‘My Cafe’: Xinxiang, China.
Putting in the Work
Philosophy
Street Shadows
My Picture: Frozen River Fen, Taiyuan, Shanxi province , China.
Shadows cast by
neon lights, ripped plainly
from the future.
A world now
only of memory,
and frozen snapshots
of unclaimed territory.
Each moment experienced
more violently,
with every sleep
secured.
Some people
are never wrong,
and others yearn for love.
Idle comments are
left hanging,
on an empty white space.
I find myself watching
endlessly, searchingly
for whimsical lines
and a poet with all the answers.
But in the end, it is left to me
to tell it as it was.
Love Confronted
My Picture: Wall Painting: Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
There was only one love.
Or shall I say,
I only loved one woman.
But now I know,
beyond the remote borders
I loved myself more.
And the words
spoken in an ancient forest,
now hauled away without compassion.
Winter is so far away from spring,
it sours my soul.
But this is my design, mine alone.
Walking under the moon
My Picture: The moon tonight: Xinxiang, China
Long walks at night—
I asked the moon to talk to me,
just the two of us.
But the moon would not talk,
it slept within.
So we both never said a word.
I hope one day soon
we can meet again.
With a desire, and a yearning.
Their Day
My Picture: Quoc Hoc High School, Hue, Vietnam.
It’s been a long day.
Everybody wanted something from me.
Tracy wanted me to practice for
the line-dancing competition.
I said I couldn’t dance.
In the end I practiced the electric Slide,
cupid Shuffle and the Cha, Cha, Cha.
And felt like a dancing queen.
Josephine wanted me to talk to her
students on how to improve their English,
and good habits.
She gave me that look….it always gets me.
So I say ok.
Then Dave called me,
not in self-pity and something forgotten,
which is normal for him.
More, “I have an idea….”
It never strikes, but makes me despair at
the language and the scrutiny.
Now I feel like the only living boy in this place
Moving towards the night
My Picture: Early evening, Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province, China.
Late in the evening,
a cold day of silence in the city.
The lights of Number 3 hospital,
recovered from memory
days and nights on the wards.
Dances full of questions,
and a tall thin woman
swept through my bones.
I listened to the radio,
and voices from faraway.
A conversation about the
meaning of life I think.
Unpainted and twisted,
the voices boiled into a
gloom and silence.
Composed of new forms
of unrelated shapes.
Dancing Ladies of Xinxiang
My Picture: Near my apartment: Xinxiang, China.
Half eaten by the moon
and wrapped in cold sheets of rain.
Their eyeballs roll and hips sway,
and the dancing begins.
Always at the same time,
and without a blessing or leaf falling.
Music supersedes their days
on the long march, bellowing
to us all across a great distance.
A ritual that a poet can understand.
An existence that become endless,
and the power of preserving.
City Lights
My Picture: Xinxiang City, Henan Province, China.
When I first came to the city,
I was so much smaller.
The city was busy with
stories, hidden away and unsung.
Fog played at my feet,
and cold mists of rain
chorused a life
of tragedy and contentment.
Among the soundless solitudes,
I found a crowded room full of poetry
and thoughts of hope.
Song of the City
My Picture: Taken tonight: Xinxiang City, China.
The water glistens
and the moon hangs low.
Scooters and cars float by.
The people yearn for the clouds,
and the clouds
pine for the water.
All have forgotten to mourn
and yet they meet.
Weaving their dreams
and living on the road,
one and the same.
Wakeful Things
My Picture
A Wandering Poet 