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.

Sunday morning

24th Feb 201925th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

A picture sent to me my one of my students

Complacencies of the night,
tears of an ancient sacrifice.
I dreamt a little,
a small spill
of things to be cherished
like the thought of a heaven.

Eubank wins on points,
England loose to Wales,
passions of rain and a fading empire.
Bob Seger sings of a ‘fire inside’,
emotions on wet roads on winter mornings.

Looking through open widows,
smiling through memories.
Xinxiang distracted by the self,
a soft breeze blows in
The way you are always near
and coffee already cold,
the joy of this Sunday morning.

A New Term

23rd Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

Miles Davis blue…..
back again.
Girls holding hands,
still seeking affirmation.
And I could not help thinking
of the wonders of the mind.

The dance…..
an uneven edge
in early spring.
Another re-birth of an awful promise,
bound into a whole.

A big sky…..
with uncertain legs.
And a death poem,
waiting to be given life
all over again…….
in this unknown place .

A place I know well

22nd Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

Down side streets,
fog turning the sky in and out.
There is only one love
. …. to enlarge the circles
and read the poems.

Let it be you
in the spring of the year.
Startling me from this spiders life
and trumpeting red flowers.

Dancing Queens of Harbin

21st Feb 201921st Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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My Pictures: Some of the ‘ Queens of Harbin’

At night in Harbin
the queen’s come to dance.
Nowhere to hide,
nothing better to do.
If you can wait,
silent in the cold
you can join them….

…..spinning top and dreams pervade,
a few shimmering droplets of a legacy left….

Wasting their days away,
a dance existence.. here and gone.
But a flash of time on this cold night.
And whispered echoes
that scream aloud once more.

Silent Moments No 3

20th Feb 201920th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

hdrpl

My Pictures: Harbin. Heilongjiang, China.

Old church doors
across the street.
Not creaking for anyone.

The Songhua River,
quite through bare trees….
never quite full.

Yet faintly, between the space,
a dutar plays a song.

A small patch of grass
surprises me as I turn.

Pain of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

19th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Some thoughts from my students from a class on ‘Psychopathology’

United in pain.
A midlife sadness,
louder than a scream.
Take me away from this winter,
and voices cancelled by the rain.

When stillness descended,
the night…..ours to decide.
And what I loved
was the idleness of a moment with you.
Gathering words and stolen kisses
under candle – light.

Winter is going

18th Feb 201918th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Reflections of Harbin

Even in solid cold

I just can’t leave you.

Lonely lonely me.

Age of hope

17th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Harbin Snow.

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.

China

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.

Sunday morning

Complacencies of the night,
tears of an ancient sacrifice.
I dreamt a little,
a small spill
of things to be cherished
like the thought of a heaven.

Eubank wins on points,
England loose to Wales,
passions of rain and a fading empire.
Bob Seger sings of a ‘fire inside’,
emotions on wet roads on winter mornings.

Looking through open widows,
smiling through memories.
Xinxiang distracted by the self,
a soft breeze blows in
The way you are always near
and coffee already cold,
the joy of this Sunday morning.

A New Term

Miles Davis blue…..
back again.
Girls holding hands,
still seeking affirmation.
And I could not help thinking
of the wonders of the mind.

The dance…..
an uneven edge
in early spring.
Another re-birth of an awful promise,
bound into a whole.

A big sky…..
with uncertain legs.
And a death poem,
waiting to be given life
all over again…….
in this unknown place .

A place I know well

Down side streets,
fog turning the sky in and out.
There is only one love
. …. to enlarge the circles
and read the poems.

Let it be you
in the spring of the year.
Startling me from this spiders life
and trumpeting red flowers.

Dancing Queens of Harbin

At night in Harbin
the queen’s come to dance.
Nowhere to hide,
nothing better to do.
If you can wait,
silent in the cold
you can join them….

…..spinning top and dreams pervade,
a few shimmering droplets of a legacy left….

Wasting their days away,
a dance existence.. here and gone.
But a flash of time on this cold night.
And whispered echoes
that scream aloud once more.

Silent Moments No 3

Old church doors
across the street.
Not creaking for anyone.

The Songhua River,
quite through bare trees….
never quite full.

