DUST

seasonal winds blow it over the gobi desert
the contaminated smog of beijing clings to it
gathering momentum across the yellow sea
it descends on the peninsular
like a choking glove
obscuring the mountains
veiling the cautious spring sun
dusting the innocently unfurling magnolia petals
covering everything in a thin layer of sand
outside in the street
the riot police are out in force
bussed into the city centre
in disproportionate numbers
skinny young men in navy uniforms
caps pulled down over crewcuts
trainers on their feet where boots should be
betraying something curiously amateurish about them
shields lined up
voices raised in unison
they go through their drill
buses with grilled windows
line the wide boulevard down to kwanghwamun
as far as the eye can see
this is the state response to citizen protests in sk
how it dispenses its democracy
more often than not these days
it is the korea-us 'free trade' agreement
as in 'no such thing as a free lunch'
and 'freedom is not free'
think of the opposite meaning of the official wording
and you will usually find its true sense
now that the endless multilateral talks have foundered
the us seems to have adopted a 'divide and conquer' policy
designed to bully smaller nations like korea
into signing dubious bilateral pacts...
a regiment sprints past in the opposite direction
grunting loudly
frightening families with small children
out for a sunday stroll in the veiled sunshine
are they just practising for the real thing?
suddenly a big group of anti-fta protesters jogs down the street
trying to get through to kwanghwamun
they are intercepted by a blockade of buses
zig-zagging bumper to bumper across the street
a thick helmeted blue line pushes back the protesters
fly-kicks and punches and bottles are thrown
the two sides incite each other
baying for blood
my heart is with the protesters
but i sympathise for the conscripts
this is the real thing alright
urban warfare right outside my window
a ring of buses now encircles kwanghwamun
cutting off the demonstrators from the spiritual centre of seoul
traffic is going nowhere
people wander out into the street to see what's up
a curious hospital patient attached to a drip tows his stand behind him
meanwhile quietly surveying the scene
the hammering man doesn't bad an eyelid
as he creaks through his perpetual motions

CIPHER

mr, mrs and miss communication
language torrent
vocal chord soundstream
dots and dashes
squiggles on a page
pixels on a screen
letters and words
pictograms and hieroglyphs
left to right
right to left
top-down
bottom-up
message in a bottle
bobs gently on the sea
fibre optic pulse
flashes across oceans
thoughts codified
a door to the mind unlocked
cipher applied
decryption attempted
scrambling and code-breaking underway
message open to interpretation
intention wide open to misinterpretation
inherent ambiguity
disambiguation difficult
who is responsible?
who is culpable?
speaker or listener?
writer or reader?
the success of the communication
is the response you get
i show you the moon
but you look only at my finger

FOREST

evening in the forest
calm tutonic twilight
the crunch of needles underfoot
the northern lights and casseiopia overhead
the shrill symphonies of blackbirds mark out territory
a woodpecker taps
insects buzz lazily
the scent of pine fills my nostrils
cold misty fingers snake around trees
leaves rustle gently in the breeze
mossy logs slowly decay like gangrenous corpses
how did i get here?
i don't remember
why have i come?
i don't know
have i been here before?
it all seems so familiar
the trail weaves onwards
the path forks right and left
take a left
it forks again
take a right
now i am lost
like theseus in the maze
without his ball of thread
but i plough on
silence descends
all is still
darkness comes

PEARL

sinking
slowly
down
down
five
ten
twenty
fathoms
deep
weightless feeling
cool water wraps its tentacles around me
light slowly dims
bubbles rise to the surface
sounds swell, echo and boom
descending
deeper
down
down
seaweeds brush
a strange-looking wrasse casts a suspicious fish-eye
clown fish play in the arms of a deadly anenome
a startled octopus propels itself through a narrow rocky crevice
i bounce gently on the seabed
with a slight thud
skates skim
seahorses float placidly by
a rusty brown hulk slowly hoves into view
cannons still mounted on its boughs
i peer cautiously inside
broken crockery litters the floor
platters for the ghosts of drowned sailors
i shiver and look away
then i see it
a tiny silver pearl
lying in the open palm of a large clam
i reach down and scoop it up
grasp it tightly in my fist
kick hard
swimming upwards
towards the dim milky light
spreading down
from the surface of the calm water

ANGER

aggression
anger
wrath
ire
fury
one of the seven deadly sins
a wise buddhist monk once told me
'when a person becomes angry they lose my respect'
whenever i lose my temper with hannah e
terrible pangs of remorse bite
is this the role model i want my little girl to follow?
'anger management' courses are all the rage
ha! ha! what a wit!
anger is self-destructive
anger destroys others
bad karma
i once knew a woman who exuded it from every pore
she dragged everyone around her into a maelstrom of ill feeling
if you angry with yourself
give yourself a break
if you angry with someone else
give them a break too
if you angry with life
you only got one so you better start living it, baybee!
i think i am slowly learning to control it
i am not the hot-head of my youth
not the child who repeatedly smashed a watch
a christmas present from my grandmother (bless her soul)
against my bedroom wall
no longer the angry young man in the basque country
who screamed abuse at a footballer from the other team
who was calling for an unwarranted foul
anger ended the life of john lennon
anger created dunblane and columbine
and all the other unspeakable tragedies
i get angry when i am late
(what is a few minutes in a thousand years?)
i get angry when i am unfairly criticised
(it ain't me they are criticising, it's my inflated ego)
i get angry when i see injustice
(how is anger going to solve the problem?)
an eye for an eye
a tooth for a tooth
best recipe for ceaseless bloodletting i ever heard
channel your anger into positive energy and compassion
it is the only way

