A picture I took in South Korea and a poem I wrote this morning.
Environment
Beauty is a shell
My pictures: Taken yesterday evening
By the river,
I saw the water lilies swaying –
and the dragonflies
sweeping the sky’s edge.
But soon this, too – shall pass.
As far as summer is from winter,
so am I from you now.
I have not come easily this way,
but painfully and with death
scored in every step.
Half- minded to escape,
I looked for something familiar.
A man’s life with a woman,
and the flowers I once spread
at her feet.
But memories of wails and anguish
are always there.
Half-sunken, but crying out in the old.
They bring back suffering,
until love has its way – again.
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.
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.
Walking through rain
My picture: a rainstorm over the city.
Dark skies in Xinxiang,
liberated from the mask
of blue summer days.
A single soul, braves the dark
– bending to drink the rain water
…..in a shadow puddle left.
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.
Waiting for me
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My pictures: Taken this evening. I discovered a new cafe on my evening walk…and wrote this poem.
Writing,
until there’s nothing left
of the light.
Outside gnats rise and fall,
on a spoke of faded sun.
Salt wind ripples,
to let death be.
Your hair drawn back,
a door to yesterday.
The whole dream through.
Old Farmer
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My drawings
Close the gate, your worries are over.
Put away your tools and sleep in peace.
But the labour is never done, always must you work.
Season’s bright magic calls you out to play.
Oats and peas – look sparse to me.
And the peaches, no less delicious
not ready yet to disgorge their load
We’re all weed-hungry.
Spring feeling
A day in the Chinese countryside with some friends….very beautiful and mindful.
That spring feeling and trudge around,
still hunts me after all these years.
I found myself in the flowers
wishing you were here,
enjoying the cool of the evening
….. one more time.
And the thickets are for the small moments, and the first visiting Chinese
beautiful rosefinch
….. the scent is already in the air.
From those endless dry winters,
and the final parting.
A little wild cherry tree,
and the deep smell of rose blossom
….. pushes back the sadness.
And as the bush warbler sings,
I remember those days…. worn out with love and sensuous kisses
All site lost of the throbbing pain and
swollen cheeks… soon to come.
A note to myself
My Pictures.
A Wandering Poet 