On The Road Again

 See Live First Rendition Here

If I say it once, I’m thinking aloud.

If I say it twice, I probably like the sound.

Three times said, you know I’d be glad.

When the fourth time comes, she’d better run.

I take the fifth for what I’d do

If my desires don’t come true.

Multiplied by ten,

I’m on the road again.

Life is too short to be faking

All the love we should be making.

When I picked you out, you knew what to do,

When you chose me, you certainly could see

I wasn’t one who’d regret what I’d done

Following the world around the sun,

That’s how it was back then.

Now I’m on the road again.

We never should retire when life inspires.

Never look away when love comes to play.

It’s better to feel wanted than taken for granted.

Plants need watering to grow where they are planted,

Or else they wither and blow away,

Scattering seeds somewhere another day,

Another place conductive to stay,

A place to grow a new stem,

I’m on the way; on that road again.

It is no use sitting around and wondering,

What either of us might have done wrong.

Wonders turn to blunders,

When they are left alone.

No one is to blame if one remains the same,

And one decides to roam and find a new flame,

The home life we sustained,

The children that we trained,

Our legacy remains

When I’m on the road again.

 

February 24, 2021

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Copyright © 2021 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Who No Longer Gives a Hoot

See live rendition here

The last time I sat on the patio,

I had breakfast, coffee, and checked e-mail.

By choice to leave this condo though

If it meant more to me than love,

I would be staying.

Yes, like everything else in Taichung,

The environment has gotten worse

The coconut tree to the south is still beautiful;

But the sunset horizon has been truncated

By four high risers along the Han's west bank.

To the north, a twin tower was built

Blocking a section of mountain range, sunrise and

View of the other river's fireworks display

Closer to home, literally, the daily droning

Of an industrial fork lift moving bricks outdoors,

From dawn to dusk and weekends;

Whenever they want to churn my gut

And soon, to the north, a mere twenty feet across the lane

A building coming, heaven knows how tall

Long enough to block the wash and everything else behind it,

Not that it was great but it let my eyes breath for

The chirping birds and swooping egrets on their way to the Han to feed,

Mourning doves cooing so sweet  this last week  

but instead I bemoan an owl’s missing hoot,

All night long for years  did  he show,

Now, where has he gone?

I guess he's like  me and 

Doesn't  give a hoot about this place anymore.

February 23, 2021

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So Long River Han

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So long River Han

You don’t change but everything around you can

The bridges that bind you serve their purpose

But don’t do you a smidgen of good

Egrets from high rises swoop lower to find you

What thirteenth floor elevator passengers only pan

They won’t give themselves reality checks

Or sojourn to their dreams

Those concrete minds behind venetian blinds

Cannot join your stream so

So long River Han

Butterflies in pairs don’t cry as if they understand

The fish don’t wish to be moved or admired

Sugarcane that wracked my brain

Potato fields forever!

Have all been changed into something strange

That spirits cannot feel

They rearranged the dykes, so plain

To give them wonder wheels

To roll me down the road to Tiger Tail

From roaring heads of steel

So cheerio Han River

Some stretch of you remains

In a fine mind when it’s time

To tolerate the pain

Other rivers, washes and gullies

Smaller yet but bigger glory

To this writer’s pen, lovely stories

In love begotten

On fine Formosa’s fragrant byways

Round rice paddies, taro patches

Finding Taiwan’s hidden snatches

Winding roads through weirs and valleys

Over mountains youthful fountains

There I’ll see you in my dreams

Wetter than primeval streams

From whence originated your crystal seams

So long Han

 

February 19, 2021

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Out of Her Own Reach

 
His heart is torn ripped shattered

In pieces over her

hurt heart broke and sorry 

that she will have to part.

It couldn’t be worse than watching

Her taking her own life

On a ledge out of his reach

Out of her own reach.

She says the more she's with him

the more she feels 

like there is someone there with them

but there is no one there with them

He's made quite sure that

there is no one there with them.

She feels she's made him up and down

But she never let him down

She's always brought him up and up

Whenever she's around.

But since she say that moment

She can handle and go on

with life after they part

He trusts and let's her have her way

keeping all the happiness in mind

that they had in their secret place 

go on with their lives

after one last two-hour meet-up

and as long as they're on-line.

February 12, 2012

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All The Free Time I Used to Have

All the free time I used to have

To write books and read are returned to me

And I will take and use them

Without wasting too many tears

Because the loss of a lover can be exploited

It must be used in positive ways

There is nothing else to say when she goes away

Except 'goodbye; have a nice day.'