BLOGLESSNESS

this was the week i nearly drowned
floating down five fathoms deep
through the watery world of cephalopod and crustacean
flame almost extinguished
crushed under the weight of expectation
some of it self-imposed
some of it imposed upon me by others
pushed this way and that by commitments
battered by waves of resentful victims
their feathers ruffled like sulking birds of paradise
sleep-starved and yawning
i dragged myself from my troubled reveries
stumbled and tripped
fell by the wayside and hauled myself back to my feet
persevered
how can mindfulness be cultivated i wonder
when the mind has almost been erased?
sometimes the art of living becomes simply the art of not dying
the art of carrying on
the art of enduring
the art of self-affirmation
the trick of seeing god in small things
the person who treated me for coffee
the people who took the time to email me
to let me know that i had made a small difference
dear blog
i regret not having the will or energy
to sign in or update you
this was the week time sped up and stood still
love
fireseed

REWRITING HISTORY

evening seeds
have you ever imagined what the world would be like
had history taken a different turn?
there was a film a while back that played on this concept
it was called 'sliding doors'
gwynny paltrow was in it
what might be the consequence of slipping through the gap
just before the jaws snap shut
instead of having to wait for the next train?
each day
each one of us
lives out this fateful game
hour by hour
minute by minute
second by second
many of the choices are trivial
do i eat lunch al desko or pop out for some kimbap?
do i skip lunch completely?
sometimes the correct choice is critical
which exit do i take to escape the burning building?
but very often the consequences are unclear
i have reached clearing x in the forest
i can choose between path y and path z
which do i select and why?
around the next bend of path y
a wild boar could be lurking ready to gore me
path z may lead to an aladdin's cave of glittering treasure
who knows?
life is full of nebulous clearings and pathways through the deep forest
routes up the steep mountain
gut instinct is often our only guide
unless we hand our fates over to a roll of the dice
yes
no
maybe
roll again
what if?
what if jesus had been the son of an aristo rather than a carpenter
or what if he had not died to save our sins but lived to a ripe old age?
what if siddhartha had dismissed his ridiculous thoughts of heroism
and lived out his comfortable existence within the pampered confines of his palace walls?
what if old arch-duke franz ferdinand had not been assassinated by a serbian sniper?
if hitler had not insisted on fighting the battle of stalingrad?
what if the americans had resisted the temptation
to drop a couple of atomic bombs on japan?
what would the consequences have been for world affairs?
what if mccartney had decided not to go to the woolton village fate one summer's day in 1956
or lennon had gone down with the flu?
what kind of music would we be listening to now?
what if my parents had never met?
or had a bitter falling out over a petty matter before tying the knot?
what if neither internet nor blog had been invented
and we could only meet in the non-virtual world?
what if the art of living was never updated again
but atrophied
a time capsule relic from the early 21st century?
what if?

DREAMCHILD

hannah elisabeth
oh dreamchild in my head
loved more than you can imagine
tiny diamond
little wax egg
tiny glow-worm shining in the dark
heavenly angel
precious gift of god
can i ever forget the day we finally met?
when the nurse raised you high
kicking and hollering
a slippery pink worm
choking as the first gasps of air filled your tiny lungs
how can i describe the first time i held you in my arms
my first-born dreamchild
when time contracted and stood still
wrapped up in a blanket
you blinked and squinted into the light
taking in your bright shiny new world
i watch again in awe
as your little lips greedily suck up your mother's milk
i turn the hourglass upside-down
and picture you lying on your back
determinedly trying to roll over onto your tummy
time and time again
i will you to succeed
until one day you do it
i turn the hourglass upside-down once again
now i grimace at the dog ears you are inflicting on my library
as you stand at the bookcase
pulling books one by one from the shelves
we clap as you totter forward unassisted for the first time
like in some old testament miracle
i marvel at your first words
your first 'i love you daddy'
your first song
which i commit to tape
for the song i wrote in your honour
the hour-glass keeps turning
more and more quickly
the sand accelerating through the narrow aperture
now you take the different tenses
the grammar and the lexis
in your stride
though english is not your first language
oh adored daughter of mine
you are a child of two races spanning the globe
the yang of the east meeting the yin of the west
i often think you look like neither of your parents
though your features seem more western than eastern to me
then i will watch you sleeping
and suddenly see your mum
or momentarily catch myself in the mirror
and see you staring back at me like a ghost
i know our relationship can be fractious
sometimes you hate it when i tease you
i get annoyed when you litter the floor with debris
we have never managed to develop the close bond
that you have with your mother
often i disappear for long days
from dawn to dusk
or i abandon you
to selfishly fly off to some unimagined foreign location
but dreamchild
remember that you are always in my thoughts
and that i will always be here for you

