My drawing.
Walking by the river
Art
Talking to the dying
My drawing.
Just by the hospital,
I met a man
who told me he talks to the dying.
Those sleepless souls
who have lost their shape.
“You feel deeply” he said.
“Just fragments” said I.
As I left, I thought
time and future have meaning.
And watched,
as the others lined-up
to talk with the man
….. trying to act casual.
The strange death of a fish
I saw the fish,
as I approached the river.
Black flies gathering,
leaves filling in the tangle.
Empty plastic bottles,
that cried like tears…..too recent to rot.
‘Poor soul’, I thought…..floating in the river.
A space between bricks,
and nobody minded at all.
Hard Times
My drawing this evening
I read some lines
“agony, always agony”
Some people think this
trying to face the sun
in the morning.
Others, when I ask them for help.
For some, just being dead
would be fair enough.
Words like ‘poetry’ and ‘rigor’
are very tiresome, in the wrong hands.
So, while the universe
tries to swallow us all….
I shut away nothing.
And listen for the birds singing.
Death wants more
Mt drawing.
I do not intend to stop for death.
To wait silently,
as a spider in a dank hole.
Not really knowing,
and at the end…. knowing.
No kneeling down,
filled with tears for me…..
Perhaps death is kind,
and will wait….. for a while.
But, I will dispute
my rendezvous with death
for as long as possible.
Or at least until spring returns,
with rustling shade.
And brings back those bright blue days.
Sleeping in the sun
My drawing. I came across a man sleeping rough this evening and tried to talk/ Language was an issue….but I tried.
I saw him on the street,
sleeping rough.
Right next to the flowers,
their presence smells…..
like poverty.
A few lousy coins,
given by a passerby.
Enough to buy a drink.
He drinks baijiu,
in the shade of a peach tree.
He told me
he wants to buy the moon.
I thought….. he needs
a lot more coins for that.
So I walked on…..
And so, death
My Drawing.
Once a raging sea,
and ground churned-up
…..a wild breezing affair
Now, our dream wandering
over withered fields
….and so, death.
Birth and death
My drawing.
So, we agreed
you would not die before me.
Already a death poem,
hidden in the melting snow.
And soon
the fireflies vanished.
There’s nothing more.
Waiting for me
hdrpl
rbsh
hdrpl
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.
Salt wind ripples,
to let death be.
Your hair drawn back,
a door to yesterday.
The whole dream through.
Clouds of pain
My picture.
A Wandering Poet 