"taiyuan" poems - Hello Poetry

Sensuous pleasure Human touch I close my eyes Darken hue A stampede of thoughts Streams of consciousness Springsteen in Asbury Park Aung San Sun kyi, a lost voice Meeting with a philosopher American friends Judge Judy And Poetic license International conflicts Blame the Russians Rooney drink driving Racist police and the NFL PhD students And Noam Chomsky R.E.M 'The End Of the World as We know it' BREXIT Blame anyone but yourself A mother giving birth in the street To poor for St. Elsewhere North Korea Blame the Chinese The beautiful woman next to me Another day in paradise. The man said something Now the other foot.

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Sep 7, 2017

Sep 7, 2017 at 6:50 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

The Pleasures of a Foot Massage in Taiyuan.

Sensuous pleasure Human touch I close my eyes Darken hue A stampede of thoughts Streams of consciousness Springsteen in Asbury Park Aung San Sun kyi, a lost voice Meeting with a philosopher American friends Judge Judy And Poetic license International conflicts Blame the Russians Rooney drink driving Racist police and the NFL PhD students And Noam Chomsky R.E.M 'The End Of the World as We know it' BREXIT Blame anyone but yourself A mother giving birth in the street To poor for St. Elsewhere North Korea Blame the Chinese The beautiful woman next to me Another day in paradise. The man said something Now the other foot.

30

Last night I dreamt that I had a conversation with Stephen Hawking, at least I think it was a dream? I asked him about the history of time in Taiyuan He said that “The earth is brittle and the scent of the past heavy” I wanted to know about black holes. But he kept talking about people who hold out their hands to nothing at all. And how narrow space was in this place. So we went for a walk by the Fen. And talked about the death of an English country on a Chinese road. This seemed huge. I felt the warmth of the winter sun and saw people that could not rise. He asked me “Why did I come to teach here if I had worries about the weather?’ I woke up and wondered if we had communicated at a higher level?

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Jul 7, 2017

Jul 7, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC

andrew-duggan

Andrew Duggan's Dream

Last night I dreamt that I had a conversation with Stephen Hawking, at least I think it was a dream? I asked him about the history of time in Taiyuan He said that “The earth is brittle and the scent of the past heavy” I wanted to know about black holes. But he kept talking about people who hold out their hands to nothing at all. And how narrow space was in this place. So we went for a walk by the Fen. And talked about the death of an English country on a Chinese road. This seemed huge. I felt the warmth of the winter sun and saw people that could not rise. He asked me “Why did I come to teach here if I had worries about the weather?’ I woke up and wondered if we had communicated at a higher level?

12

Today is the first of September The end of summer in Taiyuan Hopes of love expired, summer lapsed away Too impeccable to last. The crickets put their songbooks away The long march over for another year Hearts moving, yet without a dream Their music web will sing a different tune. One last walk by the Fen and memories of dizziness. Faintly the steps begin to grieve each one heavy with the waning light. And now the cold kiss of a Shanxi winter invites me to walk by its placid stream. And drink its cooling breath More vivid than the sunsets final glow.

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Sep 1, 2017

Sep 1, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

The End of Summer in Taiyuan

Today is the first of September The end of summer in Taiyuan Hopes of love expired, summer lapsed away Too impeccable to last. The crickets put their songbooks away The long march over for another year Hearts moving, yet without a dream Their music web will sing a different tune. One last walk by the Fen and memories of dizziness. Faintly the steps begin to grieve each one heavy with the waning light. And now the cold kiss of a Shanxi winter invites me to walk by its placid stream. And drink its cooling breath More vivid than the sunsets final glow.

16

Migu's Coffee Cafe Just by Xinhua's Book Shop Is a place I know well A place to be seen for the **** To loose yourself in a dream When you leave your native road Through the window I can see the faded yellow paint of the buildings. They are always darker in winter. They remind me of leaves falling on a cold Manchester Autumn morning. Full of parting and lingering pain. Holding on to the last days of summer. Now I see your face In a nest broken by angry voices Too afraid to tread on the flowers I could not help you. A life at 22 always looks different at 52 even in Taiyuan. We once talked of babies and forever Now I focus on the pain The only thing that is real.

