My pictures…and my students words…
Understanding pain
Culture
6:20 am
hdrpl
First Picture: http://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/07/arts/music/steve-reich-music-for-ensemble-and-orchestra.html….
Second picture….my drawing.
A Steve Reich morning, already.
Loop after loop, running fast.
Forms and shapes singled out.
Harmonic density
and overlapping asymmetries,
a loneliness of souls.
An orange billed magpie,
swoops from the sky in sheer foolishness.
Changing form to catch the morning sun.
Bricks of the heart
My Picture: Taken yesterday
Sometimes boredom strikes the mind,
the brick foundations crumble
moment-by- moment.
Even the molecule you gave me, the last time…..
makes me numb.
Then I go back to Bukowski or Dickinson,
who know about journeys of the mind.
And how to hang on
to threads of hope, to reach time and space.
Then peace descends,
I’m fine.
A note to myself
My Pictures.
Back in my apartment
with all the old memories,
it is difficult to sleep.
I walk towards the window
to look out onto the street.
Looking for a poem, a sign of life
….. something, anything.
Somebody told me
I would find life on the street, a rhythm.
But maybe it is too early.
I can’t watch any longer,
and I know there is silence behind me.
It was good and dark, perfect.
Waking on the road
hdrpl
My Pictures: A journey to work…one morning..and a poem…….
My mind is set on movement,
elapsed time passes by.
Staccato streets and sun rays heighten,
a murmur of life awakens my thoughts.
The plain ground calls.
Listless in the hazy morning,
long neck roads appear with fanfare wings.
As trees stretch their arms with
all the stifling sensations of pain.
Hoping to self – actualize, at last.
Coffee and words
My picture. A coffee, some marking of student work…and a short poem I wrote on the back of the receipt.
Sixty papers on mental illness marked,
all the words not said.
Hope loses the way,
stained by tragic scenes
My pen aches
and I wonder…. does anybody care.
How to say goodbye
First picture http://www.bbc.com the rest my pictures. I gave a talk yesterdays on poetry. The book was a gift (not easy to locate in China)…and I drew a doodle of Ginsburg…after my dream 🙂
I dreamed I met Allen Ginsburg last night,
drum, drum, drumming around my apartment.
Says I to Allen “You’re 22 years dead!”
“Life and death are one” says he.
He read me some poems about the sad self,
and how to howl at the moon.
In return, I read some poems about the pain of being alone,
and how love is out there for everyone.
But all dreams end one way of the other,
despite the words.
After rearranging the wind, we said our goodbyes.
And the spring night mourned in empty vase.
Invisible birds
fznor
My Pictures: Last night I was taken to a farm, just outside Xinxiang….a very special place. An organic farm…I talked with the farmer and local people….and found a little solitude in the Chinese countryside.
Sun and East all around,
something started in my soul.
Orange headed Magpies,
perched across the tiled roofs.
Ducks and chickens mingling in sun,
a walking farmer watches.
Mists from chilled sweat peas,
and vines climbing the walls.
Passing briefly between us all, the sun.
Full blown and obliging, pathway in and then out.
Silent journey
hdrpl
My pictures
back again,
my bones thrown together
with all my strength.
fatigue sapped
and gathering clouds.
the morning silence,
a preening goose
that stretches away
cherry blossom rain.
The stranger
My picture: Another doodle….but a self-portrait of sorts.
Strange how fast night comes,
a solid sound as jaded faces melt.
Then the night shivers out
an early morning drift, like a sigh.
In the wink of an eye,
a world cowed by wind and rain.
A summer’s backward glance,
and broken shells in disarray.
Tokens of regret left all around,
but dreams forget to come.
And sleeping now, life is sweet
all tucked inside dawn’s blue light.
A Wandering Poet 