J H Martin is from London, England, but has no fixed abode. His writing has appeared in a number of places in Asia, Europe and the Americas.
Bare Concrete Blue
Come on now son
Let’s beat away time
With the sole of this boot
And sing us a song
To shake off these dusty thoughts
For how many years
Can these months truly last?
For all of these memories
And all of their longing
To feel what they felt
Are no more than bare trees
To this cold winter blue
For now
The ancient has gone
And the new quickly fades
No matter how many buildings
We may like to
Construct from this world
So let us just walk then
My old shadow and me
Through these concrete dream streets
And these phantom filled crowds
For any true hope is not here
But beyond that clear frosted sky
In those dead palaces of silver
In that burning river of gold
Spring Bamboo Rain
Sundial
Otter
And blue dragonfly
None of them
Chide this grey monkey
For watching the first rain
Of Spring Festival fall
Far away from that kingdom
And its blackened heart
I stand and I smoke
Unable to move
Watching my thoughts drift on outwards
With the ripples on this pond
Their burning paper
And their pure white crane wings
Still craving
Still longing
For even the faintest echo
From that bamboo dream village
And her bell-like flute