Culture
A travelling poet
My picture: A wall picture in a restaurant this evening.
A poet moves forward,
there is always another poem…..
my joy in life – all else was left behind.
Tomorrow I will travel,
and enjoy it.
Another search for words,
with white light – giving them glow.
I can see my breath,
and a silver moon through the trees.
Just like the old days.
Night of the firefly’s
I intended
never to grow old.
Or be a man,
with fish bones …..ambling
out of bed to find love.
But age comes,
on sand and each grain.
Yet, I still want to see sunshine
at the beginning of summer.
And meet you once again,
on thin ice.
Snow is on the way
My drawing this evening.
A tune of being,
filling the void.
A paradise by the river…..
I wonder where the winds
of winter have gone.
And then……
I shift my pillow
closer to the moon.
Talking trees of Xinxiang
My picture: Taken yesterday evening.
Adrift between the earth and sky,
I asked the trees what they were talking about.
“Today, this moment
and how to leave the world
….. there’s nothing in it”
They replied in a chorus.
I knew then, this was the right place.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
Tangerine dream
My picture taken last night.
22 hours without electricity.
My apartment feels like
a Finnish sauna,
clouds and water running
wild all over my body.
How striking this smell
of damp flesh.
Outside explodes with laughter,
as people chew the darkness.
While others sleep like tangerines,
drifting in this instant…..
a little casual death.
A tender wind
A sketch reflects a moment in my past.
Today my life was mirrored,
in clouds breaking-up.
And the voice of an oak tree,
with low true skies.
I tried to pack summer clothes,
to travel to a world I haven’t seen.
But as one leaf let’s go,
another takes the wind
…..a sudden death with eyes.
Recovery
My picture.
When you see me
sitting alone, writing…..
what do you see?
A pain that goes on and on,
counting his grey hair…..
more white shining.
Or a poet,
slashed by snaking tree lines…..
and sharp – rugged mountain peaks.
All I am doing is listening to myself.
To know the painful past,
and drum beat marching forward.
In between dreams
My Chinese friend said to me
“I want to study medicine at Tsinghua University
……but I’m not good enough…”
So I told her about a man in the 15th Century,
who wanted to fly above the bright skies.
A glory desired, and such assurances ran.
Upon a grey river and chatter of stars,
I suggested she talk with the moon.
Who never searches for sleep,
and tickles the dormant dreams
of those with clear firmament glows.
That kiss
A moment caught in time…a picture and poem…from this evening.
A Wandering Poet 