Author: Patrick Jennings

I travel, when I can. Write, when inspired. Photograph, where there's beauty. Oh, and I play a decent didjiridu.

Black Tusk

I never tire of Black Tusk
Regal spire
Grand obelisk
Born of fire

In the cool calm morning
I relax
Let my thoughts drift
On the clear water

They lap lightly
On the shores of consciousness

Sometimes I sit and think about
The men hist’ry treats with greatness
Often with the best intentions
They philosophize false witness

They script the creeds
Direct the deeds
They lead a people
To their fate

Or is it ‘fate’ created?

In a haze of incense
The pilgrims
And the tourists
Come

To Tibet
In the heart of Beijing
It’s so decreed
By The Party

There are places
Of peace
Of tranquility

Places where we simply
Are

Places where we simply
Be

Fascinating
How often I find
Places of worship there

“Take my picture!”

She’d seen my camera
A foreigner with a camera

“Take my picture!”

Happily, I oblige
Line her up with the street
The cyclist, passing by

Four wheels
Four cylinders
Four windows
All rolled down

At eighty
Kilometers per hour
4-80 air conditioning

Abandoned
Grey and withering
Under a hot blue sky

First glass
Now wood
And the grass grows high

The Guinness is expensive
But the house lager is not
The bar maids all pretty
In pleated skirts and knee socks

I come for my friends
For the best band in the town
For the wood and the charm
The best Après around

Damn seagulls…