By the heady might

Of slumber

Countenance sublime

Silent before the

Melody of morning.






 The Fan

 Papery opponent

You adorn her smile as

She poses with a certain ease

Swift strokes

Excite the air and flutter

Over lips of damson

 Breathing zephyr

Across caressed cheeks

Boast no more.










Take your time

My very dear, in making your reply


Splendid, I must say

You are most generous with words


A shame you

Cannot even spell my name.





















Minx; eyes bound shut

Hands, soft that you bring

Are playful with a feline elegance


Crystalline gaze

Falls upon unread features

Silent whispers turn to brutal panting


I am yours to keep

Wounded by your venom.






Amarantos I




The moon manipulates

 Gestures flake

As thoughts remake

The composition of a face

Tonight, we shall stay unnamed.






Amarantos II




The ungainly moon


Has come and gone, many a time


Tonight, we shall stay unnamed.































Of childhood

Colour another year

Of inconstant seasons

That escape unto

The broken sky.






Framed and Antique




Window of the past

Element of the present


Long hair covered my left eye

I was very different indeed.






Into the Twilight




Flying round and round

In a moonlit paradise

While others, hand in hand

Take to their jovial flight.


































Caduceus on the left

Message on the right

Make peace with the sky

Upon Zephyra’s back.










Primary orb

Dances in the shallow

Oscillates between

Our reflection

Guides the night

Toward gentle dawn


Rootless along

The willow bank

We follow her home

And bid farewell

To the depths and

Fading constellations.










O, transient sun

Thou hastily become

Illuminates this somnolent night

 With fellow Hesperus afar.




























Lucent like the night sky

Every lamp that flickers below

Its mate in the twinkling lustre

Flickers back with reticence.










Her silence

Is minimal

Fractures impressions

Of time


Her existence

Becomes an allegory

Of possibility.










Maiden of the final wish

That taketh away the head of the Baptist


Into the salacious night

You dance with celerity till morn.


























Emotional Landscape




Dusk invades in pink

As it winds across the open

Valley of red beyond

Beneath twin-peaked moons

Sculpts an imitation of love.






Spring Snow




Fleeing beneath my feet

A golden garb of begonias

Breathes anew a life worn old

By the whirring of time.










Sapphire trees

Pierce the hillside

North of the village

Where my heart will be.


Icy winter stream

Twists around my feet

I shall remember this place

Before absent friends meet.


The sky exhales a festive breath

That flushes my cheeks

Unwavering, eyes close

As nature retreats.


















To the Matador




I am the flesh

That you will tear

Take my soul

Home to your family.


Playing this game

A will of yours.

Applaud graciously

My death.










Beyond the stagnant pond

Distant birds much closer now

The clapping wings

To soft ears deafening


I find my way back

To the stillness of this effigy.






Beyond the Martello




Darkness paling

Rising rays of gold seep

Through the early gauze

Engulf the temporal delay

Of a tide’s withdrawal.























Old Wall




The wind of

A thousand offsprings

Batters against the face

Of a barren scar

Tired sinews unearthed

Rays of gold seep

Through clefts of time


O, wrinkled face.






Shaoxing Revisited




Minding your own business

You hold your breath as you pass

Beneath the intruding homesteads


Subdued and seaward bound

Dynastical sun, with one eye shut

Behests a silent passing.






The Vestige




Half-awake, half-dreaming

A watchful eye takes vigil

Itself, half devoured

A cake in the night sky.

























The Ailing Effendi




Reclined in thought

Brittle shards of morn

Reigns afar, but ends

At these wounded walls.










When did wanton affection

Appear on the scene?


The air exhales the word of love

But we are no Adam and Eve.






The Pavilion at Wuji




The arresting tune

Through heavy branches


Swollen blossoms

Sway to her melody while


Spring's aroma

Fills my room with ambiguity.




























Her Last in Hiragana




Drifting verses

Embrace the drying papyrus

Every word bears

Her movement, her smile.










The heart, unkempt

As dust falls to earth again

What once was life

Now ends well.










Dawn breaks over jade hills

A veteran breeze steers

As the cries of wild geese

Deciphers the myth of Aeolus.





































Body of landscape

Clings delicately on the canvas


Decadent colours conceive

The lightness of air

As it cradles her berceuse


 A final breath

Delivers the final stroke.










Sweet fluid passes

Through flesh-gates


As words of comfort unite

They hold no cure for death.










A soft stroke

On its balmy skin

The faint impress

Of a past lover.


























Morte Della Vergine




Tears fall unto the robe

As they chant ‘Kurie eleeson’


The absent moon in silent prayer

Breaths exhaled in the air

Sink the abating night.






Solus I




Rival heart


Unguarded, it fell prey to thee.






Solus II




Enchanted, once, by a princely tongue


How I cherish the unimposing night.


































