Walking in the garden with Qu Yuan

7th Jun 20197th Jun 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

WeChat Image_20190607211452

My drawing: Today is Dragon Boat Festival in China: The Dragon Boat Festival (Duanwu Festival, Duānwǔ Jié, Double Fifth, Tuen Ng Jit) is a traditional holiday that commemorates the life and death of the famous Chinese scholar Qu Yuan (Chu Yuan).The festival occurs on the fifth day of the fifth month on the Chinese lunisolar calendar. So…I sketched this drawing of Qu Yuan (a poet and politician)

I did not know you last night,

then the doctors and nurses

….. the souls of China….

told me about your mountain spirit

and banners of cassia.

So I thought of bamboo groves,

and sky still unseen.

And how the thunder rumbles

and rain darkens

after all these years.

Understanding pain

23rd May 2019 / Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

My pictures…and my students words…

I talked to the students about pain today,
it was one of those days.
My pain for you and the world,
a sweet singing and a tainted image.
What is means to be truly human.

If time was replayed
I would give more heart, your way.
And through the winters fog and mists,
slow down… breathe deeply and see the whole world… right here.

Some students gave me words,
for me a new delight.

The dark thoughts, the shame and guilt,
that swarm like bees from time- to-time
….. now traded with caution.

Then life can move forward,
never stepping back from fear.
And ghosts do not haunt me, for now.

Sad girl

17th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / 3 Comments

hdrpl

My drawings: I met a student, crying yesterday…the others walked passed…

She was crying away the thunder,

as people walked passed.

“Are you OK?” I asked,

my eye pressure flashing.

Contact made with breath clouds,

a student’s double take…

I told her

“Some summer days I hide away and remember how it was….”

She smiled….. and remembered how to stand.

Sunlight kisses

10th May 201910th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

You left me speechless,

fleeing visions of beauty.

Sun burst….

and

spectral sky blazes.

But dark

shadows and death waited.

And those graceful wings

took flight….

one final time.

Sorrows of the breath

9th May 20199th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: An early morning drawing.

Shudder in the dark

a drunken moon serenades me slow.

Craving more than in the last life,

like water dripping through dreams of love.

Her soul in my eyes

tells me nothing’s left to fear.

A doorway to stir in new hope,

that pedals forward inch by inch.

Me, you and sorrow

16th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture: A simple drawing

I often dream,
sometimes I can almost
taste the sea and the islands.
Your face is less clear now,
but I can hear the old songs
we danced to.
And see the sadness, grinning
in front of our faces.
Flowing in some bedroom, some street corner,
and some Spanish beach.
Always grinning…..

Then the morning arrives,
but I still think that someday…..
I will run my fingers through your
wet hair, as my lips purge your soft tender skin.
One more time…..

Falling through branches

9th Mar 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

Across the frozen field,
a horse breath.
I hear a chime of bells…
a table for one.

Paper flowers,
the old songs
and words we can’t recall.
The poet is out of rhythm.

Hospital waiting rooms,
and jazz in the park.
A mother’s cowlick
squawks the moment.

Walking sticks are left
dropped into a hole.
Foreigners are talking
to a young dog, barking.

A tired flagpole slumbers,
reflecting the new world order.
Bars with under-age concubines
proclaim business as usual.

Growing quiet and suddenly still,
I can see the rice fields glow.
Shyly spreading wispy memories,
with broken and dark stained teeth.

A rose fades

26th Feb 201926th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture

A bunch of roses clutched

in your warm hands.

Gives him a place……what a team

of rare plant flowers

and alternate passions.

But plague and rude voices

dimmed the light,

of its splendor and summer winds.

Now the sounds must seem like echoes,

and shouts of shaming silence.

Darkness hides the sunset

12th Feb 201912th Feb 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Pictures: Unit 731 was a covert biological and chemical warfare research and development unit of the Imperial Japanese Army that undertook lethal human experimentation during the Second Sino-Japanese War of World War II. It was responsible for some of the most notorious war crimes carried out by Imperial Japan. I visited this museum today, just outside Harbin…it was harrowing….some of the pictures I took…are difficult to post here. The railway brought the people for experimentation, torture and death. Most of the ‘crimes’ were carried out by Japanese medical personal against the Chinese people. I wrote this poem shortly after I left the site:

Trees and sky darkened this morning.
Frost hardened tears,
a snake to the railway track.
I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest.
Thorns and needle pricks,
a bee pointed stinger.
Bare feet walking on ash covered ground,
fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale….
of snow cones in the dark
and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent…
all that is left of this dark protrusion
….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets.
To tell us how it was.

Words have magic

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

I did not know you last night,

then the doctors and nurses

….. the souls of China….

told me about your mountain spirit

and banners of cassia.

So I thought of bamboo groves,

and sky still unseen.

And how the thunder rumbles

and rain darkens

after all these years.

