Han River Poems : May 2020

Sunday, May 31, 2020

If blowing a kiss is still a kiss

I have kissed your smiling face

That look in your eyes feels like bliss

Your lips give my dreams grace

You are more than a woman to me

More than a breath of morning dew

In tandem we go, riding the river

Two of us randomly making it through

Ever higher till the heights we reach

Responding to undeniable passion

Going forward towards our love

Offered weekly in two-hour rations

Avoiding the rain and the burning sun

We are clearly Goldilocks’ choice

Unbearably waiting for tomorrow’s meeting

I’m tuned in to your voice

Unable to forget you when at home

Without a lover left

Happiness you bring makes me want to sing

After you, only old age and death

So I see you when you find the time

Arrange my days to fit your style

Who am I to ask for more

Than to know you for a little while

Let the torrents crash below us

On the bridge to the tunnel of love

As plum rains mist to summer storms

We fit like velvet gloves

Forget what people say about autumn springs

We are strong enough to endure

Days brighten when we're face to face

that is what love is for

May 31, 2020

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Purchase "Unnatural Beauty; Poems from the Han Riverside"
Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved

Sunday, May 24, 2020

If The Buddha Dated

If the Buddha dated

Couldn’t be much different than if the Buddha married,

Or if the Buddha had a mistress.

The same rules would apply with some variation.

The first sutra, the introduction,

Would answer the question

Why the Buddha would need a mistress.

It would be redundant to tell

Since sensual pleasures and stimulus are samsara

In the realm of the red dust.
What would be my mantra;

A stimulus to reach mindfulness,

Enlightenment;

Not an end in itself,

Not unlike Kundalini yoga

Or the Kama Sutra

As a Bodhisattva can guide

A lover with interest to the right path.

But I am on the path, too.

I need someone to take me there.

A vehicle to transport my spirit

with a place to go.

If not lonesome

Would I be looking elsewhere?

If my partner could reverse course,

Be open to travel and intimacy,

Outdoor activity and adventure,

Bike rides on forest paths,

And swims in water holes under waterfalls,

Everything a mistress likes,

with a question of intimacy unresolved.

Like Krishna on the front line,
wouldn't I go?

May 25, 2020

www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Purchase "Unnatural Beauty; Poems from the Han Riverside"
Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved

Monday, May 18, 2020

Somewhere Under the Rainbow Bridge

Must I reassure her to be singing in the rain

With a glorious feeling; happy again?

What lies around the bend?

The point of no return?

Open roads off the map?

In cahoots with this dreamer

Or the nightmare of a poured out heart in repudiation?

Can I shake off this feeling of déjà vu

From long ago on a rainy Gold Mountain beach

When anyone but my first wife would do;

How I tried to woo her with encouragement

Missing kissing her as she turned away…

Will it be the scent of dried urine

Brought back from a puddle under the bridge?

When I look up to see a demon, smiling,

Waving at me mid-span,

Emptying a box of liquid into the river,

Somewhere under the rainbow

As stray dogs' menacing barks echo;

The harbinger of disappointment …

But wait!

The pack is safely on the other shore!

With a stream so defined and direct between us

From a love to a lover, which is more?

What pleasures other than love can endure?

Game for the great exchange

Come rain or come shine

With shelter in a storm

Or rhapsody in the rain.

May 18, 2020
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Purchase "Unnatural Beauty; Poems from the Han Riverside"
Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved

Monday, May 11, 2020

A glimmer in a tidy river bend

I roll onto my dorsal fin in the sand

The sparkling elegance of my scales

Flaking off in the Taichung summer sun

Until, alone, I become a man

In a humanity of wounded souls,

But then I am stirred, move a muscle,

Held in the hands so delicately

Of one to whom I mean everything.

How many lines must this fisherman cast

So many chances slipped away

Yet for the sweet face of revelry

The chase I must obey

With its brightness of a new day’s promise

A dream to form into the real

From this make-believe life I claim to live

If only I could live to feel

The warmest of snuggles in your river bed

Dreams are all but true

If love can quench your thirst

My hopes may be with you

Connecting in the spirit spray

The endless time of an enchanted day

Born of symbiotic empathy

To eternity from this unreal fantasy

When hearty angels play

I am no longer dust on that day

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

The Swallow Swoops the River

The swallow swoops the river,

victory tail,
forward flight.

Compact wingspan fan
round your body tight.

Pin me with your sharpened eyes,

a blur through skies on hidden therms.

Rust-chested dive on windy underside
over this lonely fellow belied

hunting,
feeding on the fly,
mosquitoes and gnats,
so spry.

More patient than frantic fruit bats.

Supersonic,
pure inertia.

As gracious as an Audrey Hepburn.

As Monet as a brush stroked impression.

Lace this river with your heaven,

for to catch a glimpse,

to swallow my grounded pride,

nestled in a dream tonight

and with you soar in morning

before I reach the bye and bye.