Ageless

2nd Mar 201915th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

A Picture of a picture by a local artist here in Xinxiang.

Have you seen this place,
the sky, the sounds and the agony……
red cross blazing high and wide.
A ruby sun, unrequited
and slashed by snaking tree-lines.

Walking warily, in half-light moving…..
we talked of horseback
and watching processions.
While others watch the burning forest deep,
and hover in ageless light.

Girls shyly huddled behind each other,
waiting for a snarling lead…..

and the boys…?
…….lumber high and low.
Searching for the perfect black, oily haired girl.

A flitting shape to gape the sky and blink the stars.

Spring in cold sunlight

1st Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

hdrpl

My Pictures: Medical Humanities Class…..a characterization of pain…

Time crawls, face droops
the shadow of a lone tree
silently waiting……

Ponderous framework
and over-designed systems
burrow deeper in.

I am ready to go anywhere,
to touch the trees and spiked beaked flowers
dancing in the breeze.

And see the black bumblebees
mesmerizing their audience,
to become warm once again….

A mothering blackness

28th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Mahjong in Taiyuan.

Five in the morning,
drinking till the sun comes up.
Unable to slow down,
a single raindrop holding on for life….

I remember a dazed starling,
blue wings and orange breasts.
An iridescent creature,
beating a course to an open space.
A red-haired pterippus,
untouched, unclaimed territory.

Now, there is blue and grey……
no one really won.
A festive devotion paid per use,
chances to hang around some familiar things.

Dark place

25th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture and drawing.

Facing west, a dark forest.
One tree island
vanquished by the sun.

Each day the hounds
pursuit their breathless prey.
The she dog grown thin
from honey sick love.

Against a smooth dark sky
nothing to have at heart,
half an existence.
And there I see…..
estranged to myself
the lateness of the world……
and only the beauty to be.

Age of hope

17th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Harbin Snow.

The sky was black last night,
and so afflicted.
Stars stung to irritated gestures,
so unsleeping…..

Seeds of love scattered
from Manchester to Xinxiang.
Giving me an endless longing,
and hope for a fresh grace of an early dawn.

Xinxiang Blue

16th Feb 201916th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Poetry and coffee this evening.

Back in Xinxiang
the coffee tastes good.
‘The Carpenters’ are signing about love,
which becomes lost in time.
Never to be smooth again.

Deep inside, a spring longing.
A shadow still wedged between the rocks, and the rising spring river.
Seared into my aching bones.
Always to linger,
and never to be free.

The music stops, it always does.
Vaguely, I hear a sound….
….. a sweet voice
….. a distant voice
“Come close, and follow me…..”

Pulled into a violet world,
surrounded by the noise of our origin.
I see you…
and my unfinished flight.

Darkness hides the sunset

12th Feb 201912th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Unit 731 was a covert biological and chemical warfare research and development unit of the Imperial Japanese Army that undertook lethal human experimentation during the Second Sino-Japanese War of World War II. It was responsible for some of the most notorious war crimes carried out by Imperial Japan. I visited this museum today, just outside Harbin…it was harrowing….some of the pictures I took…are difficult to post here. The railway brought the people for experimentation, torture and death. Most of the ‘crimes’ were carried out by Japanese medical personal against the Chinese people. I wrote this poem shortly after I left the site:

Trees and sky darkened this morning.
Frost hardened tears,
a snake to the railway track.
I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest.
Thorns and needle pricks,
a bee pointed stinger.
Bare feet walking on ash covered ground,
fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale….
of snow cones in the dark
and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent…
all that is left of this dark protrusion
….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets.
To tell us how it was.

A river cracks

10th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Songhua River Bridge this evening. Harbin, China.

Walking alone on the Songhua River,
a soft hiss and a crack.
White sides to the moon,
and ice stars all around.

A quick slide in half-light.
And in bridge shadow,
reflected memories, no sun.
Cold air fills with strong scent….
…… beginning to thaw.

Snow people of Harbin

8th Feb 20198th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Taken this evening , Songhua River, Harbin, China.

Away from the crowds,
I found the snow people.
Once snowflake beautiful,
now silent and waiting for the longest night.

Just moments before,
made with tiny hands and love.
And wishing fame would last for ever.

