either way

if those were misty mountains i see

clouds bulking up to rain on its trees

the skimpy Han readying for its plum rains

the fragrance of its flowers wafting into Taichung

and not the waxy cataract coating tropical hills

the industrial pilfering of its waters coming down

absorbing pesticides and bonfires in its liquidity…

either way

sit i would on this bench in wonder

if these were the sneezes of a late night frolic

itchy eyes from squinting out tears of love

fatigue from a well-paid job completed

sore feet from hiking through meadows

and not an allergic reaction to dust mites

while slaving for someone else’s profit

getting lost in the dark doubling back...

either way

walk i would on any grounds

if this were the prose for discerning readership

corrected of sloppy typographical errors

demonstrating chutzpah of independent thoughts

styled by a writer voiced in literary arts

and not the quirky indulgences tripping readers up

by distractions of complex sentence starters

a paucity of followers, no potential for profit...

either way

paint i would with words from my muses

March 26, 2018

www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

there’s no going through the motions

there’s no going through the motions

in appreciating moments

waving with the weeds

or weaving with the butterflies

no such thing as ‘been there' to recall

no ‘done that’ to speak of

with everything in fresh synapses

of a moment on its way

like new breezes brewing for para-gliders

new waves rising for surfers

or a cloud gathering to foster rain

no pain withstanding

no mind busy planning

being in everything enthralled

in tune with the spirits

some  muses might call

later can wait

before has been

take life now and now and now…

March 26,2018
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

i might be here without your love

i might be here without your love

isolated

broken

at the whim of society

looking for a home in every face i see

resigned to conformity

in need of a better half

someone to comfort me

i might be here

fading fast

it might be over without your love

forlorn

desperate for attention

without someone to escort home

uncomfortably alone

feeding the cats out of habit

no mood for silly songs

leftovers uneaten

needing a weather forecast to know

which drawers i should open and close

i might look for another 

someone to take your place

but not your aroma, your grace

for my writings would be about you

no other writing i'd want to do

ink running dry

replaced  by  tears 

as a world turns dawn to dusk

nighttimes turn to rust

here without your love

March 27, 2018

www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

i am flitting in tandem with tiny white butterflies

i am flitting in tandem

with tiny white butterflies

on a random route over Han riverbanks

enduring mechanical noises

as strangers see chaos

what to us is naturally fine

living our short spanned lives

evolving from conditions unplanned…

so go jack your hammers

rev your engines

tread  your tires

poison yourselves

for we do not cry when flying

do not mourn when dying

in your tainted atmosphere

within silent moments

in quiet atoms

between a tick and a toc

over a clear river counted on

as you approach the river gap

on your bridge of progress

fording insurmountable passes

but mankind cannot cross 

what we rise with the sun for

darken with the hollow moon

harmonize in seasonal tunes

March 17, 2018
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

The Dusting of Frost on Freedom, PA

a dusting of frost that will
melt around my footprints
when i am gone around the earth
back around the earth
against the wind up high
where vapor trails freeze time
the dulling snow that masks the sound
melts me down to pot holes
on the winding road to my coffin
retirement beyond Freedom's closed gates
let the brisk chilly winds blow
my open eyes shuttering
as slush stutters my weakened voice
with infomercials leaving no choice
among the frozen channels
spoken into remote ears
absinth face emotion
from a Frankenstein chronicle
to simple Hallmark mysteries
of Monk and Matlock...
i must be on my way
back home
where Mandarin unknown
is to be learned
more to me
than American drone

March 2, 2018
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.