My Picture: Quoc Hoc High School, Hue, Vietnam.
Their Day
Vietnam
Passing Time
My Picture: Statue of Vietnamese Woman: Hue, Vietnam.
How strange to see a familiar face
in a Xinxiang Coffee Bar.
War marched through my mind.
I wanted to ask
how you addressed the fog,
and how to treat the ghosts.
But I know that time and space
describe nothing.
A dark side, often hidden
and all alone.
The Indifferent
Today was not a good day.
Some people never seem to think,
and weep with soft eyes
when you tell them you do not
fear men that torment you.
They try to establish a dangerous consistency,
as you talk with people about
Camus, Dickinson and Bukowski
all examined and returned again.
They laugh at you because you
know what happened in Guernica,
Nanjing and My Lai
“Only we know this truth” they cry
And as for how truth and love have been lost
time and time again.
Well…they know nothing of this.
I try to hum a tune
or write a poem, but it becomes
a fixed subject.
Because I care and know that
hope will be encountered.
So…my friend Sophia, a radiant
point in this indifferent place
took me for coffee, and told me to
“Grow your fixed ideas,
because you are true”
So, we drank the coffee,
and I bought some flowers.
I put them next to my Bukowski books.
A form of resistance
in this deep-rooted time.
Forests of the Imagination
My Picture: Mekong River, Vietnam
I walked outside today,
something from far off it seemed.
Nobody was talking to each other,
and yet
nobody seemed unhappy.
I found myself by a rapid, roaring
river,
a silent spirit broken.
Hiding itself
underneath its lonely cave.
The fish, unfed for days
wasting away.
And yet….
still concerned about their
autumn splendor.
In this place,
I am a stranger.
Nothing to guide me through this silence
or mist of faded smiles and tears.
Where is all the inspiration now,
and yearnings after beauty.
To spin with words of wonder,
that is my only hope.
A drifting fragrance
My Picture: A bird landed on my windowsill …a caught moment.
Sometimes I feel lost,
a place far off it seems.
Hidden by endless
autumns of traditions,
and demanding something deeper.
Five hours this afternoon,
sending documents and
talking on QQ.
Trying to wake them
from the dreaming forest.
Memorizing or creative thinking,
Who cares….
Not Jenifer Aniston
or Kate Winslet.
They are shown on high
definition screens
24 hours a day, on endless repeat.
Each new thought being lost,
and stretched far behind.
This is deep and secret to me.
A failed drifting fragrance,
from a time before the new age.
And I wonder…
where have the wrong turns been made?
Terms of endearment
My photograph of a painting by a local Vietnamese artist, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.
We woke each morning
mapping our lives across the bedroom wall.
Cobwebs in the corner,
each thread a new conscience nagged.
Home was home
and this was the best kind of love.
Then we fell mute, dumb black stares
in the shadows of those winter mornings.
And silent rambles by the canal side,
each moment slowed to silence.
As years go by, I still see
the blue cotton curtains hanging still
on a ceaseless summer day.
And your perfect body, long blazing hair,
offering me endless endearments night after night.
Now, with the rain falling
they are just a few quick frozen closet snapshots,
left alone in a small corner of a foreign land.
Far beyond all that is now and will be.
Domestic Issues
My Picture: Poster promoting women’s health. Hanoi, Vietnam
It was winter and wet,
our children gone.
Your anger fueled by grain
and family traditions.
Persuasions, to no avails and
my body a punching bag.
Beautiful diamonds,
no longer carry your traditions.
When the insects sleep
the wounds heal.
Silent knife, I hate you
for what you try to subjugate
and take for your own.
I am leaving now,
this can’t be living.
No longer receiving,
your pains and sorrows.
You broke my body, but not my mind.
The blows from you,
will hurt no more.
Night Time Friends
My Picture: Taiyuan City., Shanxi Province, China
There was a time when it ended
that I drank all the time.
I would drink with Jim, the policeman
until one in the morning.
He would tell me how most women
did not understand him.
And how his latest girlfriend
satisfied him, most of the time.
He felt sure this was the right one.
But he had said this before.
I would drink with my neighbour,
she was older than me and always
answered in the negative.
Listening to her was painful, the more
she talked, the more I needed a drink.
As each evening tailed off into the night,
I would see the embittered face of my father.
And an early morning smile from you.
That told me I was waking up and no
harm would come to me.
I’ll never forget the smile as long as I live.
So I made up my mind to quit my drinking,
and write about unsavory details and delighted
moments, in all its forms of existence.
Oh yes.
My Picture: Vietnam Cultural Museum, Hanoi Vietnam.
The music started to play early this morning.
Not the usual traditional Vietnamese music,
but Celine Dion singling about love
…..Canadian style.
The swimming pool was full, of Spanish guests I think.
Jumping and screaming and wearing shades.
‘Mia’ the beautiful receptionist,
wearing an expensive and tight fitting
silk dress
asked me if I would like coffee this morning.
I looked at her face, her black hair and the dress.
She smiled at me.
“Yes” I said.
But I would have said ‘yes’ to anything right then.
I thought to myself,
it’s a good start to the day.
A world of my own
My Picture: Taken of a Paining by local artist in Hi Chi Minh City: Vietnam
A Wandering Poet 