My Picture (taken this evening): Xinxiang City, Henan, China.
Dimensions of Space
Philosophy
Snow
My Picture: Xinxiang, Henan Province, China.
A few faded cracked snowflakes
softly down on my hair.
Decorate this silence,
whitewashing the patched
walls of Xinxiang.
A fire deepens the silence,
but my soul now has depth.
Morning Rituals
My Picture: View above Xiahe Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Gansu province, China.
Coffee first thing in the morning,
unfolding yesterday’s copy of China Daily.
I read the headlines,
you can see what I am dealing with.
An old bent and sour universe,
rancor dripping from the neon sign
that says ‘ Number 1 Hospital’.
Outside the youngest people in the universe,
discounted and distributed
wonder what wonderful things they are missing.
Each one looking for something
to be marked at a glance,
a consummate victory of sorts.
Here comes the music now,
that melts the night-shadow pools,
and reflects the morning peace.
New Beginning
My Picture: Angus Young
I dreamt last night that I was Angus Young,
and then I was Bruce Springsteen
suspended in my masquerade
and open to pain.
Then, I saw you
as eyes should see you at last.
The way I wanted to see you,
a key to the universe…..
a beginning quietly forming.
Sunshine on my shoulder
Picture: http://www.news.com.au
I watched the fight this morning,
the game plan was simple.
The bell, the nose,
fighting with love or god on your side.
Once I used to fight
and danced around the shadows.
I fought in the middle of nowhere,
in a world full of despair.
Then you told me
“fight for a better fate”
Your heart showed no sign of fear.
A boxing lady, waiting patiently
as the wind outside just blew.
A voice within
My Picture: Helping a friend…..
The young woman asked me
“Why are you a poet?”
It was not a difficult question to answer.
I told her about the world being silent,
but for the gentle sound of a warming wind and the fluttering rain.
She looked confused.
Her eyes, so expressive
like a dangling drop of dew.
So I told her
“I am just glad to open-up and meet the thoughts of the past”
My Friends
My Picture: Terracotta Army, Lintong, Xi’an, Shaanxi, China.
.
This one lives with his mother,
and has never kissed a woman intending to please.
This one has no boyfriend
and thinks her legs are fat.
This one listens to Jay Chou,
on secret mornings driving back to his wife.
But at least his students are happy.
This one likes Micheal Jackson, and
practices moonwalking late at night,
alone and hidden from the outside world.
This one is a policeman
who thinks Britain is still great.
And the other, abandoned by wife after wife
finds hope in a cheap bottle of French wine.
This one wants be a professor,
but finds Charles Bukowski
rude and sexist.
And this one wants to be a poet
but is bored by the romantics,
and almost everyone is a poet anyway.
These are my friends
the poet, the teacher, the policeman, the professor… and me.
Romantic Interlude
My Picture: Xiahe, Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Gansu , China.
Romance has no part
in my life right now.
It can be cruel and merciless,
especially in another country.
Seasons have come and gone
and whatever the heart,
there seems no use for an aging poet.
There is an outside chance,
in this age of imagination.
At least, a will to love
and a survival to keep.
So, through me
with words that crash on the hard water
and dim lit backstreets,
I will find an answer to this stalled heart.
The thoughts that poets have
My Picture: Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, China.
It seems at times I can’t be older.
A white haired smile
and a fossil imprint,
infused with a hunters despair.
Exotic summers still remain,
and winter days without
a breeze are wildly wept on.
I still remember how the stillness dazed.
As night pushes into day,
I taste the fragrance of your flesh.
A flower soaked in persistent rain,
a tiny track in fallen snow.
Each step, and again is silent.
Of life and death
My Picture: Books I used today.
A Wandering Poet 