Poems By Simon Beechinor

Listen to: A View of Kwai Chung Eastward of the Pearl River lies Kwai Chung, At the junction of North, South, East and West, Where cargo ships, towering cranes and busy quays   Give substance to global trade's grand purpose,  As well-wrought verse to our language lends. Container ships deep-laden with cargo, Land and lift their goods in perfect order, And by their arrivals and departures, Give cadence to our ambitious trade,  Which, like the poet's metered word, does flow.  I see such raw beauty and hope unveiled, Amid that storied realm of concrete and steel.  My dreams, the ancient traders’ dreams unchanged, To thrive in the flood of trade’s rubato, And live as sweetly as the poem lives.

Listen to: Banzai You Bastards! That night we heard the echoes of his homeland, the melancholic gospels of the valleys, that brought fair peace to his impassioned mind, and purpose born in hellish purgatory. Without that choral splendour then and now, He felt his anger rise to rage and burn, at the trauma and injustice suffered, by those unfree yet undefeated men. Those righteous hymns and blessed songs lent strength to his endurance in his slavery; from the music of his childhood sprang hope in Nippon's fetid mines at Kinkaseki. Hope gave him the grace to bear the cruel scars, shattered mind and unseen wounds poorly healed, the damage of disease and foul neglect. ‘Keep Going The Spirit that Kept Us Going’. Now, when he wrote with such righteous fury across the page his treasured words to me, I understood the fearful toll imposed on him; the brutal cost of his memory. His words to me are written clear: ‘None of us should forget! Jack Edwards, Prisoner 159.’

Listen to: A Sonnet for Speedy I've blighted many anxious lives today, For we must close as Asian markets crash. A softly-spoken older man did weep In grief and anguish at my futile words, For fear and terror stalked him as a child As he fled at first from the Rising Sun, And then the fevered chaos of Mao's Red Guard. Yet he was young and had, with luck, survived, But now he's terror-struck once more. He fears Empty days amid his Mong Kok high-rise, And pleads in tears for answers I can't give, 'Where will I go each day? What will I do? My life is here among you, my friends, Will you allow me to work here without pay?'

Listen to: Portrait of a Ship's Captain There’s a strong breeze blowing from the west, Bringing salt air laden with the smells of fuel oil, Pollution and cooking across Victoria Harbour. I can see the barges rolling heavily beside the anchored ships, Their loads swinging wildly beneath the slewing derricks. I’ve dragged him from the bar in the seamen’s mission, And we're waiting for a launch back to the ship, He’s greeting evening strollers like long-lost friends, And banging on about me being a 'bloody farmer', I like him, he's a good seaman, but he's hard work. Now he’s sobering up, I can stand and watch him. He runs a hand over his shaven, close-cropped head, His bleary-eyes and face mottled by years of alcohol, Make his squat features look pig-ugly and brutish, His nose is as red as a ship's port side-light. He’s an old Asia hand, and once-vibrant coloured Blue and red dragon tattoos curl around his thick arms, With fading Chinese characters on his fore

Listen to: Portrait of a strangely-dressed man The range of jade-green peaks unfolded before me Towards a horizon shrouded by a curtain of haze. The mist caught the morning sun in a fleeting rainbow, To gild the stone village homes in the valley below. He emerged from the bush, shifting uncomfortably From one foot to another, brushing off some grass, Tugging at his cheap, unfamiliar polyester suit, Smoothing wrinkles, giving the lie to his anxiety. Beneath his straight dark hair, fear and uncertainty Clouded his pale, angular face. I greeted him, smiling; He bowed, uncomprehending and hesitant, incongruous In his dark suit, days-old white shirt and narrow black tie. He made a futile effort to clean his plastic ‘city’ shoes, Keeping his black briefcase beside him, like a child’s toy, Expectant, as if hoping to bag a seat on a crowded train. We stood staring at one another, neither posing a threat. I pointed to the sea and the mainland’s far distant hills, He smiled in guilt and waved a

Listen to: Batman and Robin Mine is a tale of wonders untold, From Ko Tong Ha Yeung in China, Of two young knights, fearless and bold Named Batman and Robin Boy Wonder,   Long before the Penguin and Joker, Batman mauled the banded krait, Red-necked keelback and hooded cobra, Oh, how that brave knight could fight! Robin ne'er feared the stinging viper, The python, foul millipede or bullfrog, He shed no childish tears when bitten,  On the bum, by Fang, the village dog. But holy pawpaws, I must be mistaken, That was their loving mum, my wife - not them! Who cares? Not one of them was shaken,  So, all three are my superheroes, then!