Yet faintly, between the space,
a dutar plays a song.

A small patch of grass
surprises me as I turn.

Pain of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

United in pain.
A midlife sadness,
louder than a scream.
Take me away from this winter,
and voices cancelled by the rain.

When stillness descended,
the night…..ours to decide.
And what I loved
was the idleness of a moment with you.
Gathering words and stolen kisses
under candle – light.

Winter is going

Even in solid cold

I just can’t leave you.

Lonely lonely me.

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.

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.

Complacencies of the night, tears of an ancient sacrifice. I dreamt a little, a small spill of things to be cherished like the thought of a heaven.

Eubank wins on points, England loose to Wales, passions of rain and a fading empire. Bob Seger sings of a ‘fire inside’, emotions on wet roads on winter mornings.

Looking through open widows, smiling through memories. Xinxiang distracted by the self, a soft breeze blows in The way you are always near and coffee already cold, the joy of this Sunday morning.

Miles Davis blue….. back again. Girls holding hands, still seeking affirmation. And I could not help thinking of the wonders of the mind.

The dance….. an uneven edge in early spring. Another re-birth of an awful promise, bound into a whole.

A big sky….. with uncertain legs. And a death poem, waiting to be given life all over again……. in this unknown place .

Down side streets, fog turning the sky in and out. There is only one love . …. to enlarge the circles and read the poems.

Let it be you in the spring of the year. Startling me from this spiders life and trumpeting red flowers.

At night in Harbin the queen’s come to dance. Nowhere to hide, nothing better to do. If you can wait, silent in the cold you can join them….

…..spinning top and dreams pervade, a few shimmering droplets of a legacy left….

Wasting their days away, a dance existence.. here and gone. But a flash of time on this cold night. And whispered echoes that scream aloud once more.

Old church doors across the street. Not creaking for anyone.

The Songhua River, quite through bare trees…. never quite full.

Yet faintly, between the space, a dutar plays a song.

A small patch of grass surprises me as I turn.

United in pain. A midlife sadness, louder than a scream. Take me away from this winter, and voices cancelled by the rain.

When stillness descended, the night…..ours to decide. And what I loved was the idleness of a moment with you. Gathering words and stolen kisses under candle – light.

Even in solid cold

I just can’t leave you.

Lonely lonely me.

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.

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.

Complacencies of the night,
tears of an ancient sacrifice.
I dreamt a little,
a small spill
of things to be cherished
like the thought of a heaven.

Eubank wins on points,
England loose to Wales,
passions of rain and a fading empire.
Bob Seger sings of a ‘fire inside’,
emotions on wet roads on winter mornings.

Looking through open widows,
smiling through memories.
Xinxiang distracted by the self,
a soft breeze blows in
The way you are always near
and coffee already cold,
the joy of this Sunday morning.

Miles Davis blue…..
back again.
Girls holding hands,
still seeking affirmation.
And I could not help thinking
of the wonders of the mind.

The dance…..
an uneven edge
in early spring.
Another re-birth of an awful promise,
bound into a whole.

A big sky…..
with uncertain legs.
And a death poem,
waiting to be given life
all over again…….
in this unknown place .

Down side streets,
fog turning the sky in and out.
There is only one love
. …. to enlarge the circles
and read the poems.

Let it be you
in the spring of the year.
Startling me from this spiders life
and trumpeting red flowers.

At night in Harbin
the queen’s come to dance.
Nowhere to hide,
nothing better to do.
If you can wait,
silent in the cold
you can join them….

…..spinning top and dreams pervade,
a few shimmering droplets of a legacy left….

Wasting their days away,
a dance existence.. here and gone.
But a flash of time on this cold night.
And whispered echoes
that scream aloud once more.

Old church doors
across the street.
Not creaking for anyone.

The Songhua River,
quite through bare trees….
never quite full.

Yet faintly, between the space,
a dutar plays a song.

A small patch of grass
surprises me as I turn.

United in pain.
A midlife sadness,
louder than a scream.
Take me away from this winter,
and voices cancelled by the rain.

When stillness descended,
the night…..ours to decide.
And what I loved
was the idleness of a moment with you.
Gathering words and stolen kisses
under candle – light.

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.