Her hair was as black as a starling's tail,
Her cheeks as pale as a swan,
Her eyes, like two slim moonstones, glowed
And her mouth was the Holy Grail.
On The Death Of My Father
My brain has turned to ash, and yes,
My mouth is dust,
And love is grief, and death is
But the loss of trust;
The black-haired girls are graceful, like gazelles,
Their haughty stares would strike a ‘lao wai' blind,
As they cruise on through streets, where rubbish spills,
Ignoring all, the poverty, the slime.
No-Name The Cat
The cat and I stare at the room
No-name the cat, the cat and I,
She stares at me, I at the gloom
The house lies still as a vaulted tomb.
Father & Son
There is the family photograph
That is your father’s face,
There is your father’s father
Grey-gathering years apace;
A Lover's Verse
A sylph is passing my threshold stair,
Drifting her fragrance through the vine,
Promising dreams of a never-could-be
From the loss and the lapse of a former time.