Cancer Days

4th May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My pictures and my drawing….reflecting on another time…another place…so far away.

All day long,
marking medical papers.
Divisions of cells,
seasons of mutations
and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird,
gently touching a sick wife.
The sickness is me,
I hope you’re not lonely.

When life has left

3rd May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture of my drawing.

Her hair tells a story,
a geisha dance to the world.
Enough winters gathered
and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps,
once a soul to our time.
Now withered memories
of pain thrown, and pale loss.

The sound of noise

2nd May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My Picture: A simple doodle in my journal……

All morning I’ve been thinking.
I wonder about the trees, the flowers and
the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway,
always humble and kind.
Do the flowers have mountains to climb?
It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise
it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.

Happy Workers Day

1st May 20191st May 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture of my drawing: 1st May is International Workers Day…so I thought about this..everyday is ‘International Workers-Day’ …for many people, especially children…nothing really to celebrate.

12 years old,
my mother tells me it is International workers day.
I know…I work 17 hours every day.
If only….

If only I could see my daddy…I miss my daddy…..he works so far away.
If only there was a playground for me and my friends to play in.
If only there was fresh water for me and mummy to drink
If only I could draw pictures, I like drawing pictures.
If only the man did not come at night time…
If only……

Happy workers day to all the people in the world.
I will finish this box soon……..then the next one.

Sleepless Nights

30th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture: A simple drawing I did…part of a late dream one night…..

I know the night outside my apartment is cold,
and the wind turns empty.
Sprawled on my bed, my heart is not asleep
and my mind is wide open.

Touching distant signals, watching the bodies
no flesh and flesh in a cage of sleep.
These fellow non sleepers kiss my brain and shed a tear of time.
A drop of dreaming on the rim of vast silence.

Sometimes, I would like you to sing me to sleep.
I’ll fly endlessly wishing me well to remember this vision.
A labour of tears, false dawns and false grief,
clock ticking loud in the dark for all to see.

All I need

29th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

rhdr

My pictures: I went to see a concert tonight at Henan Normal University in Henan. To hear Western classical music played with such individual interpretation and passion… by Shi Meng Xiao… a post graduate student at Henan Normal University…. was simply a very special moment for me….

Relentless April days,
it hit me without warning.
Schubert , the most poetic musician
Absorbing light, deep within
……a soak right to the bone.

Until that moment there’s pain,
for simply being.
Then tall birds gathered
Chopin and Bach,
and three became as one.

Water margin

28th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture: A dragon fish….my friend keeps these fish…so I wondered about the life of this beautiful creature.

Open in hunger,
we slowly approached.
A fish of silver, flash
with barbed mouth.
And a poet, inner soul red
and time wounded.

The fish spoke first
“You know….. there are rain clouds
at the window, hiding their trail.”
So I took out my pen
and tapped on the glass.

How I remember it

27th Apr 201927th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture of my picture……more and more I try and characterize my poems with simple drawings as well as pictures.

Dandelion seeds float away on each breath,
suffocating the koi fish for words misunderstood.

And where the seagulls die,
a loneliness of soul….. a shadow grain on a rice wall.

In this place someone in the dark,
changing formation and raised from the sea….. needs my help.

As cold sands cling for all who have loved and lost.

Strange cat

26th Apr 201926th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My picture of my drawing.

So sick of being honest,
so tired of being an artist.
When all around the cats
swallow their shadows
murmuring ‘you can’t do that’,
and dream of the suns defeat.

I’m probably going to die
like Edgar Allan Poe,
falling delirious
on an empty street……calling out
“Emily where are you…”
Guess I could fake it………

Last days of a poet

25th Apr 2019 / Rugby Lion / Leave a comment

My pictures: I have become interested in surrealism poetry….the writers use the unconscious mind to explain rational life. To free the imagination, poets use a variety of techniques that liberate the mind of conscious control…so …an attempt……

I first saw the dog, then the rabbit.
It seemed I could not keep up.
Out in the sky everyone was sleeping
sleeping, always sleeping.

