people in 107 countries have come to this blog :albania / algeria / argentina / armenia / aruba / australia / austria / bahrain / bangladesh / barbados / belarus / belgium / belize / bosnia and herzegovina / brazil / brunei / bulgaria / cambodia / canada / chile / china / colombia / croatia / cyprus / czech republic / denmark / ecuador / egypt / el salvador / england / fiji / finland / france / georgia / germany / ghana / greece / guatemala / honduras / hong kong / hungary / iceland / india / indonesia / iran / iraq / ireland / isle of man / israel / italy / japan / jordan / kazakhstan / kenya / korea / kuwait / latvia / lebanon / liberia / lithuania / luxembourg / macao / macedonia / malaysia / mauritius / mexico / moldova / mongolia / morocco / myanmar / nepal / netherlands / new zealand / nicaragua / nigeria / norway / pakistan / panama / peru / philippines / poland / portugal / puerto rico / qatar / romania / russia / saudi arabia / senegal / serbia / singapore / slovakia / slovenia / south africa / spain / sri lanka / sweden / switzerland / taiwan / thailand / trinidad and tobago / tunisia / turkey / ukraine / united arab emirates / united states of america / venezuela / vietnam
we ask is walking and freedom the same thing? the way we step into stride with the soft scissors of our metronome arms sometimes we hum Photo: Tarragona, Spain Text: The opening lines of the poem 'the act of walking' in the series 'hum, city, hum' (Delicate Access, 2004)
The past ho ho ho days have been play, with six children and wonder, midnight doves, a large white polyester roll ball, watching strips of newspaper swirl as they land, shoulder rides in a castle, guessing birthdays,stacking colo(u)rs on the fork... Photo: In a playground, Paris
Rain falls like flowers at my feet, runs down the window of a parked car, effortlessly. I turn the corner, every road has the shadow of a season I once loved. Photo: Street scene, Hong Kong Text: Opening of the poem, Sheung Wan, 3 a.m. from the book, Something Beautiful Might Happen (2010)
Draw me a winter tree, the infinite delicate, silhouettes of black rivers and visible fingers, make a large winter head full of naked elegant thought.
Draw me, draw me a winter tree, with hundreds of muses reaching for the altar tip, knowing that below, roots make a mirror of this. Photo: New Iberia Station, seen through train window, Louisiana Text: The poem 'Winter Tree' was published in Delicate Access, 2004
Los Angeles: People homeless, handcuffed, H-U-R-T-S spelled in graffiti, the fearful passenger beside me says she will be met by someone at rehab, xiaolongbao, matzoh, mushu, palm, friendship, familyship, green cross for marijuana, bars on windows, stucco, smog, fifty-inch TV. This is the birthplace of my poetry, where rivers may be freeways. Photo: A lookout in Los Angeles; the Hollywood sign behind me
Green lives the need to respect. Makes grassland honest. Seduces moss. Affirms trees. And leaves decide its maze. Photo: Sun through wild taro leaf, Hong Kong Text: Excerpt from my poem 'whole' on the colo(u)r green