MOON

tonight is daeboreum
the night of the great full moon
above our roof garden
the great moon floats high in the firmament
a bright electric all-seeing eye
nestling in its socket of swirling cloud
illuminating terra firma...
the moon in june
honeymoon
under the moon of love
sex may be taboo
but romance is endlessly encouraged
where would the world of pop be without its soppy ballads?
the source of a steady stream of tedious brain-rot
spouting from the tv and radio
'i luv ya, baby
and if ya will only be mine
we will both live happily ever after'
most of us want to believe this stuff
the stuff of fairytales
love at first sight
the one true soulmate
mr or mrs right
our perfect match
it's a convenient lie
that devotion to one person can bring us complete happiness and fulfilment
till death do us part
but just one more illusion
yet another example of the state-sanctioned thought control
that distracts our minds from other less trivial agendas
for if all we are concerned about is 'the moon in june'
what interest have we in other matters?
such as spiritual concerns
the natural world
or those individuals who lie beyond the immediate orbit of 'our loved ones'
the 'rivals, competitors, foreigners, strangers and enemies'
who make up the other 99.999999% of the human race?

OF MICE AND MEN

'life is what happens to you
while you're busy making other plans'
as john lennon once sang
life is messy
do we have control over our destiny
or are we mere playthings in the hands of fate?
we fill up our diaries
make neat entries in our calendars
map out our futures
then watch helpless
as our plans disintegrate
those best laid plans of mice and men
like sailors whose ship is blown off course in a storm
we find ourselves washed up on strange islands
where beautiful mermaids call
we enter uncharted territory
if fortune favours us we might have a compass to guide us
otherwise we must navigate by the stars
or draw our own charts
but real life always sabotages the human mind's attempt
to put things into neat little boxes
to categorise
to call it this or that
good or bad
black or white
love or hate
for these are not absolutes
but products of our own personal values
is the glass half full or half empty?
is this a problem or an opportunity?
was he a hero or a villain?
did i narrowly miss the bus or am i early for the next one?
are you a christian, a buddhist or a muslim?
a believer or a scecptic?
an atheist or an agnostic?
if it was as simple as that
what need would there be for an art of living?

REMEMBRANCE

today is samil jeol in sk
a national holiday commemorating the 'march 1st movement'
the nationwide independence movement which took place in 1919
in protest against Japan's colonisation
and was violently suppressed
the taegukgi has been unfurled
flying in the breeze above the streets of the country
the taeguk in the centre of the flag represents the origin of all things in the universe
the red yin and the blue yang merge into one against a pure white backround
a continuous movement within infinity
four trigrams are arranged around the yin-yang circle
representing heaven, earth, sun and moon
spring, summer, autumn and winter
east, west, south and north
virtue, justice, courtesy and knowledge or wisdom
a flag full of elemental meaning
a flag to be proud of
but march 1st raises a more personal ghost from the past
for today was also the birthday of my nan
my dad's mother
the only grandparent who i had much time to get to know
nan was a true twentieth century girl
born in 1903, the year the wright brothers flew the first aircraft
she died nearly a century later in 1995
the internet established
by that time the world had changed out of all recognition
politically, economically, technologically...
nan and i were kindred spirits
we had a kind of special empathy
enjoyed each other's company
every time i looked at her
she would smile at me
and i would look away shyly
i was her blue-eyed boy
i would spend large chunks of my half-term school holidays
staying with her in her old house
with its larder and its high beds and its porcelain bath and washbasin
we would play endless games of scrabble and chinese chequers
eat ham sandwiches and slices of cake
drink endless cups of delicious tea
which left little leaves in the bottom of the cup
nan's house was a safe refuge from the misery of school
she would tell me the same funny stories
about when i was little
the time aunty gladys and us
were chased around birmingham botanical gardens
by some over-aggressive peacocks
my favourite tale was the one where nan and i met a friend of hers in the street
and she was telling the friend about me passing the eleven plus
getting a place at grammar school
'he's quite clever, you know' said nan
'why did you tell that lady i'm quite clever?' i apparently asked afterwards
'well, you are quite clever' said nan
'no, i'm not, i'm very clever!' i replied...
i wrote i song about nan after she died
it was called oldest friend

as she lay there on a hospital bed
and i couldn't be there
all those stories, kind words
put a lump in my throat
but i couldn't cry
when the phonecall came
to say she'd passed away
home to england i flew
and the cherry tree blossom was falling on the green grass
so we followed the hearse
through the streets to the church
and the world just carried on shouting
and four men in black coats wheeled a small wooden box inside
with her inside
oh those ancient christian words
so often heard
but not felt like those today
an extraordinary lady who lived such an ordinary life
and they lowered her down
to a hole in the ground
and covered her over with earth
and the person who cared about everything i did was gone
oh she was gone
now there's no going back
to those untroubled days
to the house where i felt so safe
for now i know too much about this cruel world and its ways