My Picture: Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province, China.
Nights of Espionage
China
Days Like This
My Picture: New Membership Card
A new gym opening in Xinxiang,
and an unwanted fear of growing old alone.
I went to look, as the autumn leaves fell
and spoke of drearier days.
I met a beautiful lady, who reminded me of you.
On dull October days like these, a glistening
sweet kernel illuminating the air.
And a slow fermentation of patched-up memories.
So I joined the gym, and turned to the trees
no longer waiting for the skies to crack.
And the beautiful lady….well we said ‘hello’
and exchanged WeChat addresses.
Days into nights
My Picture: Sunset in the Gobi Desert. Dunhuang, China.
I live alone in a nice apartment
and read the news every day.
Most days I write poetry
and listen to music.
Rainbow dreams
and triviality are always present.
But I sleep alone in the dark,
a shady sadness.
And dream of you,
shining through the ages.
What I need to know
My Picture: Xinxiang, China.
Some jobs you like,
and others are so dreary and pitiless,
that you stay in bed.
Motionless in time and
watching the sun climb.
But then,
many who stay in bed
have a history of grief.
An empty doorway,
and a faded family photograph.
Nothing to do with their job,
just tricks of the mind.
Memory by memory,
it is easy to forget that what’s here isn’t life.
And nothing can ever happen unless you say so.
That Summer Feeling
My Picture: Bronze Sculpture, 798 Art Zone, Beijing, China
I met two Chinese professors today,
older than me and dressed warm.
Kindly, unmarked and tender.
A drift of rain on a grey sea dawning.
A few small thoughts, barely moving between us.
Waves of age and gentle laughter,
autumn and dark winter on the long journey.
It set me on to wondering how to deal
with age, and how the hell to make it.
How can I still breathe with the trees,
challenge the mountains and dance with the snakes?
And still remember the girl in the blue dress,
waiting for me by her bedside.
Beneath a poets pen,
I hold these thoughts, day-by-day.
Knowing is far from enough, and
new forms from secret harmonies
skim the early morning silence.
In the evening longing has its own quiet place,
the nearest thing to being alive .
Restless Farewell
My Picture: Wei River: Xinxiang, Henan Province, China
In the darkness a dream came to me,
pale and waiting.
Beauty to destruction,
your head tilted but your face lost.
Rapturous and green eyed,
I drank each word from your mouth.
A sensuous scented sea of colour,
standing naked under unknown eyes.
Infused with lust and exposed skin,
I found a restless farewell.
And through the depths of blue I see
the last star, no longer dreary to be nobody.
It seemed by itself remembered love,
moments of breathlessness, but no sickness.
A cacophony of never ending whispering words,
dropping like flakes, fragile and complete.
Gentle as you should have been.
Lying in the darkness, I made a last wish
I am here.. standing alone
left looking …..
As you touch my soul and bleed into my dreams.
Awakening Solitude
My Picture: Jin River, Chengdu, China
When alone, I thought
the crowd is wearing my face.
Silently judging,
safe in the knowledge of the tribe.
Transfixed by the multitude,
the lights flash on.
And as the daylight falls
the world is silent,
but for the sound of a singing bird
that comes from you.
The light that specifies the
face and the music,
swings as the deep abyss.
Yesterdays Sun
My Picture
Most days on my way to the café for coffee,
a homely comfort in a foreign place.
There is a man I see, a bleeding soul
in this vacant place.
He sleeps mainly on the grass verge,
always rough and unwashed.
Lays like an animal too ready for winter.
And the people pass him by.
The whole process shows desperation,
no such helpmates or a plight to bear.
A sickness of the mind, steeped in
ancient rules of deception.
Some see an empty space, some a sleeping dog.
And some an inconvenience from where they lie.
None of them see the whispers invading their
perceptions.
Yesterday the sun was setting, half asleep.
I remembered once feeling the
sun, and seeing half a yellow daffodil pale
blowing left and right.
Another heart broken race.
So I took some coffee and slice of
coconut cake to the man.
Undone with misery, he said something
I did not understand.
I thought, I am bitter sometimes
but the taste of life was one day sweet.
I was loved by goodness, and that was enough.
The Age of Reason
My Picture: 798 Art Zone: Beijing, China.
Now, for all that is the
curtain of my soul.
It is hard to remember those
bright days of early love.
And a picture of you and me
in strange surroundings, is all
that is left of days restored.
My share at least, the beauty
of desire and a loss stolen away.
Distant children, a house that is no more
and a world turned loose from
dense dreams past.
A concept of love,
a plaster fix of selfish cries.
Was a least a reason for sinking in
the sand and losing it.
Too many indulgent days,
self-aware, yet unable to care
and blinded by coal-burning
tears.
Now, in silence my wounds I feel.
From those times, so fondly
cherished.
October Lament
My Picture: By The River
A Wandering Poet 