The Age of Reason

11th Oct 201811th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: 798 Art Zone: Beijing, China.

Now, for all that is the
curtain of my soul.
It is hard to remember those
bright days of early love.
And a picture of you and me
in strange surroundings, is all
that is left of days restored.

My share at least, the beauty
of desire and a loss stolen away.
Distant children, a house that is no more
and a world turned loose from
dense dreams past.

A concept of love,
a plaster fix of selfish cries.
Was a least a reason for sinking in
the sand and losing it.

Too many indulgent days,
self-aware, yet unable to care
and blinded by coal-burning
tears.

Now, in silence my wounds I feel.
From those times, so fondly
cherished.

Disco in China.

8th Oct 20188th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My copy.

Quite, alone
trying to write a poem.

And Disco comes on
in the cafe.

Yes…disco!

Donner Summer I think
“Love To Love You Baby”.
My mother liked this.

A sunny cloud,
drifting swiftly by.
Tantalizingly floating
from 1975.

It was up there, the
sky still high,
and a richness in the land.
I hear the song
so clearly now.

Sunday Morning Moments.

7th Oct 20187th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Hulusi.

For this Sunday morning, fate
has already brought me noise
and colour.

A wedding procession at 6:30 AM.
Two taxi drivers and a contentious
dispute.

And down the road
someone is practicing hulusi scales,
over and over again.
Music that is hard to grow to.

But from the clear morning sky,
and an unwrapped Sunday morning.
It is amusing to see how life,
past imperfect, spills out
and no longer screams of fear.

A Change of Habit

6th Oct 20186th Oct 2018 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

Angus Young (www,acdc.com)

A Wandering Poet

As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.

Music

The Age of Reason

Now, for all that is the
curtain of my soul.
It is hard to remember those
bright days of early love.
And a picture of you and me
in strange surroundings, is all
that is left of days restored.

My share at least, the beauty
of desire and a loss stolen away.
Distant children, a house that is no more
and a world turned loose from
dense dreams past.

A concept of love,
a plaster fix of selfish cries.
Was a least a reason for sinking in
the sand and losing it.

Too many indulgent days,
self-aware, yet unable to care
and blinded by coal-burning
tears.

Now, in silence my wounds I feel.
From those times, so fondly
cherished.

Disco in China.

Quite, alone
trying to write a poem.

And Disco comes on
in the cafe.

Yes…disco!

Donner Summer I think
“Love To Love You Baby”.
My mother liked this.

A sunny cloud,
drifting swiftly by.
Tantalizingly floating
from 1975.

It was up there, the
sky still high,
and a richness in the land.
I hear the song
so clearly now.

Sunday Morning Moments.

For this Sunday morning, fate
has already brought me noise
and colour.

A wedding procession at 6:30 AM.
Two taxi drivers and a contentious
dispute.

And down the road
someone is practicing hulusi scales,
over and over again.
Music that is hard to grow to.

But from the clear morning sky,
and an unwrapped Sunday morning.
It is amusing to see how life,
past imperfect, spills out
and no longer screams of fear.

A Change of Habit

A woman told me today that
I needed a girlfriend,
a Chinese girlfriend and that
she knew someone.

I ask her why?

“Some women like poets
and I think you are lonely”

I told her Bukowski said that
‘Love is a dog from hell’

“What has love got to do with it”
She said.

But then she told me she was not
sure about her friend.

I asked her why?

“Well, I don’t think she will like
AC/DC, and maybe she can’t
understand you”

So I asked her to tell her friend,
not to worry about how
we the fashion the future.

Or how many people come
together by slow degrees.

Now, for all that is the curtain of my soul. It is hard to remember those bright days of early love. And a picture of you and me in strange surroundings, is all that is left of days restored.

My share at least, the beauty of desire and a loss stolen away. Distant children, a house that is no more and a world turned loose from dense dreams past.

A concept of love, a plaster fix of selfish cries. Was a least a reason for sinking in the sand and losing it.

Too many indulgent days, self-aware, yet unable to care and blinded by coal-burning tears.

Now, in silence my wounds I feel. From those times, so fondly cherished.

Quite, alone trying to write a poem.

And Disco comes on in the cafe.

Yes…disco!

Donner Summer I think “Love To Love You Baby”. My mother liked this.

A sunny cloud, drifting swiftly by. Tantalizingly floating from 1975.

It was up there, the sky still high, and a richness in the land. I hear the song so clearly now.

For this Sunday morning, fate has already brought me noise and colour.

A wedding procession at 6:30 AM. Two taxi drivers and a contentious dispute.

And down the road someone is practicing hulusi scales, over and over again. Music that is hard to grow to.

But from the clear morning sky, and an unwrapped Sunday morning. It is amusing to see how life, past imperfect, spills out and no longer screams of fear.

A woman told me today that I needed a girlfriend, a Chinese girlfriend and that she knew someone.

I ask her why?

“Some women like poets and I think you are lonely”

I told her Bukowski said that ‘Love is a dog from hell’

“What has love got to do with it” She said.

But then she told me she was not sure about her friend.

I asked her why?

“Well, I don’t think she will like AC/DC, and maybe she can’t understand you”

So I asked her to tell her friend, not to worry about how we the fashion the future.

Or how many people come together by slow degrees.

Now, for all that is the
curtain of my soul.
It is hard to remember those
bright days of early love.
And a picture of you and me
in strange surroundings, is all
that is left of days restored.

My share at least, the beauty
of desire and a loss stolen away.
Distant children, a house that is no more
and a world turned loose from
dense dreams past.

A concept of love,
a plaster fix of selfish cries.
Was a least a reason for sinking in
the sand and losing it.

Too many indulgent days,
self-aware, yet unable to care
and blinded by coal-burning
tears.

Now, in silence my wounds I feel.
From those times, so fondly
cherished.

Quite, alone
trying to write a poem.

And Disco comes on
in the cafe.

Donner Summer I think
“Love To Love You Baby”.
My mother liked this.

A sunny cloud,
drifting swiftly by.
Tantalizingly floating
from 1975.

It was up there, the
sky still high,
and a richness in the land.
I hear the song
so clearly now.

For this Sunday morning, fate
has already brought me noise
and colour.

A wedding procession at 6:30 AM.
Two taxi drivers and a contentious
dispute.

And down the road
someone is practicing hulusi scales,
over and over again.
Music that is hard to grow to.

But from the clear morning sky,
and an unwrapped Sunday morning.
It is amusing to see how life,
past imperfect, spills out
and no longer screams of fear.

A woman told me today that
I needed a girlfriend,
a Chinese girlfriend and that
she knew someone.

“Some women like poets
and I think you are lonely”

I told her Bukowski said that
‘Love is a dog from hell’

“What has love got to do with it”
She said.

But then she told me she was not
sure about her friend.

“Well, I don’t think she will like
AC/DC, and maybe she can’t
understand you”

So I asked her to tell her friend,
not to worry about how
we the fashion the future.

Or how many people come
together by slow degrees.