Now those clouds, war horses on the march…
will have their day.

At first, they would not talk to me
but I reached to the clouds.
I wanted to know what the snow people
thought about life and death.

The British one found me and whispered in my ear……

“ Why are you here… there is only endless change, and no destinations”.

Songhua River

5th Feb 20195th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

flashsgl

My Pictures: Taken today in Harbin, Heilongjiang, China – Walking on the frozen river.

A Wandering Poet

As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.

Art

Ageless

Spring in cold sunlight

A mothering blackness

Five in the morning,
drinking till the sun comes up.
Unable to slow down,
a single raindrop holding on for life….

I remember a dazed starling,
blue wings and orange breasts.
An iridescent creature,
beating a course to an open space.
A red-haired pterippus,
untouched, unclaimed territory.

Now, there is blue and grey……
no one really won.
A festive devotion paid per use,
chances to hang around some familiar things.

Dark place

Facing west, a dark forest.
One tree island
vanquished by the sun.

Each day the hounds
pursuit their breathless prey.
The she dog grown thin
from honey sick love.

Against a smooth dark sky
nothing to have at heart,
half an existence.
And there I see…..
estranged to myself
the lateness of the world……
and only the beauty to be.

Age of hope

The sky was black last night,
and so afflicted.
Stars stung to irritated gestures,
so unsleeping…..

Seeds of love scattered
from Manchester to Xinxiang.
Giving me an endless longing,
and hope for a fresh grace of an early dawn.

Xinxiang Blue

Back in Xinxiang
the coffee tastes good.
‘The Carpenters’ are signing about love,
which becomes lost in time.
Never to be smooth again.

Deep inside, a spring longing.
A shadow still wedged between the rocks, and the rising spring river.
Seared into my aching bones.
Always to linger,
and never to be free.

The music stops, it always does.
Vaguely, I hear a sound….
….. a sweet voice
….. a distant voice
“Come close, and follow me…..”

Pulled into a violet world,
surrounded by the noise of our origin.
I see you…
and my unfinished flight.

Darkness hides the sunset

Trees and sky darkened this morning.
Frost hardened tears,
a snake to the railway track.
I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest.
Thorns and needle pricks,
a bee pointed stinger.
Bare feet walking on ash covered ground,
fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale….
of snow cones in the dark
and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent…
all that is left of this dark protrusion
….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets.
To tell us how it was.

A river cracks

Walking alone on the Songhua River,
a soft hiss and a crack.
White sides to the moon,
and ice stars all around.

A quick slide in half-light.
And in bridge shadow,
reflected memories, no sun.
Cold air fills with strong scent….
…… beginning to thaw.

Snow people of Harbin

Away from the crowds,
I found the snow people.
Once snowflake beautiful,
now silent and waiting for the longest night.

Just moments before,
made with tiny hands and love.
And wishing fame would last for ever.

Now those clouds, war horses on the march…
will have their day.

At first, they would not talk to me
but I reached to the clouds.
I wanted to know what the snow people
thought about life and death.

The British one found me and whispered in my ear……

“ Why are you here… there is only endless change, and no destinations”.

Songhua River

My soul companions
dancing in the winter breeze.
Memories of a life frozen
deep below the Songhua River.

Each step a slow procession,
of love torn conversations.
In winter solitude
I make my home…

Five in the morning, drinking till the sun comes up. Unable to slow down, a single raindrop holding on for life….

I remember a dazed starling, blue wings and orange breasts. An iridescent creature, beating a course to an open space. A red-haired pterippus, untouched, unclaimed territory.

Now, there is blue and grey…… no one really won. A festive devotion paid per use, chances to hang around some familiar things.

Facing west, a dark forest. One tree island vanquished by the sun.

Each day the hounds pursuit their breathless prey. The she dog grown thin from honey sick love.

Against a smooth dark sky nothing to have at heart, half an existence. And there I see….. estranged to myself the lateness of the world…… and only the beauty to be.

The sky was black last night, and so afflicted. Stars stung to irritated gestures, so unsleeping…..

Seeds of love scattered from Manchester to Xinxiang. Giving me an endless longing, and hope for a fresh grace of an early dawn.

