Waking on the road

16th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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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.

Night sounds

15th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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My pictures: Last night I missed the last bus home…and had to stay in the campus. Time for a doodle and short poem.

I missed the bus,
when stars search for sleep.

Half a moon,
and a restless night.

Too many honeycomb thoughts,
running through my mind

….. like dragons and fairies
Not getting rest I mean.

How to say goodbye

12th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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.

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.

Silent journey

8th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

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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

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

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.

Sunday morning, again

5th May 20195th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

A picture of my drawing…sadness is all around…sometimes.

A young woman sweeping

in the morning shadow.

Silently, I leave the bed.

Half fear, half hope

….. another

brick wall Sunday.

Cancer Days

4th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My pictures and my drawing….reflecting on another time…another place…so far away.

All day long,
marking medical papers.
Divisions of cells,
seasons of mutations
and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird,
gently touching a sick wife.
The sickness is me,
I hope you’re not lonely.

When life has left

3rd May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture of my drawing.

Her hair tells a story,
a geisha dance to the world.
Enough winters gathered
and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps,
once a soul to our time.
Now withered memories
of pain thrown, and pale loss.

The sound of noise

2nd May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: A simple doodle in my journal……

All morning I’ve been thinking.
I wonder about the trees, the flowers and
the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway,
always humble and kind.
Do the flowers have mountains to climb?
It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

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.

I missed the bus, when stars search for sleep.

Half a moon, and a restless night.

Too many honeycomb thoughts, running through my mind

….. like dragons and fairies Not getting rest I mean.

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.

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.

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.

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 young woman sweeping

in the morning shadow.

Silently, I leave the bed.

Half fear, half hope

….. another

brick wall Sunday.

All day long, marking medical papers. Divisions of cells, seasons of mutations and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird, gently touching a sick wife. The sickness is me, I hope you’re not lonely.

Her hair tells a story, a geisha dance to the world. Enough winters gathered and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps, once a soul to our time. Now withered memories of pain thrown, and pale loss.

All morning I’ve been thinking. I wonder about the trees, the flowers and the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway, always humble and kind. Do the flowers have mountains to climb? It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.

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.

I missed the bus,
when stars search for sleep.

Half a moon,
and a restless night.

Too many honeycomb thoughts,
running through my mind

….. like dragons and fairies
Not getting rest I mean.

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.

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.

All day long,
marking medical papers.
Divisions of cells,
seasons of mutations
and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird,
gently touching a sick wife.
The sickness is me,
I hope you’re not lonely.

Her hair tells a story,
a geisha dance to the world.
Enough winters gathered
and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps,
once a soul to our time.
Now withered memories
of pain thrown, and pale loss.

All morning I’ve been thinking.
I wonder about the trees, the flowers and
the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway,
always humble and kind.
Do the flowers have mountains to climb?
It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise
it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.