So, I've finished my PhD in Chinese. I've submitted it, done my defence, and after a few minor edits over the next few weeks, I'll be a Doctor of Rambling Somewhat Coherently about my field of expertise.
But it's really only a beginning for me. I'm a late starter, and have lots to do. After the edits, I've got some translation work to do, technical manuals, from English TO Chinese. Then looking for work, doing international business, there's lots of things on my plate.
It keeps coming under my door.
I can't let the poetry, or the wonderful words of here, enter for a week or so, they distract me from the mission.
When this draft is complete, I will write some poems, look to the Shaolin masters for training, and breathe freely until the next mission presents itself.
Silas out
My friend said something
about poetry
‘it was words singing’, something like
‘emotive association’,
but that was a glance of cleavage past,
a smile and fiddle of sandal,
the way
her golden skin
shined with sweat till
it dropped,
right in the dark valley
of her frilly green
and orange dress,
cool and
open-topped,
as if to let the air in
for a slow
As many fibres in those eyes have died,
and even though your cells are dull and dry;
despite the fact those data chips are fried,
.....remember that your credit is still high,
and if you wish, for a discounted fee
you can recharge your dwindling energy,
upgrade those mental skills to two point three
and be the system you were meant to be!
Or if you want to gain a few more creds,
take on a few more psyches for the ride!
There's four fine people with songs in their chests:
The first man, on the stairs,
open-throats a Spanish hymn,
pacing it back and forth to the roof
but wishing it further.
The second man stumbles,
blues chords tangling in a white beard.
With his arms down low,
he's looking for the key to the storeroom.
The third fine person has long legs
and a purple dress,
and she hums past a song
as I
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