Dark place

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My Picture and drawing.

Facing west, a dark forest.
One tree island
vanquished by the sun.

Each day the hounds
pursuit their breathless prey.
The she dog grown thin
from honey sick love.

Against a smooth dark sky
nothing to have at heart,
half an existence.
And there I see…..
estranged to myself
the lateness of the world……
and only the beauty to be.

Sunday morning

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A picture sent to me my one of my students

Complacencies of the night,
tears of an ancient sacrifice.
I dreamt a little,
a small spill
of things to be cherished
like the thought of a heaven.

Eubank wins on points,
England loose to Wales,
passions of rain and a fading empire.
Bob Seger sings of a ‘fire inside’,
emotions on wet roads on winter mornings.

Looking through open widows,
smiling through memories.
Xinxiang distracted by the self,
a soft breeze blows in
The way you are always near
and coffee already cold,
the joy of this Sunday morning.

A place I know well

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My Picture

Down side streets,
fog turning the sky in and out.
There is only one love
. …. to enlarge the circles
and read the poems.

Let it be you
in the spring of the year.
Startling me from this spiders life
and trumpeting red flowers.

Pain of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

My Pictures: Some thoughts from my students from a class on ‘Psychopathology’

United in pain.
A midlife sadness,
louder than a scream.
Take me away from this winter,
and voices cancelled by the rain.

When stillness descended,
the night…..ours to decide.
And what I loved
was the idleness of a moment with you.
Gathering words and stolen kisses
under candle – light.

Age of hope

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My Picture: Harbin Snow.

The sky was black last night,
and so afflicted.
Stars stung to irritated gestures,
so unsleeping…..

Seeds of love scattered
from Manchester to Xinxiang.
Giving me an endless longing,
and hope for a fresh grace of an early dawn.

Xinxiang Blue

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My Picture: Poetry and coffee this evening.

Back in Xinxiang
the coffee tastes good.
‘The Carpenters’ are signing about love,
which becomes lost in time.
Never to be smooth again.

Deep inside, a spring longing.
A shadow still wedged between the rocks, and the rising spring river.
Seared into my aching bones.
Always to linger,
and never to be free.

The music stops, it always does.
Vaguely, I hear a sound….
….. a sweet voice
….. a distant voice
“Come close, and follow me…..”

Pulled into a violet world,
surrounded by the noise of our origin.
I see you…
and my unfinished flight.

A river cracks

My Pictures:  Songhua River Bridge this evening. Harbin, China.

Walking alone on the Songhua River,
a soft hiss and a crack.
White sides to the moon,
and ice stars all around.

A quick slide in half-light.
And in bridge shadow,
reflected memories, no sun.
Cold air fills with strong scent….
…… beginning to thaw.