The dog spoke first
“Be careful, life is not a dream”.
I thought one day spiders will take refuge,
in the eyes of the dogs…. from bitter wounds on fire.
And butterflies rise from the dead,
to count each beat.
That would be something.

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.

writing

Cancer Days

All day long,
marking medical papers.
Divisions of cells,
seasons of mutations
and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird,
gently touching a sick wife.
The sickness is me,
I hope you’re not lonely.

When life has left

Her hair tells a story,
a geisha dance to the world.
Enough winters gathered
and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps,
once a soul to our time.
Now withered memories
of pain thrown, and pale loss.

The sound of noise

All morning I’ve been thinking.
I wonder about the trees, the flowers and
the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway,
always humble and kind.
Do the flowers have mountains to climb?
It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise
it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.

Happy Workers Day

12 years old,
my mother tells me it is International workers day.
I know…I work 17 hours every day.
If only….

Happy workers day to all the people in the world.
I will finish this box soon……..then the next one.

Sleepless Nights

I know the night outside my apartment is cold,
and the wind turns empty.
Sprawled on my bed, my heart is not asleep
and my mind is wide open.

Touching distant signals, watching the bodies
no flesh and flesh in a cage of sleep.
These fellow non sleepers kiss my brain and shed a tear of time.
A drop of dreaming on the rim of vast silence.

Sometimes, I would like you to sing me to sleep.
I’ll fly endlessly wishing me well to remember this vision.
A labour of tears, false dawns and false grief,
clock ticking loud in the dark for all to see.

All I need

Relentless April days,
it hit me without warning.
Schubert , the most poetic musician
Absorbing light, deep within
……a soak right to the bone.

Until that moment there’s pain,
for simply being.
Then tall birds gathered
Chopin and Bach,
and three became as one.

Water margin

Open in hunger,
we slowly approached.
A fish of silver, flash
with barbed mouth.
And a poet, inner soul red
and time wounded.

The fish spoke first
“You know….. there are rain clouds
at the window, hiding their trail.”
So I took out my pen
and tapped on the glass.

How I remember it

Dandelion seeds float away on each breath,
suffocating the koi fish for words misunderstood.

And where the seagulls die,
a loneliness of soul….. a shadow grain on a rice wall.

In this place someone in the dark,
changing formation and raised from the sea….. needs my help.

As cold sands cling for all who have loved and lost.

Strange cat

So sick of being honest,
so tired of being an artist.
When all around the cats
swallow their shadows
murmuring ‘you can’t do that’,
and dream of the suns defeat.

I’m probably going to die
like Edgar Allan Poe,
falling delirious
on an empty street……calling out
“Emily where are you…”
Guess I could fake it………

Last days of a poet

I first saw the dog, then the rabbit.
It seemed I could not keep up.
Out in the sky everyone was sleeping
sleeping, always sleeping.

The dog spoke first
“Be careful, life is not a dream”.
I thought one day spiders will take refuge,
in the eyes of the dogs…. from bitter wounds on fire.
And butterflies rise from the dead,
to count each beat.
That would be something.

All day long, marking medical papers. Divisions of cells, seasons of mutations and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird, gently touching a sick wife. The sickness is me, I hope you’re not lonely.

Her hair tells a story, a geisha dance to the world. Enough winters gathered and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps, once a soul to our time. Now withered memories of pain thrown, and pale loss.

All morning I’ve been thinking. I wonder about the trees, the flowers and the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway, always humble and kind. Do the flowers have mountains to climb? It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.

12 years old, my mother tells me it is International workers day. I know…I work 17 hours every day. If only….

Happy workers day to all the people in the world. I will finish this box soon……..then the next one.

I know the night outside my apartment is cold, and the wind turns empty. Sprawled on my bed, my heart is not asleep and my mind is wide open.

Touching distant signals, watching the bodies no flesh and flesh in a cage of sleep. These fellow non sleepers kiss my brain and shed a tear of time. A drop of dreaming on the rim of vast silence.

Sometimes, I would like you to sing me to sleep. I’ll fly endlessly wishing me well to remember this vision. A labour of tears, false dawns and false grief, clock ticking loud in the dark for all to see.

Relentless April days, it hit me without warning. Schubert , the most poetic musician Absorbing light, deep within ……a soak right to the bone.

