Still falls the rain

6th Apr 20196th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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.

Renouncement

4th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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

3rd Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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

1st Apr 20191st Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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….”

Uplifting spring

29th Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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.

Alive

27th Mar 201927th Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: Part of railway that took Chinese prisoners to Unit 731: a covert biological and chemical warfare research and development wing of the Imperial Japanese Army that undertook lethal human experimentation during the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945) and World War II.

Humanity’s gift, a creation by love.
A life of spirit, branches, leaves, water.
Sailing in the sky and pardoned centuries ago.
For there is no core to throw away.

Words whirring over wide plains
Somewhere else, somewhere here
beyond the reach of your presence.
Already forgotten and born again.

A moments decline

26th Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

Uncertainty,
trotting timid minds out
in a closed space.

A pale gray train appears
stirred empty on the silent outskirts,
proclaiming a second coming.

His life, a kind of a freeze frame
a non-thinking matter.
Smothering the earth with a fast silver-whitewash

Not too unpleasant, these days.
The beauty and fun of it all,
a quick free trip with no return.

Kodokushi

24th Mar 201924th Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

Kodokushi (孤独死) or lonely death refers to a Japanese phenomena of people dying alone and remaining undiscovered for a long period of time…. sadly… this is not just a Japanese phenomena .. My view is that we need to talk more about why many die alone.. and quality in death…..

Last night I read about ‘Kodokushi’,
the politics of despair.
Grunts and strains upward,
counting the stars alone.

A 69-year old man
discovered three years after his death
….. no death poem, only the longest night.

An indented grey pillow,
on a winter sickbed.
No one to watch the threads of a life unfold,
many not even knowing.

I though, how will I die?

A soap bubble, before it bursts
or a chill before moonlight
….. the end of a long day?

An exhausted me, timeless drudgery.
Confusion, misery and apprehension
with only the slurping sounds.

Maybe I will write a poem, just before.
A simple happening…..
and yet, a drop of hope grown
…..a man’s end and mound of gleaming words.

The Voice of the Cicadas

22nd Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

It’s the edge of the world,
and I am tired.
The sound of water
says what it thinks.

Fish are walking
and sparrows singing.
Too often hinting of past things,
how far-off they are!

The moon taps at the window,
tap, tap, tap…..
Searching for the spotlight,
a slatted loneliness.

By the mountains, graceful
a kite ascends…
As the wind beats the wind,
pitying a lonely cicada voice.

Somewhere over here

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

A picture sent to me by a friend in Harbin, China. Northern China is experiencing late winter snow……..

Everybody run, run, run…..
a friend told me about death today.
Already naked
my dreams go wandering.
A vast empty autumn night
…..my very own constellation.

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.

“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, 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.

“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….”

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.

Humanity’s gift, a creation by love. A life of spirit, branches, leaves, water. Sailing in the sky and pardoned centuries ago. For there is no core to throw away.

Words whirring over wide plains Somewhere else, somewhere here beyond the reach of your presence. Already forgotten and born again.

Uncertainty, trotting timid minds out in a closed space.

A pale gray train appears stirred empty on the silent outskirts, proclaiming a second coming.

His life, a kind of a freeze frame a non-thinking matter. Smothering the earth with a fast silver-whitewash

Not too unpleasant, these days. The beauty and fun of it all, a quick free trip with no return.

Last night I read about ‘Kodokushi’, the politics of despair. Grunts and strains upward, counting the stars alone.

A 69-year old man discovered three years after his death ….. no death poem, only the longest night.

An indented grey pillow, on a winter sickbed. No one to watch the threads of a life unfold, many not even knowing.