Art

Night time laughter

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hdrpl

My drawing: a reflection of a moment….thinking of someone…..

Twisting in the wind,

rebuilding the molecules.

It should be enough.

But breezing winds and flights in turn,

slam the days down through charcoal space

and sunlight filtered clouds.

 

And as the night relaxes,

nothing stirs except the saddest lines.

As I listen, an image appears

 of your bright body and infinite eyes

….. laughing one more time.

Me and Bob Dylan, again

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hdrpl

First picture: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/bob-dylan-artwork-go-view-217297 Second picture : my drawing

Sometimes I dream of sunshine,
but not often.

Last night Bob Dylan appeared,
riding on soft marshmallow clouds…..
a contrived visual modality.

“Bob Dylan? What are you doing here” said I.

As the night unfolded….. there was a quest to write and dream.

And as the clouds left
Bob told me

“You know… this world is ours, all of ours…
but is run by people who never listen to music, anyway”

With that the dream drifted away,
like a bottle on a journey.
So empty to be.

Old Farmer

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My drawings

Close the gate, your worries are over.
Put away your tools and sleep in peace.
But the labour is never done, always must you work.
Season’s bright magic calls you out to play.

Oats and peas – look sparse to me.
And the peaches, no less delicious
not ready yet to disgorge their load
We’re all weed-hungry.

Bricks of the heart

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fznor

My Picture: Taken yesterday

Sometimes boredom strikes the mind,
the brick foundations crumble
moment-by- moment.
Even the molecule you gave me, the last time…..
makes me numb.

Then I go back to Bukowski or Dickinson,
who know about journeys of the mind.
And how to hang on
to threads of hope, to reach time and space.

Then peace descends,
I’m fine.

Spring feeling

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A day in the Chinese countryside with some friends….very beautiful and mindful.

That spring feeling and trudge around,
still hunts me after all these years.
I found myself in the flowers
wishing you were here,
enjoying the cool of the evening
….. one more time.

And the thickets are for the small moments, and the first visiting Chinese
beautiful rosefinch
….. the scent is already in the air.

From those endless dry winters,
and the final parting.
A little wild cherry tree,
and the deep smell of rose blossom
….. pushes back the sadness.

And as the bush warbler sings,
I remember those days…. worn out with love and sensuous kisses
All site lost of the throbbing pain and
swollen cheeks… soon to come.

A note to myself

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My Pictures.

Back in my apartment
with all the old memories,
it is difficult to sleep.
I walk towards the window
to look out onto the street.
Looking for a poem, a sign of life
….. something, anything.

Somebody told me
I would find life on the street, a rhythm.
But maybe it is too early.
I can’t watch any longer,
and I know there is silence behind me.
It was good and dark, perfect.

Sad girl

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hdrpl
hdrpl

My drawings: I met a student, crying yesterday…the others walked passed…

She was crying away the thunder,

as people walked passed.

“Are you OK?” I asked,

my eye pressure flashing.

Contact made with breath clouds,

a student’s double take…

I told her

“Some summer days I hide away and remember how it was….”

She smiled….. and remembered how to stand.

Waking on the road

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hdrpl

My Pictures: A journey to work…one morning..and a poem…….

My mind is set on movement,
elapsed time passes by.
Staccato streets and sun rays heighten,
a murmur of life awakens my thoughts.
The plain ground calls.

Listless in the hazy morning,
long neck roads appear with fanfare wings.
As trees stretch their arms with
all the stifling sensations of pain.
Hoping to self – actualize, at last.

Night sounds

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My pictures: Last night I missed the last bus home…and had to stay in the campus. Time for a doodle and short poem.

I missed the bus,
when stars search for sleep.

Half a moon,
and a restless night.

Too many honeycomb thoughts,
running through my mind

….. like dragons and fairies
Not getting rest I mean.

How to say goodbye

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First picture http://www.bbc.com the rest my pictures. I gave a talk yesterdays on poetry. The book was a gift (not easy to locate in China)…and I drew a doodle of Ginsburg…after my dream 🙂

I dreamed I met Allen Ginsburg last night,
drum, drum, drumming around my apartment.

Says I to Allen “You’re 22 years dead!”
“Life and death are one” says he.
He read me some poems about the sad self,
and how to howl at the moon.

In return, I read some poems about the pain of being alone,
and how love is out there for everyone.

But all dreams end one way of the other,
despite the words.

After rearranging the wind, we said our goodbyes.
And the spring night mourned in empty vase.