Three swifts burst above the clipped shrubbery
outside the Forbidden palace. They play in dives and swirls, too fast for snapping camera. They fly without knowing the famous protests, tanks, crushed national memory. They fly without meeting in the air, now five of them as May grows seconds longer, the tourists with airy memories, bored military police with huge toy guns, little Chinese boys dressed as Superman, hawkers selling Mao's Little Red Book. Perhaps the flapping red flags amuse them as they move with such watery ease, now eight of them hinting summer, scathing pass immoveable cultural relics dressed by the immoveable face of Mao. He does not blink and miss them Like I do. Two hours later, a group circle around the Hutong, quietly collecting under vague cumulonimbus shapes as if to chase away the smog, the encroaching cranes, the grinding jaws of the city, snapping at the history hidden in allies. Just haze and no swift can move the haze. Fade, they can only fade. Published in Poetry Salzburg, September 2017.
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Framed Name
Packing up our home in Guangzhou: two local workmen amused at my surname, a familiar event. Only this time my name is framed, painted in Chinese characters by a local master calligrapher. My wife watches the workmen chatter: heads cocked in curiosity, pointing at the frame, giggles. My wife tells them it’s my family name. Why do such a thing? Friday is just a day of the week. Shaken heads, more laughter. They pack up, unwilling to believe anyone would have that name and then celebrate it. Dead Geese Hanging A public tantrum in a wet market; this couple is fresh in China. She insists they search for something, probably British: tin of baked beans, recognisable shampoo. Boyfriend is busting with swell of the heat, fruit fantastically overpriced, smog clouded eyes, apartment blocks a new Babel. He throws arms up, voices rising, a sub tropical row ignored by locals, just as invisible. He orders her to look for herself. He has had enough. Standing protest, falls silent. She stomps off towards the caged chickens, bubbling tanks of fish rolling over each other for space. He sighs, head wilts, slouches. Behind him dead geese hanging, three bald yellow heads knowing what all chicks can’t escape. Friday Fun Club His laughter is no surprise. Friday has always had extra vowels, a subtextual taste of insecurity. Paul, our Lebanese chief friend who keeps us sane in China, in our so called ‘Xcellent’ Apartment with deliveries of homemade yogurt, mint chocolate ice cream that tastes of clean air, grass in the countryside, glasses of milk from mother, running after the sing-song siren of the ice-cream van. He asks if I am joking. Friday is your name? I wearily insist that it is. He laughs, apologizes. Explains that in Taiwan a taxi driver told him and a friend that the Friday Fun Club is a famous alternative club. Do you still want to go? More laughter from the driver. Paul and his friend did not go. My name travels with me everywhere. Published in 'We Are a Website Literary Journal', Singapore - September 2017. When we left China
my wife wanted a Waving Cat to summon good fortune for our new adventures. We bought it in Hong Kong, in the Temple Street night market on a damp, foggy evening, rain dribbling off plastic awnings. We found her purring in golden plastic, surrounded by twins of every size, all softly waving, left paw clawing the air, dripping with condensation. Ours had a solar panel under her feet snapping up lucky photons, eight minutes old, destined to make an arm move, convince highly evolved apes that luck is a thing that be can be captured, shipped and set up as a shrine. Now the cat sits on a window sill, pumping German air all day, slowly calming into the evening, waving, giving, reminding us of two years of Asian adventures: sci-fi mega-cities, ancient rice terraces, karst hills, vast temples, unexpected friendships, marriage, moving. Published in Lakeview: International Journal of Literature and Arts, August 2017. |
Poetry Biography:I have had over 70 poems published in the following worldwide magazines and literary journals: A Handful of Stones, Acta Victoriana (Canada), All the Sins (UK), The Amethyst Review (USA), Amsterdam Quarterly (NL) The Blue Nib (Ireland), Bolts of Silk, Borderless Journal, The Brasilia Review (Brazil), Bushfire Literature & Arts Review (US), Cadenza, Cake Magazine, Carillon, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal (Hong Kong), DASH (USA), Clackamas Literary Review (USA), Cooch Behar Anthology, Dawntreader, Dreamcatcher, The Dillydoun Review, Earth Love, The Ear (US), Eastlit (East Asia), Erbacce, Envoi, Finger Dance Festival, Ginosko, Gloom Cupboard, Hidden Channel, Inlandia Journal, IS&T (Ink, Sweat & Tears), Into the Void (Canada), The Journal, The Lakeview Journal (India), Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Lunch Ticket (USA) The New Writer, One Hand Clapping, Orbis, Oregon English Journal (USA), The Passage Between, Prole, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Sonic Boom (India), Third Wednesday (USA), Of Nepalese Clay (Nepal), New Contrast (South Africa), One Hand Clapping, Opportunity Publishing, The Oregon English Journal (USA) Origami Poems Project (USA), The Paddock Review (USA), Panoplyzine (USA), Paper Swan Press, The Passage Between, The Peacock Journal (USA), Pens on Fire, Poetry Salzburg (Austria), Potomac Review, (USA) Prole, Pulsar Poetry, Rear View Poetry, Queen Mob's Teahouse, Qutub Minar Review (India), Red Ink, Shiela-Na-Gig (USA), South Bank Poetry Magazine, Stand, Waterford Teachers Centre, (Ireland) We Are a Website New Literary Journal (Singapore), Weber - The Contemporary West Review (USA), Windfall (USA), Writing Magazine, Words for the Wild and Verbal Art (India). Archives
March 2024
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