Love in the Time of Corona

Writing love in the time of corona to forget her

When tall grass on the banks waves in the breeze,

Mourning doves flock over the bridge arch,

And cool rapids splash river boulders midstream,  

With enough percolation to defer any dreams

 

What good would it do to figure her out?

When under-span waterfall echoes reverb,

Drowning traffic noise tightening river belts

Around an odorless anchorage of evaporated urine

With enough older love to fasten my heart 

 

Not going to go where only her hormones know

With enough gnats to nourish swallows and bats

Through Taichung’s veins of throbbing blood 

As native girls smile at this alien male

With enough testosterone to make it move

 

When her thermals low-bridge my levitation

I swoop rhythmically like an egret’s wings

Through saturated skies on mountains amassed

The thunder that ripped through the love I found

Withstanding rain sheltering me from her pain

 

Her fascinating adornments melt like eye shadow

Resembling tears of misgivings in the spooky night

As she acquiesces in the fight against dependency  

I have already retreated to where she will not know me

On the shady riverside watching younger men fish  

 

June 17, 2020

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In a Twilighted Taichung Sky

a migrating flock of white birds south

in nonchalant formation high

across a twilighted Taichung sky

as fruit bats do the loop-de-loo

hunting gnats at water view

over the swirling bended Han

flowing westward through the city

under a colored neon span

bridging the wash where the temple stands

annexing a new zone of projects

where one day may i pass

swallowing bugs with no mask 

or Thai massage my aching bone

in memory of a sun down low

magenta darkened seething clouds

on my knee with exile freedom

crackling chicharrones, an empty canteen

who can refill my dream?

who can hear my scream?

only the bats winging back to their nests

know the thrill of going home

after sunsets

October 10, 2019

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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Plum Rain Cease Fire

The Han River’s muddy water,

 turns cobalt blue,

Days after the deluge, 

before the plum rain regroups.

Tall grass stalks flattened by the overflow,

Standing like crossbows,

 arch skyward in the sunlight,

Green with life, 

recovering from the strife.

All along the river floor,
scorched earth,

 brown and matted.

Drenched in mountain runoff

 coursing from the source.

A scouting egret,

 assessing survival,

 scours the shores.

Fish swiftly in rapids, 

over falls to Taiwan Strait.

Turtles seeking breathers,

 round boulders lost,

As machine men mad with motors,

 march at any cost,

On the one-way, each way,

 winding high road dykes.

The pause in the downpour,

 means recuperation no more,

but a chance to get on with, 

their damn vacation?

And the merchants,

 blessed with collateral,
damaged,

busy their vocation.

Who’s there to feel 

the pain when nature mourns?

How does it feel 

when nothing can go wrong?

When no one overseas oversees,

or picks up the pieces of driftwood?

A near folly* of firewood in the rain.

Left like a singer in a storm.

May 26, 2019
*Dedicated to Holly Near" 
Hear "It Could Have Been Me" here.
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               Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved

looking to the hills through cannabis eyes

looking to the hills through cannabis eyes

its shrouded face unveiled to see

dreams in realized retirement

in Taichung  City by the river

senses anesthetized, set free

with a dollar hobos can roll a joint

smoke like vaporized expats entrenched

 hermetically sealed from locality

staring into space over the river gap

with stupid mushroom eyes laughing back

too late to saddle and ride the sky

too much weight for butterflies

the river coursing through my veins

streaming my conscious thought of train

bursting my bubble of smokey flame

through legalized insurgence

 swiped tickets along the journey

on the mode of transportation

better a pipe passed sociably

than steeped in dust, held in gravity 

when i am back to myself 

and the world no longer rotates around my dream

i will retrace the steps passed the temptress 

resist the aroma of a long forgotten pizza 

that triggers flashbacks  of dependence

March 18, 2019

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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

As Darkness' Brush Strokes Creamy Clouds

As darkness' brush strokes creamy clouds

And beckons me a chill reminder,

Are they passing over my life's dry socket? 

“It looks like a storm is coming.” 

I believe her and do not await the downpour

I beat it with the wind at my back 

to where the devil  has no home

Race against the tide of changing winds

No reason to hide but to begin 

(“Let me tell you 'bout a dream
You know I saw her in a dream

Oh, St. Charles sings
Sings about love
St. Charles, tell me tonight
Won't you tell me 'bout love
You know I saw her in a dream)

'Twould be worse than a wet-nurse

Milking a screaming storm

Squeezed from ominous southbound clouds 

Absorbed into the parched brick path

Darkening sunny ground by tropical trees

That feel the breeze and bend in respect

Rather than snap, forth and back.

Then she warned me and I return

Towards louder the beat of her heart

(“There was China, in her eyes
In a silk and velvet disguise
She was movin' like a lady
Lookin' like a dragon princess
She was walkin' by the river
Rollin' in a rhythm of love
I never felt like this before”)

She moves me and I move

No sense in staying to warn strangers

Of the danger in taking disinterested parts

Not in the interest of loving workers

I feel the temperature drop around the river

See the riders heading wrong upstream 

Donning their ponchos without a dream

Only she interests me

And I hurry home to be

(“Oh, St. Charles sings
Sings about love
St. Charles, tell me tonight
Won't you tell me 'bout love
You know I saw her in a dream.

She is the storm bringer,
The storm changer.”)

I will “Tie myself down to the main mast
Like Ulysses in the water storm
Winds comin' down the main line
Tie myself down to the main mast
Tie it down with love.”
I feel it, “stormin',” I feel it coming,
I can feel it now, “stormin'”
I feel it coming, “stormin'”
From the safety of our home. 

(Thank you, Jefferson Starship)

March 3, 2019

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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

Leaving Her

Low on energy, running out of time

To tell her what has been on your mind

You asked once so why say again

“Alright already,” she said to comply

As your mood slips swiftly by

Who else but a husband would try?

Is she there for herself at home?

Your bike balanced on an uphill ride 

Slowed by unseen pavement cracks 

Where flowers once sprouted after rain

Tires getting flat, without a phone or hat 

Without a song; not even that 

A new kitten while you were gone

Should have rejected it all along

For a fan to blow the exhaust
As the wind of changes grow

Smoke from a shopping channel frying pan

A self-extinguished glow

When half-truths sound like lies

Passionless untouched desire

No need to pity her condition

Because pleasing her is your pleasure

Everything you would do expires

Your service is no longer required

You made her happy, didn't you? 

No role model were you for her to mimic

You thought, unprompted, she would be kind

Stop for you upon a dime

Every whim, unashamed

She should want to do the same

Chances get slimmer for you to be heard

Speaking for you, misinterpreted

Of her interests, you're an intersession

Are you on her mind or 

Is she pocketing your point-of-view

Like a ghost does in a cask of witches’ brew?

May she take your advice without calling it hers

May she be nice without doing you a favor

Aim to please you for your labor

All the love you've grown to share

Not treat you like a child, carefully

Or ignore you pain-in-the assfully

You are going to leave her one day 

That woman gambling on your rambling

Without a dollar or a song

One day you will be moving on

Where the weather suits your soul

And nothing warm turns cold

December 23, 2018
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Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.