Until that moment there’s pain, for simply being. Then tall birds gathered Chopin and Bach, and three became as one.

Open in hunger, we slowly approached. A fish of silver, flash with barbed mouth. And a poet, inner soul red and time wounded.

The fish spoke first “You know….. there are rain clouds at the window, hiding their trail.” So I took out my pen and tapped on the glass.

Dandelion seeds float away on each breath, suffocating the koi fish for words misunderstood.

And where the seagulls die, a loneliness of soul….. a shadow grain on a rice wall.

In this place someone in the dark, changing formation and raised from the sea….. needs my help.

As cold sands cling for all who have loved and lost.

So sick of being honest, so tired of being an artist. When all around the cats swallow their shadows murmuring ‘you can’t do that’, and dream of the suns defeat.

I’m probably going to die like Edgar Allan Poe, falling delirious on an empty street……calling out “Emily where are you…” Guess I could fake it………

I first saw the dog, then the rabbit. It seemed I could not keep up. Out in the sky everyone was sleeping sleeping, always sleeping.

The dog spoke first “Be careful, life is not a dream”. I thought one day spiders will take refuge, in the eyes of the dogs…. from bitter wounds on fire. And butterflies rise from the dead, to count each beat. That would be something.

All day long,
marking medical papers.
Divisions of cells,
seasons of mutations
and angel crowns.

Meditated by a yellow bird,
gently touching a sick wife.
The sickness is me,
I hope you’re not lonely.

Her hair tells a story,
a geisha dance to the world.
Enough winters gathered
and lips turned icebergs.

Her blue sleek steps,
once a soul to our time.
Now withered memories
of pain thrown, and pale loss.

All morning I’ve been thinking.
I wonder about the trees, the flowers and
the noise outside my window.

Sometimes I watch the trees sway,
always humble and kind.
Do the flowers have mountains to climb?
It can’t be easy having the white clouds watching over them.

And the noise, always the noise
it never gets away, until we lose the measure of life.

12 years old,
my mother tells me it is International workers day.
I know…I work 17 hours every day.
If only….

Happy workers day to all the people in the world.
I will finish this box soon……..then the next one.

I know the night outside my apartment is cold,
and the wind turns empty.
Sprawled on my bed, my heart is not asleep
and my mind is wide open.

Touching distant signals, watching the bodies
no flesh and flesh in a cage of sleep.
These fellow non sleepers kiss my brain and shed a tear of time.
A drop of dreaming on the rim of vast silence.

Sometimes, I would like you to sing me to sleep.
I’ll fly endlessly wishing me well to remember this vision.
A labour of tears, false dawns and false grief,
clock ticking loud in the dark for all to see.

Relentless April days,
it hit me without warning.
Schubert , the most poetic musician
Absorbing light, deep within
……a soak right to the bone.

Until that moment there’s pain,
for simply being.
Then tall birds gathered
Chopin and Bach,
and three became as one.

Open in hunger,
we slowly approached.
A fish of silver, flash
with barbed mouth.
And a poet, inner soul red
and time wounded.

The fish spoke first
“You know….. there are rain clouds
at the window, hiding their trail.”
So I took out my pen
and tapped on the glass.

Dandelion seeds float away on each breath,
suffocating the koi fish for words misunderstood.

And where the seagulls die,
a loneliness of soul….. a shadow grain on a rice wall.

In this place someone in the dark,
changing formation and raised from the sea….. needs my help.

So sick of being honest,
so tired of being an artist.
When all around the cats
swallow their shadows
murmuring ‘you can’t do that’,
and dream of the suns defeat.

I’m probably going to die
like Edgar Allan Poe,
falling delirious
on an empty street……calling out
“Emily where are you…”
Guess I could fake it………

I first saw the dog, then the rabbit.
It seemed I could not keep up.
Out in the sky everyone was sleeping
sleeping, always sleeping.

The dog spoke first
“Be careful, life is not a dream”.
I thought one day spiders will take refuge,
in the eyes of the dogs…. from bitter wounds on fire.
And butterflies rise from the dead,
to count each beat.
That would be something.