But in every lingering moment

Every time I go away alone

Is the time we could be together

Unless my spouse picks up the pace

Makes me smile when I’m secretly sad

Since we can’t change our colors

Into ones we've never had

For those I’ll look to nature

to paint my lonely moments

be glad for what we had

remember every minute 

every second that we shared

I will get over losing you

But sure gonna miss you bad 

February 11, 2021

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Two Loved Ones Flown The Coop

Two  loved ones  gone 

so  sing a sad song.

For one, a son, there is a chance;

For the other, a lover, there is no dance

Secret sorrow for both I've shown,

I keep the reason unknown at home,

 The tears  for a lost lover,

Are a losing son's last cover.

 

How hard this must be for them both,

Thinking they have  stunted growth ,

Thinking they might never  be glad,

While in happiness of the best  love they've had.

Alas;  my unimaginable sorrow stems,

From loving  the way  I have loved them.

Now  remembered as dreams  so kind,

And welcomed back if they change their minds.

 

As they do what they did when so much younger

Pathological farewells. maybe stronger,

Afraid of attachments, single or married,

Safely  non-committal,  love miscarried . 

 

Urging  sons and lovers  won't convince,

Their conscience  dwells there   since

With  strangers they are falling

With  love or  love's  fears calling.

Homeless or loveless, tell me why

But I have  to let these lost birds fly,

...she returns, she’s mine, otherwise...

…he returns, he’s fine, otherwise... 

 

So go karaoke this week  and next time

 Beirut  or Mao will do just fine

A trigger or a silencer for the blues  

Either way  I'm  going to  lose  

February 11, 2021

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The droning of impermanence muddling a head

 

The droning of impermanence muddling a head,

She hasn't gotten used to and lingers there instead.

Sitting lost in gloom she awaits the bitter end,

Worsened by reminders unable to pretend.

Like when his flimsy covers for stealing her away,

Feel like she's the booty coveted that day.

That unpleasant harshness of something being stolen,

Hearing jealous undertones of dissonance tolling.  

Like a police siren that's closing in on a getaway vehicle,

Doomsday heartache scenario non reciprocal.

In the wee hours at home thinking she’s alone,

Lacking joyful sunshine exposing her forlorn.

She may be weary pondering what she has missed,

That inconsolable feeling of being second best.

That her keen emboldened independent fashion,

Is compromised by illegitimate passion.

The wind that carries away his fragile bubbles,

From dangerous places closer to her troubles.

Where bubbles have not usually stayed,

When nothing seems to be going her way.

Least he blow new ones replacing those that pop,

So irrepressible love won't have to stop.

February 10, 2021

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The Om Poem

See live first rendition here

The last word remains

Let it be “om”

The “love” words don’t transition

And feelings die with the brain

Such a shame 

They cannot be carried over

So very strange

That what a person’s living for,

Be it wealth, passion, or fame

Ends up all the same in “om”

Like the orange sun sandwiched

Between two megalith structures

Squeezed below the horizon

For others more westerly to see

The glow is all one day if I follow

Imagine I am following it around

Or left behind in darkness

It would all come down to love

The feeling that warms our lives

“Om”-lessness would be nothing

If I cannot hold you in my arms

Like everything that temporarily stays

If I can’t find my way back “om”

It just wouldn’t be fair.

February 9, 2021

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Taking on Additional Texture

 

Delivery on a scooter with Indian lunch 

After which I take a three-hour nap alone

Then go to the riverside to read Deng Xiaoping

As she chats in the lobby and glances over

To see me skirting to the recycle bin

Discarding an empty wine bottle we didn’t drink

Without asking to explain anything why.

 

The evening starts out early together

Putting decorative film on the frosted glass

Under the cold florescent ceiling light bulb

In the hall connecting the dinette and bedroom

Then she places the mantle clock we'd gotten

A clean set of living room drapes for tomorrow

For after I've washed the windows and done the floors.

 

A typical evening with tequila getting tight

For TV news that knocks me out from nine till ten

After which she decides not to watch TV at all

or YouTube music videos with no complaints.

So I sit next to the cat as she reads a paper

Moving a leg towards me to caress

Until our midnight showers before bed

 

The other doesn’t understand

She says I should do what I like

Until I say I like it, too; not comparing

Things I do from my heart naturally

Like cleaning windows before lunar New Year

Though it has taken on additional texture

Knowing another completes me.

 

We have a nice evening doing what we can

Red Horse beer that turns into honey

During news and wine, cheese and cold cuts

A Stewart/ Lombard comedy, “Made for Each Other”

And then YouTube music videos loudly

It is what we like doing on Saturday evenings

Until she's asleep and I dream of another.

February 8, 2021

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