken
‘Regret’ – My Picture.
Once regrets come to mind,
they fall like leaves…in vain – from all around.
Sometimes with shame,
always with sadness.
A mirror awaits me, forever.
Necessary Inconvenience
My picture.
All winter and spring,
I have moved….a wall, a building
an argument.
It meant nothing,
it meant absolutely everything.
Now head down towards the meadow floor,
an eerie silence slowly coming into view.
The evening star glows to the right,
and panic whispers in my ear..
That kiss
A moment caught in time…a picture and poem…from this evening.
The way you looked at me,
the way I looked at you.
A white marble temple,
my lips with yours.. . with your tears
I know I shouldn’t, but I enjoyed it.
Frustration
A quick doodle this evening…after a frustrating day.
That’s how it starts…..
concrete walled cubicles.
A lock that will not budge,
and a soul that cried for relief.
They tell you to fake it,
beautiful words on a ugly canvas.
Small enough to be shared
and dreams that vanish…..in a moment, to fears.
Not cold enough
My pictures taken along the River Wei.
A Wandering Poet 