Summer is easy up the river

Summer is easy up the river

riding with a south wind at my back

Sunny skies to tan my feet

until a wild wind smacks

Smacks the clouds

solid gray

Blows the storm on its way

When a whack

Pours on me

I won’t mind the revelry

Whisk me wide

Riverside

Quenching rain on me glide

Paint a tone poem symphony

Brisk me

Risk a drenching under thee

As a summer breeze lifts your skirt

and my hand fumbles

to caresses the river with poem

Here it come:

Spring rice harvested, a second season sown

Cut grass smells left tasty green

The path carpeted with fresh shavings

through which the bike makes parting sea  

Reminds this Moses why he escaped

from that opulent palace of obscurity

To a landscape of tranquility. 

It is easy

Breathe the water and see

The parched-stone limitations of opportunity

with the  loss of social affinity

in the heart of a revolutionary

Whichever way the wind deviates

Let me be

And if I fall asleep

Don’t wake me 

 July 13, 2019
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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Flamegold Rain Trees in Bloom

The river smiles to let me know

I am not alone, no place to go

For friends from far may come to show

Faster than a friend nearby

My lips licked rich on moistened edge

Seal my fate on slippery ledge

When downward pours the drowning sky

Dusk birds sweetly tweet arouse

Sun like a parasol laced with clouds

Raising the stakes, gambling allowed

Distinctive in the vast remain

Scoring points off pinball bumpers

As rain into a river thunders 

To the Strait from narrow passage strain

Blind man’s paradise described paraded

To my bed mate's distant window shaded

Quenches me and those who have waited

In endless dreams of musical streams

Sans second guesses on our benches

Bearing down on tightened wenches

Wave us through like dyke gate bream

Look what all the storm rain brought

Golden trees for tasks well fought

Blooming wild in swell rain caught

Plum rain lesson? water barrel

Outreached flames of heart and sound

Look at all the truth we found

No one here need aim the arrow

June 7, 2019

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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

WTC 911 Not America’s Tiananmen

WTC 911 was America’s Tiananmen

Stifling democracy

Clamping down militarily

One in the name of capitalism

The other in the name of China

One to keep the enemy in

The other to keep the enemy out

One to blame the Muslims

The other at a loss to explain

Both killed thousands of innocents

Both used the media for ignorance

Both seem like they don’t make sense

Both continue denying the truth

But that’s where the similarities stop

For Chinese economy is growing for the people

America’s in the hands of the two percent

America’s still blaming foreigners

Assage, Snowden, and Manning’s exposes

While free-speech goes into a coma

Americans in debt until they die

Addicted to opioids, addicted to power

While China shares its wealth with the workers

Obliterates poverty, builds public confidence

China, where the government controls business and religion

America, where business and religion control the government

China, where they work at improving the ecology

America, where global warming is denied

And the Taiwanese sit in between

The people cannot choose

Any side we live in tyranny of

The people will always lose

Neoliberal two-party ruse

Demagogues and populists of the KMT

Supporting unification haphazardly

Military CIA laissez-faire propping the DPP

Independence screwed  

June 3, 2019

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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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She’s In For Her Second Chemo

Some ladies go for bingo,

To salt caves therapeutic,

Cryogenic chambers of liquid nitrogen,

Aromatic holiday spa with masseuse beautific,

My baby goes for chemo.

I go for bike rides up the riverside,

Laps in the pool, a sauna room,

Language exchanges, English strangers,

And meals that make me drool,

But my baby goes for chemo.

Some ladies go to roadhouses,

For men who go down slow,

But the cranberry concoction,

Drips relentlessly without passion,

Risking bad reaction.

I am without my babe at home,

Nowhere to go, to be alone,

Or place I'd rather roam,

Hoping her pain won't show,

As she recovers from the blow.

I will bring her back, fatten her up,

Hand her a cup, and shut myself up,

Mother’s Day chicken Masala with mushrooms,

French onion soup, zucchini Parmesan,

While the cats she loves play on.

It's a calm peaceful morning,

Blue clouds and soft cool breeze.

Roosters crowing, birds are singing,

Bobbie kitten on the patio besides me,

And bugs are my only camaraderie.

May 4, 2019
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Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

Deaf, Dumb and Blind Boy

Little needing material possession

So there is not much to buy

There’s a humble way to go back home

So there I will go to try

A bicycle is transportation

Swimming time for concentration

A walk in the forest: recreation

To my children I must fly

And places that intrigue me

Not going will beleague me

Arousal warms my body

As the sunshine warms my hide

Food whatever is the cost

Pretentive violins are fiddling about

Music sears my ringing ears

Laughter calms my deepest fears

Only company evades me…

Friends are few and always lost

Gone the gang since teenage hood

Loneliness’ subtle scent of sadness

More or less my theme

With no requisite for making friends

I wander around in my dreams

Ever the apogee of my career

I'm introspective without self-pity

Spells of melancholy

Until my sweetheart’s voice surprises me

Where my emotions are spent

In my permanent tent

With rings of performing cats

And her clown of renown devout

As far as I can be

One thing pings my heart

Makes it rush out to me

Flippers and bumpers

My little zone in heaven

Dragging me out of hell

What material life can be

With games played alone for free

Regardless of the cost

I am my favorite boss

April 7, 2019

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

My 28th Anniversary Sonnet

The river rushes overgrown with moisture undertow;

Birds don’t dare to fly in there,
A canopy so free winds wayward overblown;

Butterflies strain, lizards stare.

Mountains fall, both big and small;

Dusted leaves caked with debris rust my true eyes tearfully,
Through hidden skies appalled;

All that’s born and greets the dawn dies eventually.

It is not for me to witness thee or dare to ask at all;

Observe, recline, wake and dine never with a doubt,
I am only here to love you, dear, and stand until I fall;

What cannot change me anywhere without,

Crash and burn from marathon miles, not my fashion style,

I live to see the river shores from both sides of your smile.

April 7, 2019
edited June 30, 2019

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