I talked to the students about pain today, it was one of those days. My pain for you and the world, a sweet singing and a tainted image. What is means to be truly human.

If time was replayed I would give more heart, your way. And through the winters fog and mists, slow down… breathe deeply and see the whole world… right here.

Some students gave me words, for me a new delight.

The dark thoughts, the shame and guilt, that swarm like bees from time- to-time ….. now traded with caution.

Then life can move forward, never stepping back from fear. And ghosts do not haunt me, for now.

She was crying away the thunder,

as people walked passed.

“Are you OK?” I asked,

my eye pressure flashing.

Contact made with breath clouds,

a student’s double take…

I told her

“Some summer days I hide away and remember how it was….”

She smiled….. and remembered how to stand.

You left me speechless,

fleeing visions of beauty.

Sun burst….

and

spectral sky blazes.

But dark

shadows and death waited.

And those graceful wings

took flight….

one final time.

Shudder in the dark

a drunken moon serenades me slow.

Craving more than in the last life,

like water dripping through dreams of love.

Her soul in my eyes

tells me nothing’s left to fear.

A doorway to stir in new hope,

that pedals forward inch by inch.

I often dream, sometimes I can almost taste the sea and the islands. Your face is less clear now, but I can hear the old songs we danced to. And see the sadness, grinning in front of our faces. Flowing in some bedroom, some street corner, and some Spanish beach. Always grinning…..

Then the morning arrives, but I still think that someday….. I will run my fingers through your wet hair, as my lips purge your soft tender skin. One more time…..

Across the frozen field, a horse breath. I hear a chime of bells… a table for one.

Paper flowers, the old songs and words we can’t recall. The poet is out of rhythm.

Hospital waiting rooms, and jazz in the park. A mother’s cowlick squawks the moment.

Walking sticks are left dropped into a hole. Foreigners are talking to a young dog, barking.

A tired flagpole slumbers, reflecting the new world order. Bars with under-age concubines proclaim business as usual.

Growing quiet and suddenly still, I can see the rice fields glow. Shyly spreading wispy memories, with broken and dark stained teeth.

A bunch of roses clutched

in your warm hands.

Gives him a place……what a team

of rare plant flowers

and alternate passions.

But plague and rude voices

dimmed the light,

of its splendor and summer winds.

Now the sounds must seem like echoes,

and shouts of shaming silence.

Trees and sky darkened this morning. Frost hardened tears, a snake to the railway track. I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest. Thorns and needle pricks, a bee pointed stinger. Bare feet walking on ash covered ground, fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale…. of snow cones in the dark and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent… all that is left of this dark protrusion ….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets. To tell us how it was.

Hiding the pain

I spent the afternoon

listening to John Coltrane,

‘The lost album’.

And as winter fights to stay,

with rooms dark and somber.

I started to figure it out.

Nature’s single breath,

and an eternal now.

I talked to the students about pain today,
it was one of those days.
My pain for you and the world,
a sweet singing and a tainted image.
What is means to be truly human.

If time was replayed
I would give more heart, your way.
And through the winters fog and mists,
slow down… breathe deeply and see the whole world… right here.

Some students gave me words,
for me a new delight.

The dark thoughts, the shame and guilt,
that swarm like bees from time- to-time
….. now traded with caution.

Then life can move forward,
never stepping back from fear.
And ghosts do not haunt me, for now.

I often dream,
sometimes I can almost
taste the sea and the islands.
Your face is less clear now,
but I can hear the old songs
we danced to.
And see the sadness, grinning
in front of our faces.
Flowing in some bedroom, some street corner,
and some Spanish beach.
Always grinning…..

Then the morning arrives,
but I still think that someday…..
I will run my fingers through your
wet hair, as my lips purge your soft tender skin.
One more time…..

Across the frozen field,
a horse breath.
I hear a chime of bells…
a table for one.

Paper flowers,
the old songs
and words we can’t recall.
The poet is out of rhythm.

Hospital waiting rooms,
and jazz in the park.
A mother’s cowlick
squawks the moment.

Walking sticks are left
dropped into a hole.
Foreigners are talking
to a young dog, barking.

A tired flagpole slumbers,
reflecting the new world order.
Bars with under-age concubines
proclaim business as usual.

Growing quiet and suddenly still,
I can see the rice fields glow.
Shyly spreading wispy memories,
with broken and dark stained teeth.

Trees and sky darkened this morning.
Frost hardened tears,
a snake to the railway track.
I heard the pain, shout for a cure.

The doctors gave no refuge, no rest.
Thorns and needle pricks,
a bee pointed stinger.
Bare feet walking on ash covered ground,
fresh on the day.

Now, who tells this tale….
of snow cones in the dark
and souls left hanging from the ceiling.

Between the barbed wire and trees still bent…
all that is left of this dark protrusion
….. is rain filled graves and half-light streets.
To tell us how it was.