My Picture
You understand?
Creative Writing
Still falls the rain
https://www.deviantart.com/luthienelf/art/Qingming-Festival-294710525: Qingming Festival (also known as Pure Brightness Festival or Tomb-sweeping Day), which falls on either April 4th or 5th: Tomb sweeping is regarded as the most important custom in the Qingming Festival from which the name of Tomb-sweeping day is got.
So tired of running,
a mourning moment.
I stopped to look.
Flowers bloom,
a slight wind on Qingming day.
I was just sorry-ever-after.
I have loved forever
My Picture: Statue outside my apartment complex, Xinxiang, China.
A cold shoulder,
darkness silently screaming.
Yet, not lost
and feeling accepted.
A paper-weight
blow about.
Sleeping, walking
what else is life’s dream!
Slants of light slip away,
almost knowing.
Life sees life
none can teach it.
Renouncement
My Picture: A local coffee shop…I go to write and sometimes I meet people
“Come on, let’s go for coffee” I said,
with a bright and unforgettable smile.
The lights of Xinxiang played silently in secret,
an echo of the overwhelming urge to break and run.
A fresh breeze, an open door
and beauty in each single thing.
There was an intimate band of souls,
questioning…..
But you lived far away……
and the ways parted.
Dawn Chorus
My Picture: Xiahe County, Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Gansu, China.
Dawn, and the campus is quite.
Sun beams yearn to break.
Rows of baby-chewed medical books,
tinged brown and beaten flat
by thousands of little bare feet.
Sit quietly in the morning shadows,
watching old women sweeping.
It becomes a thing.
Faint strands of outdoor light,
half-warning, half fear.
Stand alone in a makeshift moment,
all for another day.
Stiff-bodies awake to slow-mo happiness.
And notebooks in the margins
are turned-slow by cold hands.
One page, soon others deepen the approach,
a slight chill to the morning.
A busy poem
My pictures: We all say we are busy. Some say they are ‘busy’…all the time. A little satirical poem…I wrote this morning.
“I am busy”, they say
Sorry, volume is busy
J’ai été tellement occupé
나는 도울 수 없다, 나는 바쁘다.
如此忙碌，我從來沒有時間去死。
I said “ I know, that is why I can’t write much….”
Autumn Sounds
My Picture
Leaves fall with sounds
as the years go by,
still with passion and movement.
And I write of future nostalgia
and lingering fears,
to be left for a thousand years.
Bucolic words remain unfinished.
As shepherds no longer devoted
to their sheep, order the children in line
for the next prize giving.
The sowing season has been missed again,
passing away with sincere emotion.
It’s an endless road.
For every sunrise and sunset,
there is a dark night.
A house where it all began
effortlessly, languidly…..it flows.
Just right, for eternal
commemoration and grand theater.
Teaching poetry in Vietnam
My Picture.: A gallery I visited in Ho Chi Minh City…a collective of local artists.
Big wheels turn round and around,
live it our way and live it long.
Lights going down, never satisfied
a first faint line without substance.
Midnight valentines shooting the moon,
following snake tracks on the road.
Clipped roses litter the ground
and blind birds drink from a dark puddle.
Something in the way it all moves.
A night walk slowly approaching, open in hunger.
Dark against the near dawn,
filling the corners with light.
Uplifting spring
My Picture: Sanquan Medical Collage, Xinxiang, China.
A little boy looked at my hair
and asked me
“Why are you so old?”
A trick philosophical question from one so young.
Short sun in cold winter white,
I pulled out a small strand of grey hair,
going the same way.
Exchanging looks with the boy,
we smiled for a selfie.
A snow blanket mountain,
something tiny and whole and
the power of allure.
A soul with wings
and freedom felt in spring’s fresh lace.
Quite Neighborhood
My Pictures: Taken in Vietnam, Summer 2018.
A Wandering Poet 