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Sep 14, 2017

Sep 14, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Although many people love me it is not the same.

Migu's Coffee Cafe Just by Xinhua's Book Shop Is a place I know well A place to be seen for the **** To loose yourself in a dream When you leave your native road Through the window I can see the faded yellow paint of the buildings. They are always darker in winter. They remind me of leaves falling on a cold Manchester Autumn morning. Full of parting and lingering pain. Holding on to the last days of summer. Now I see your face In a nest broken by angry voices Too afraid to tread on the flowers I could not help you. A life at 22 always looks different at 52 even in Taiyuan. We once talked of babies and forever Now I focus on the pain The only thing that is real.

21

Now I am grown-up I am not supposed to daydream. But I do. I looked up 'daydreaming' on my phone, whilst drinking coffee in M.Gateau's. The Urban Dictionary said: " A condition that occurs when one is in deep thought while looking in the same direction for a long time". But I never look in the same direction for long When I do it evokes the deepest desires. Beautiful women walking the streets, waiting for the midnight hour, so they can indulge in living. And as for deep thoughts? Well, last night I dreamt again that nothing mattered anymore. Including writing poetry. Until then my day was going great. Now I haven't moved my eyes from the pavement. Gazing at the street shadows made by the sun rays - they are everywhere. Shadows are like this. They take over space that we create. And that is it for the day. They come in secret when we are not looking and we can not face ourselves alone. Now I wonder who you think you will see? I just hope it is me. Time for another coffee.

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Aug 6, 2017

Aug 6, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Daydreaming (in Taiyuan) or anyplace.

Now I am grown-up I am not supposed to daydream. But I do. I looked up 'daydreaming' on my phone, whilst drinking coffee in M.Gateau's. The Urban Dictionary said: " A condition that occurs when one is in deep thought while looking in the same direction for a long time". But I never look in the same direction for long When I do it evokes the deepest desires. Beautiful women walking the streets, waiting for the midnight hour, so they can indulge in living. And as for deep thoughts? Well, last night I dreamt again that nothing mattered anymore. Including writing poetry. Until then my day was going great. Now I haven't moved my eyes from the pavement. Gazing at the street shadows made by the sun rays - they are everywhere. Shadows are like this. They take over space that we create. And that is it for the day. They come in secret when we are not looking and we can not face ourselves alone. Now I wonder who you think you will see? I just hope it is me. Time for another coffee.

17

A slow river flows in Taiyuan, the current always hidden. And as a winter breeze blows coldly and coldly, the queen-woman hides her face, the stillness exactly as before. Oh, slow river, you are so lonely and pale in light now. Only a flimsy sun to keep you company. The odd rain cannot hide your water like tenderness. Drifting rare flowers, relics of the long march float toward your banks, layered into clusters of yellow gold alluvium and images of illusion. A river I have under my breath, a natural gift from an almighty. But shared by the old women who pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures, silent flows, each day.

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Nov 18, 2017

Nov 18, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Conversation by the River

A slow river flows in Taiyuan, the current always hidden. And as a winter breeze blows coldly and coldly, the queen-woman hides her face, the stillness exactly as before. Oh, slow river, you are so lonely and pale in light now. Only a flimsy sun to keep you company. The odd rain cannot hide your water like tenderness. Drifting rare flowers, relics of the long march float toward your banks, layered into clusters of yellow gold alluvium and images of illusion. A river I have under my breath, a natural gift from an almighty. But shared by the old women who pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures, silent flows, each day.

9

I walked to the Spar An older lady gave me a magazine. Full of pictures Bracelets and ******* Fake as the new beauty Fake a smile Fake anything he wants. Now he buys your favourite food Red lips temptations And perpetual lies. Daughters of Zhang Burnt by the sun. So much fear that no one is clapping. But you will make him happy tonight Just like the night before.

