A moment caught in time…a picture and poem…from this evening.
That kiss
Travel
Fade to grey
My Pictures
Behind the bright clouds,
a sun on thin ice.
Eyelids – filter
smoke trailed habits,
through cold crisp mornings.
And ripple reflections
of monochrome buildings.
Walking in the garden with Qu Yuan
My drawing: Today is Dragon Boat Festival in China: The Dragon Boat Festival (Duanwu Festival, Duānwǔ Jié, Double Fifth, Tuen Ng Jit) is a traditional holiday that commemorates the life and death of the famous Chinese scholar Qu Yuan (Chu Yuan).The festival occurs on the fifth day of the fifth month on the Chinese lunisolar calendar. So…I sketched this drawing of Qu Yuan (a poet and politician)
I did not know you last night,
then the doctors and nurses
….. the souls of China….
told me about your mountain spirit
and banners of cassia.
So I thought of bamboo groves,
and sky still unseen.
And how the thunder rumbles
and rain darkens
after all these years.
Gloria
My picture
Another bus journey to work,
Vivaldi in my ears.
Stretching long on the dewy ground,
reflecting the early morning peace.
A ‘D’ major moment,
of forgotten swings and daffodils
already wilting in the spring heat.
Humanity’s pride obscures a lost horizon
……as the cold drape of darkness
awaits journeys end.
And heralds the new army of the day.
Night time laughter
My drawing: a reflection of a moment….thinking of someone…..
Twisting in the wind,
rebuilding the molecules.
It should be enough.
But breezing winds and flights in turn,
slam the days down through charcoal space
and sunlight filtered clouds.
And as the night relaxes,
nothing stirs except the saddest lines.
As I listen, an image appears
of your bright body and infinite eyes
….. laughing one more time.
Me and Bob Dylan, again
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First picture: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/bob-dylan-artwork-go-view-217297 Second picture : my drawing
Sometimes I dream of sunshine,
but not often.
Last night Bob Dylan appeared,
riding on soft marshmallow clouds…..
a contrived visual modality.
“Bob Dylan? What are you doing here” said I.
As the night unfolded….. there was a quest to write and dream.
And as the clouds left
Bob told me
“You know… this world is ours, all of ours…
but is run by people who never listen to music, anyway”
With that the dream drifted away,
like a bottle on a journey.
So empty to be.
Catching the sun
My Picture.
Bodies drawn to light
I went to catch the sun
Half open by wind
It knows my pain
It knows my hopes
Too dark for sunrise
Understanding pain
My pictures…and my students words…
I talked to the students about pain today,
it was one of those days.
My pain for you and the world,
a sweet singing and a tainted image.
What is means to be truly human.
If time was replayed
I would give more heart, your way.
And through the winters fog and mists,
slow down… breathe deeply and see the whole world… right here.
Some students gave me words,
for me a new delight.
The dark thoughts, the shame and guilt,
that swarm like bees from time- to-time
….. now traded with caution.
Then life can move forward,
never stepping back from fear.
And ghosts do not haunt me, for now.
Old Farmer
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My drawings
Close the gate, your worries are over.
Put away your tools and sleep in peace.
But the labour is never done, always must you work.
Season’s bright magic calls you out to play.
Oats and peas – look sparse to me.
And the peaches, no less delicious
not ready yet to disgorge their load
We’re all weed-hungry.
Dreams left behind
My Picture: Tablecloth in a coffee bar I frequent.
I sat down for coffee,
in the shadow of a Xinxiang sky.
Without effort, I watched
people talk with their phones
hoping to make the moment work.
A young woman is making herself
look pretty, for a selfie……
trying to take off her unbecoming frown.
She seems to be struggling, I want to help
but she may misunderstand my motives.
She….is already pretty
beautiful black hair, shiny, as straight as can be
with a pick bow half- lost in an aimless flight.
Her lips as red as a rose, with all the allure
of a fleeting symbol of life.
Then, I left for home
bowing to the faint rays of light and sunset crosses.
Strange place, I thought
but no sadness on this day, at least.
A Wandering Poet 