Each afternoon I look to the West
And try to see far to the East;

I am aware the day is dying,
I see the Sun bleeding red!
Sun is collapsing into death and darkness,

Into such a cold winter's blackness,
So lonely, I am missing you,

Impossible!

Suddenly I awake in a far away place,
So strange are my feelings for this place,
Feelings of love for a place I have never lived,

Impossible!

I see a tall spire reaching for the sky on a mountain,
I seem to recognize you, but you are not what I remember,
Now I see a Seoul Standing in front of the moon.

I bow to you.

You have grown into a beautiful place,

Impossible!

I still have memories of you from so long ago,

An Impossible dream or is it a dream come true?

© 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

You exist only in my dreams;

You surprised me last night,
As the morning came,
You quietly disappeared without a word,
Leaving behind;
My memories,
My thoughts of you,

You only live;
In my dreams,
In my heart,
And in my memories,

You only exist,
Deep in my dreams,

Still, I remember,
We walked side by side
Together, in the ancient city of Seoul;
A city so far away from here,
So very long ago,

It only took;
One look,
One smile,
One wink,
For our souls to touch,
And say, “You are very precious to me.”  

Although, you only live;
Deep in my dreams,
In my heart,
And in my memories,

My beautiful Korean princess,
I write these,
Poems for you,

Why do we only meet in dreams?
Are we destined,
To meet in this world some day?

Although, you only live;
In my dreams,
In my heart,
And in my memories,
My beautiful Korean princess,
I write these poems for you,

Still, you only live;
In my dreams,
In my heart and,
In my memories,

Why do we only,
Meet in dreams,
Of the past?

© 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

With looping hillside vendors
and red-light beams stalking the
cigarette smoke clouds, clinging
behind business men mobs (of 4 or 5)

and fracturing wildly from green-glass
bottles of soju and the girls
(oh the girls) who guard and call
out from dark thresholds with only
a spotlight of pink neon from

(***, Trans Cafe, Eat Me)
the signs from above. And the glass
walls separating the men
from the girls and the short skirts
(plaid like schoolgirls) beckoning,

silent and alone, sitting on stools
(one leg over another) paid at the bars
for two drinks (and 250,000 Won)
usually by Americans, bored and trapped,

stranded (at Yongsun Army Garrison)
they venture Incheon at dark,
with sad eyes and lust, (trading paychecks
for hand jobs) guilty and delaying,
waiting for a three year tour (of
what feels like a lifetime) in Seoul
to end.

This **** could be a lot easier
if I wasn't so dusty
or if my aspiration hasn't been disposed
or exposed. 'Thought you'd like to know.
I'm failing math again."
And my game is still obviously whack,
Anyway I got you to come over.
So, with a pretty girl now and drinking kombucha,
all these Facebook friends
I didn't think I'd have to see again.
Beckon me with a tight fist.
Refresh the laptop and let the afterglow echo
back and drift,
over a nose and fascinating lips.
"You know the bars here don't close till very late."
Everything I love will probably crumble
into a glass of soju. Vices
and the soul undressed
and the fish market's funk clings and holds tightly
onto another's thin grey hoodie.
"What do you do?"
Hobbies among other things include googling
or maybe just oogling at an Incheon passerby.
"Seoul tonight is almost as bright as you."