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Sep 15, 2017

Sep 15, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Fake Beauty in Taiyuan.

I walked to the Spar An older lady gave me a magazine. Full of pictures Bracelets and ******* Fake as the new beauty Fake a smile Fake anything he wants. Now he buys your favourite food Red lips temptations And perpetual lies. Daughters of Zhang Burnt by the sun. So much fear that no one is clapping. But you will make him happy tonight Just like the night before.

17

The best place to see life in Taiyuan is to sit on the street. Just by XueFu Park on Tiyu road. The arteries of the city grasping for space and meaning. Husbands too tired to talk. Wives waiting for the next episode. Fireflies searching for a neon light Street cleaners who read Hemingway. Dancing ladies who sing the old songs. Taiyuan is alive at night. Once the Fen can breathe no more and the dancing ladies have lost their words, Many more will sit by and watch the shadows of their past reclaim the streets of Taiyuan. Unable to move for fear of uncertainty.

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Aug 12, 2017

Aug 12, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Sitting in a Taiyuan Street.

The best place to see life in Taiyuan is to sit on the street. Just by XueFu Park on Tiyu road. The arteries of the city grasping for space and meaning. Husbands too tired to talk. Wives waiting for the next episode. Fireflies searching for a neon light Street cleaners who read Hemingway. Dancing ladies who sing the old songs. Taiyuan is alive at night. Once the Fen can breathe no more and the dancing ladies have lost their words, Many more will sit by and watch the shadows of their past reclaim the streets of Taiyuan. Unable to move for fear of uncertainty.

27

How strange to see Kurt Cobain In a Taiyuan Coffee Bar War marched through my mind I wanted to ask him How he addressed the fog How to treat the ghosts Time and space describe Nothing

0

Jun 15, 2017

Jun 15, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Where did you sleep Last Night?

How strange to see Kurt Cobain In a Taiyuan Coffee Bar War marched through my mind I wanted to ask him How he addressed the fog How to treat the ghosts Time and space describe Nothing

8

Soon I will come to the end of my journey and another statue will disappear. But you see you cannot **** the sculptor Only hire the black priest to wash away your sins. Your unkind words mean nothing to me Life runs through your fingers like white sand and many unborn days disturb your mindfulness. The black priest cannot help you. I sing to the same stars in Taiyuan that I once sang to in Albacete with the Brigada Abraham Lincoln. Then the Spanish people grieved for our going. You only grieve for the shade of the evening And the silence of the Fen river.

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Jun 24, 2017

Jun 24, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Albacete

Soon I will come to the end of my journey and another statue will disappear. But you see you cannot **** the sculptor Only hire the black priest to wash away your sins. Your unkind words mean nothing to me Life runs through your fingers like white sand and many unborn days disturb your mindfulness. The black priest cannot help you. I sing to the same stars in Taiyuan that I once sang to in Albacete with the Brigada Abraham Lincoln. Then the Spanish people grieved for our going. You only grieve for the shade of the evening And the silence of the Fen river.

13

When the black dogs are massed against the dawn What does it matter that no one listens to your chronicles of time. Or remembers the low cold sky, that left you dark. To you a room is a cell and those that sleep by the Fen have no tears for those who stay. In this place there is a cruel famine of ideas, and each morning holds off its sunshine and birdsong. In another place, far away a voice says that stars will fall from heaven. If not stars then dawns that will dazzle in your eyes. The thing that I call living is just being satisfied.

0

Sep 28, 2017

Sep 28, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC

andrew-duggan

Black Dogs of Taiyuan

When the black dogs are massed against the dawn What does it matter that no one listens to your chronicles of time. Or remembers the low cold sky, that left you dark. To you a room is a cell and those that sleep by the Fen have no tears for those who stay. In this place there is a cruel famine of ideas, and each morning holds off its sunshine and birdsong. In another place, far away a voice says that stars will fall from heaven. If not stars then dawns that will dazzle in your eyes. The thing that I call living is just being satisfied.

7