Back in Xinxiang the coffee tastes good. ‘The Carpenters’ are signing about love, which becomes lost in time. Never to be smooth again.

Deep inside, a spring longing. A shadow still wedged between the rocks, and the rising spring river. Seared into my aching bones. Always to linger, and never to be free.

The music stops, it always does. Vaguely, I hear a sound…. ….. a sweet voice ….. a distant voice “Come close, and follow me…..”

Pulled into a violet world, surrounded by the noise of our origin. I see you… and my unfinished flight.

Trees and sky darkened this morning. Frost hardened tears, a snake to the railway track. I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest. Thorns and needle pricks, a bee pointed stinger. Bare feet walking on ash covered ground, fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale…. of snow cones in the dark and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent… all that is left of this dark protrusion ….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets. To tell us how it was.

Walking alone on the Songhua River, a soft hiss and a crack. White sides to the moon, and ice stars all around.

A quick slide in half-light. And in bridge shadow, reflected memories, no sun. Cold air fills with strong scent…. …… beginning to thaw.

Away from the crowds, I found the snow people. Once snowflake beautiful, now silent and waiting for the longest night.

Just moments before, made with tiny hands and love. And wishing fame would last for ever.

Now those clouds, war horses on the march… will have their day.

At first, they would not talk to me but I reached to the clouds. I wanted to know what the snow people thought about life and death.

The British one found me and whispered in my ear……

“ Why are you here… there is only endless change, and no destinations”.

My soul companions dancing in the winter breeze. Memories of a life frozen deep below the Songhua River.

Each step a slow procession, of love torn conversations. In winter solitude I make my home…

Five in the morning,
drinking till the sun comes up.
Unable to slow down,
a single raindrop holding on for life….

I remember a dazed starling,
blue wings and orange breasts.
An iridescent creature,
beating a course to an open space.
A red-haired pterippus,
untouched, unclaimed territory.

Now, there is blue and grey……
no one really won.
A festive devotion paid per use,
chances to hang around some familiar things.

Facing west, a dark forest.
One tree island
vanquished by the sun.

Each day the hounds
pursuit their breathless prey.
The she dog grown thin
from honey sick love.

Against a smooth dark sky
nothing to have at heart,
half an existence.
And there I see…..
estranged to myself
the lateness of the world……
and only the beauty to be.

The sky was black last night,
and so afflicted.
Stars stung to irritated gestures,
so unsleeping…..

Seeds of love scattered
from Manchester to Xinxiang.
Giving me an endless longing,
and hope for a fresh grace of an early dawn.

Back in Xinxiang
the coffee tastes good.
‘The Carpenters’ are signing about love,
which becomes lost in time.
Never to be smooth again.

Deep inside, a spring longing.
A shadow still wedged between the rocks, and the rising spring river.
Seared into my aching bones.
Always to linger,
and never to be free.

The music stops, it always does.
Vaguely, I hear a sound….
….. a sweet voice
….. a distant voice
“Come close, and follow me…..”

Pulled into a violet world,
surrounded by the noise of our origin.
I see you…
and my unfinished flight.

Trees and sky darkened this morning.
Frost hardened tears,
a snake to the railway track.
I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest.
Thorns and needle pricks,
a bee pointed stinger.
Bare feet walking on ash covered ground,
fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale….
of snow cones in the dark
and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent…
all that is left of this dark protrusion
….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets.
To tell us how it was.

Walking alone on the Songhua River,
a soft hiss and a crack.
White sides to the moon,
and ice stars all around.

A quick slide in half-light.
And in bridge shadow,
reflected memories, no sun.
Cold air fills with strong scent….
…… beginning to thaw.

Away from the crowds,
I found the snow people.
Once snowflake beautiful,
now silent and waiting for the longest night.

Just moments before,
made with tiny hands and love.
And wishing fame would last for ever.

Now those clouds, war horses on the march…
will have their day.

At first, they would not talk to me
but I reached to the clouds.
I wanted to know what the snow people
thought about life and death.

My soul companions
dancing in the winter breeze.
Memories of a life frozen
deep below the Songhua River.

Each step a slow procession,
of love torn conversations.
In winter solitude
I make my home…