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.

Angela Joli is Pretty

Angela Joli is pretty,
with or without mastectomy, 

whether or not she's reconstructive

Lets no cloud come down destructive.

Replenishes herself in an endless ocean 

From where all her talents spout;

No Moby Dick  obsession in her gentle sea.

Biological clocks set to local time

Do their sensitive synchronized crime,

As signals from the environment try

Though chemical reactions to make us die.
In dusks and dawns that do not change,
The sun will rise; days cannot without

No hell can stop that beauty's prime.

Long live brave Angela Joli.
Let imposers vamp in their eternity.

Let Boy George pretend,

Let Bruce Jenner mend,

Femininity comes from within.
Let the drama queens pout.

It is something we cannot see.

Pity the woman who sits on her laurels,

When life turns bleached like dead white coral.

If it takes a surgeon’s knife,
To save a beautiful life, 

From a frozen puddle of black ice,
Look ahead and cut it out 
Virus from a meltdown's quarrel.

See the egrets sunning on the river shore,

Ride past their flock once more. 

Her life is not your movie picture,

Permanent fixture, or religious scripture.

Beauty stared at will up and flee,
As a life in denial will surely rout, 
Be like Angela Joli; fly evermore. 

Give love, give love, keep giving love,

No other way to kindly live love.

From the corner of the eye, gaze at love,

Ride the windy wave of love.
All we want is more time to live,

What else would life be about

More time, more time with your love 

All  winter long buds ready for spring,

Bear the cold , survive what it brings, 

Like a coming attraction, anticipating, 

Predicting the future, physically awaiting.

Our love clued in by flower buds,

Will maximize the summer throughout,

Let all Joli summer egrets sing!

February 15, 2019 

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

Around Deceptive Bends

 Noisy tires come rolling

Around deceptive bends 

Swish like waves on a beach

A series licks the shoreline

Until someone's tsunami muffler

Thunders through my head

Ears unclog

In a left-right Doppler effect

Ratchet down a wavelength

Making me long for a real ocean

Crashing Brighton, sitting on a beach,

Not  a hard bench facing the River Han

In Brooklyn, the worst of winter is yet to come

Though the days' light have passed the night

February, and the sun strays, clouded, but

Subtropical  Taichung begins her spring

A new year of sunning egrets congregate on a tree

Migrate flock settles to nest in the wetlands

In finicky weather, a reprieve of southern breeze

Causes tall grass to leans northward

Contrary to the river flowing to Taiwan Strait

Mountains, of fog unclothed

Like mossy terrarium hills

Chinese air will win this tug of war still

More of this nonsense

Before plum rains bring their sustenance

How could I know if the tide is high or low?

How can I pretend a beach will mend my heart?

In these asphalt skies, where no seagulls squawk by

A dappled landscape that makes me cry

February 3. 2019
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Sitting on the last river bench

Sitting on the last river bench

Where the outlook has not changed

I can see the majestic mountains

Through the shrouding smog

I can have moments of silence

Before the traffic light upstream turns green

I can see those little white butterflies

Pairing up over the gorge

And parting overgrowth yielding to

 prancing Taiwanese strays

Expanding Taichung around the bend

Highways and byways of insincere friends

Coming and going at irregular intervals

Clearing gray skies for graceful egrets

Swooping from the rising smoke

Of incense sensors burning shrubs

What makes no sense at all

Insensitive, tentative; not what it means

So return have I to the last scenic bench

To resume my real life permanent dream

January 31, 2019

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

Bobbie Kitten's Recovery

What did they do to you, Bobbie dear?

Who scared you; why were you born here?

Did they gang up on you or was one cat guilty?

Did you hurt yourself, young and silly?

Bobbie was bopping all around the house,

Like a ricochet shadow after a mouse.

Climbing chairs of fabric like a spider,

No one was exempt sitting beside her.

Bobbie hobbled into the study to escape,

Leaving her overnight on the patio was a mistake.

She played in another cat’s territory,

That was the end of her happy flurry.

Bobbie limped to her food dish,

But food was not her wish.  

She wanted aloneness to heal her heart,

A day of solitude that tore us apart.

Bobbie is four months old,

Gleaming fur like midnight gold.

If a kitten could cry, her tears would fall,

She did not deserve what happened at all.

It could not have been Nala, eighteen and reclined,

Or Cookie Dough hissing at one not her kind.

Tanuki baby-sat little sister with glee,

Must have been Latte that made Bobbie flee.

Does Latte remember youth put in his place,

By a cat-punch from Tanuki onto his face.

Four fascinating tails for a bob-tail to toy,

Only Latte was annoyed by her joy.

Passive-aggressive Cookie; how about that? 
May have made Bobbie skat. 
Feminine feline gingerly snapped pride, 
Did the Jekyll and Hyde jellicle make Bobbie hide?

Bobbie is safe now from another attack,

When she is older and stronger she will go back.

For now she can rest assured regaining her cool,

Through human intervention she has time to retool.

Sleep little Bobbie, your confidence retain,

Your ball of silky fur unchanged remains. 

Dart you will again like a pinball, bumpers lit,

Over chairs and sofa, between our legs fit.

Take heart, little rascal, time heals all wounds,

Arise with the dawn from your tiny gloom.

Regenerate and prowl your feline story,

A new year tomorrow promises glory.  

December 31, 2018

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Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

My voice ends out of my mouth

My voice ends out of my mouth

Her clothes end when she puts them on

But my money goes a long way 

Want something done?

I ask, pay them first

But life has done what it wants from the start

Not asking my heart's desire

Without manager’s permission, do it myself

Pay the gardener for the grass

Doesn't sound good for long but

Sounds great before the words fall on the lawn

Unpublished, unheard

In my head on my page

Stroking myself before becoming absurd

Organize where allowed

What I want is what I need

Not all it has is for me

So if idiosyncratic, surprisingly easy

Keeps the needy away 

I fight whether or not it agrees

It is the way of life; the Tao Te Ching

Solo is what I sing

Harmony is what she brings

Unless coincidence

Useless the insistence

 Give assistance asked 

Gladly I would 

 Bothersome persistence bothers me  

More than the world

Opining pine for no one's agreement

What I do, I do for free

Thanks to Cecilie for the rewrite.

December 30, 2018

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                   Purchase "Unnatural Beauty;Poems from the Han Riverside" here.

Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.