Withering Glow




A fin sways in the calmness

Dances to the euphony of song

This is the final dance


Quietly she takes her leave.










The heartbeat

The battering of drums




The furore of stampede.






Love, Transcendental




Night surpasses day

Without a whisper

Awake beneath

A semiprecious cloth

My elegy drifts

Into the openness

Leaves me bare

As it leaves me for good.

























With Child




Beyond the veil of obscurity,


Eleven candles bear my flame.






The Siren of Efes




O, hallowed grove of mulberry

Haven to this pillar of faith


A distant silhouette greets the rising sun

To the tune of a piccolo.










Her russet shadow

On glacial-white marble

Confronts an infant morn

That rejuvenates

A matrimonial legacy.





























Giacommetti's Waif




With a breath

You hide behind your kin

Emotionless before the fading crowd

Stoic to my vestigial sigh.










Eyes closed

Words lay adrift

Tired petioles invite

Autumn's flurry.










Fair temptress

Pregnant with the night

Resplendent with jewels

Robed in white.





































In the night and

In the early morn

I wander alone

Without the usual

Staged emotions


Trees whisper

To one another

And the air fills

With ancient stories


Days of loneliness

Taketh this very path home.











On the garden rock

Beside young irises

I sing an ode to my

Lady Ourania


She calls, I follow her

Down to the waterfall

Before this night ends

I shall ask if she would stay.










Emerald river

Tear-filled and majestic

Rises beneath the moon

Engulfs me and captures

The lesser constellations


I shall come again soon.



















In the day she follows my shadow

By night she takes her leave


A waking kiss before Venus descends

And leaves as swiftly as the dew.










Stale hours

Reap these moments


Plum blossoms lay

Restless on the ground


The storm is near; here

I shall wait for my calling.










In the old courtyard I wander

Amidst pale chrysanthemums

They sway obediently before

The swirling dust heaps

A worthy wind carries with it

A song from Yan Yee

I smile and sing to myself.
























The Frowning




The two of us

Here again

Shrouded by 

Pale November


As the uneven sky

Surrenders to the rain

We follow the

Clouds home.










The damp shroud has ascended


Breathing is twice as adamant


Morning has forsaken all glory


Time no longer harbours itself.






Sweet Rising




Scent of morning

Lingers by my side

Her silken skin

Warm to my caress


Though ‘tis only the

Sunshine that greets me.


























As the sol begins to warm

Childish pleasures envelop me


The faint echo of Sherah’s song

Remains my secret of the valley


I close my eyelids

Before the ebony clouds return.










Descending rays

Gold between sweeping shrouds


The pelage of dusk

Becomes our quilt.






Slow Time




Simple needs

Stroke the skin of a harsh reality


Along with the early frost

All faith and self is lost.































The crouching boughs

Of a hundred summers

Laden with gifts from



With thoughts carried

Into the tenth hour

Daybreak comes

Too soon.






Venetian Mirror




The crystal water imitates

The splendour of matrimony

Day waives herself to Night


I, too, will yield to you.






Jeunesse Doree




The early light

The shielded prayers

In stillness she sits

With wandering eyes


Alas, he counts the

Thunder alone.





























Flowers in the snow

Girls in lush lilac; all

In line with the march

Fresh lips of petal glow

Before the gathering crowd

The sun is late in revisiting

But all is well, these

Clouds are leaving.










Another recited prayer

Begins another day


A walk in the park reminds me

That I am still young


Another half-hearted contention

And already time for bed.










Ancient burial grounds yonder

The sunken fields chant their names


With hollow hands

Her eyes pursue a barren land.

























Labour of Love




The conversations

The cheering

The repose of the night


Rhythm of the hours

Draws to an end

Before an early awakening.






Without Obligation




Eyes of youth

Devoted to beauty

Every minute

Without vestige.


Each day and

Another page turned

Looking back, what

Lessons have I learned?





Amaranthus Caudatus




Drawn to soft whispers

Conquered by a kiss

Stranger to the feeling

Yet truly possessed


Icons of youth

Leave me wandering

Who I am.























Unity of Nature




Toward the light

Our spirits turn


 Spring’s bloom

Frays majestically.






Narcissus Poeticus




Sunlit dream wakes to the morn

Hues of yellow and crimson

Competes with the sky

The gentle wind from the lake

Bears the scent of currant

As I let it bathe my face

I ponder over my duty as son.






In the Arms of Consciousness




Their backs against my passing gaze


Silence fills the air; mouths dry


Words no longer define meaning


Yet here I sit, able to think poetically.



























I, Joseph




White leather shoes

Already stained by the rain


This is my story

Beautifully tragic.










Gently the curtain falls

And a brighter scene

Shines through

As the shore welcomes the tide

My trail disappears


My face feels the

Breath of daybreak.






Too Far




Looking back

The days were long

Now, the mornings wane

Into an unusual azure

Without its usual trace.