Saturday, 2 January 2021

yuan: lit endeavours -2jan2021

 1. got 18 acceptances in october, 17 in november, & 12 in december last year by various kinds of literary outlets, including such as belief anthology,  fortnightly review, maryland lit rev, review americana and the pinch journal.  

2. in october, Sound of USA [美洲文化之声 国际传媒网] published 7 of my chinese poems (again) at;  in novermber, 《麒麟诗刊》accepted (and published on 1 jan 2021) two of my chinese poems; moreover, three weixin or wechat jounrals, namely 海外文学、《北极星新文学》& 《华文现代诗》, each featured a number of my chinese poems. 

3. in october, finished translating into english zhang xinyue's chinese book 《心灵成长:丰盛篇〉, which is probably my last paid intelectual work, to be published shortly in china.

4. on 20 october, won the "wordview 2020" prize for reading my poem 'standing still against the pandemic,' given by poetry archive now [].

5. in november, finished proofreading the e.galley of my nineth chapbook, to be published soon by a california-based press.

6. on 11 december, received notificatin from DMQ Review aabout their official nomination of my poem, “Native Landscaping,” for an annual Pushcart Prize. this is the 11th time for me to be nominated for the same prize. 

7. in december, finished proofreading my mom's memoirs titled  平凡人生, 平凡故事》 ('an ordinary life, an ordinary story,' roughly about 23,700 character-long), which were far better narrated/written than i have anticipated; some sentences are even poetic! i am to post it both here and on my chinese site, to celebrate her 80th birthday in a couple of weeks.

8. on 27 december, inspired to resume writing my only chinese  non-fiction book 温哥华情笺called  (Letters from Vancouver), a 176,000 character-long book of memoires, which i wrote and never meant to continue after putting down my pen 20 years ago. orginally intended to be a quite ambitious literary project, the book has been written in a highly experimental hybrid style (or what i call 'epistolary-diary').  all thanks to a female highschoolmate who laboured together with me on a forest farm by the yangtse river for more than 2 years while receiving 're-education' between 1974 and 1977 during the cultural revolution, i hit upon the idea of taking up the pen again on the morning. 

9. ever since i began to write poetry in english in late 2004, i have found i have two creative weaknesses: one is my failure to write (especially longer) narrative poems -- to me, that subgenre is not for poetry authors, but for story tellers); the other is my inability to write love poems, probably because i am too old for this subgenre or have too little inspiring experience of it. nevertheless, in the past year, i have surprisingly written 12 pieces in english, and 7 in chinese, all for one chinese senior. 

a lot has been going on, and i hope to keep writing...

Thursday, 1 October 2020

changming: lit endeavors - oct 1

 1. got 21 acceptances in july, 16 in august, & 14 in september, including such as australian poetry journal, los angeles review of los angeles, slyce, canadian lit, poetry archive now!, windsor review, hitchlit review and cabalt review. 

2. in july, Sound of USA [美洲文化之声 国际传媒网] published 4 of my chinese poems at in mid-sept, WePoetry 【海外詩粹】featured 14 of my selected poems in both engish and chinese at much to my delight, i have recently had as many as ten poems showcased in the highly prestigious hk-based (translation) journal Renditions [译丛], which is believed to be the main window to take a look at the supposedly 'best' chinese literary works. 

although another two mainland-based chinese online journals published my chinese poems, they later removed my work from their sites because it failed to be voted/selected for inclusion in their paper-based versions. no matter how i have tried, my poems, either written originally in chinese or translated (from my best accepted english ones) into chinese, are not appreciated at all by chinese editors as a rule. this fact sometimes makes me feel no longer confident about my writings in chinese. while i have been wondering about why editors/magazines based in mainland china never like my chinese poems, i find it quite comforting that my chinese poems have been published in first-rate chinese magazines based in hong kong, taiwan, singapore, macau as well as other parts of the world. 

3. accepted the offer from a california-based press to publish my 9th chapbook, tentatively titled 'whale's whispers', later next spring. 

4. still waiting for a highly possible contracted translation job: 3 books, now reduced to 1, to be translated from chinese into english by the end of this year, which will be published not by my press this time, but by their followers at minimum cost early next year. nevertheless, i doubt they (the create abundance group, now known as golden touch) are serious enough: for the past 3 to 4 years, they have 'hooked' me up with 4 different literary projects, but after i went through much trouble and even finished the preparatory stages, they simply gave me no follow-ups. 

i often feel very very lousy about how 'bad' some people in the literary circle can be, in both the english and chinese speaking worlds. 

Saturday, 11 July 2020

[archived poems by yuan: 2018-1©]

2018, 7, 16 [monday]

A Happy Life

Is, perforce
A healthy and
Heartfelt one from which
You have long since learned

To make light of the darkest

Present moment while
Anticipating another nice surprise
Falling upon you
Anytime tomorrow

Flappy Mephlapperson

Like that tracking device
          Tied on your fluffy back is my soul
        A chip implanted deep
          Into yours. What keeps us
Migrating from country to country
  Without a passport, from day to day
    Without a visa is our integrated soul
Trying to find its way to our ultimate home
In the outer space beyond our cuckooish reality

In the outer space beyond our cuckooish reality
Trying to find its wat to our ultimate home
     Without a visa is our integrated soul
   Without a passport, from day to day
Migrating from country to country
          Into yours. What keeps us
        Is a chip implanted deep
             Tied on your fluffy back is my soul
Like that tracking device

The Higher the Climb, the Harder the Fall

Elevated far
Higher up
Above the tallest god
In the ninth sky

    Our mind has now finally began to fall

Falling low
So much lower
Even than our body
On earth


Containing all our
Genetics, spiritual and
Physiological, each cell is
A self in its own right, and

Has an independent

Lifespan, nurtured with plenty of
Earthly elements. Each of us is a unity
Of as many selves as countless cells, as
Illustrated in a textbook of cellular biology


With withered grasses from epics
Sticks from philosophy
Feathers from contemporary art

We are all busy building nests of meaning
So our souls could settle there
High up as if on Ygdrasil

At the Earthset

As the Earth sets
    With all its satellites
Its bluish reflections are dispersed
    Into the darkness of light

And so is every colony
Of human civilization


Every wound heals in time
But I keep mine always open
Not because I fear the scar

But because my soul needs
To get some sunlight
Especially on a rainy day

Metaphor Updated

Each poem is a cyber space
Full of informative possibilities
    Non-linear, irrational
Ready to overwhelm one
With spontaneous overflows of
Unidentifiable consciousness


A comet
Striking across the earth
On a starry midsummer night

A whim
Flying from a human mind
Bent low in seasonal insomnia

Houyi’s arrow
Shooting towards the sun
From the bank of the Wei River, while

Some clouds
Sailing right above the moon
Like snow geese migrating over the artic

Two Halves Make More Than One

Half angel and half demon
Make more than a woman

Half gentleman and half animal
Make more than a man

Half giving and half gaining
Make more than a family

Half feeling and half ignorance
Make more than a happy life

Half wake and half dream
Make more than a lifetime

Soliloquy on Being Solitary

What a soul
You’ve got!:


But have you found
Your other half yet?

God knows I just cannot
Even someone
To think of, let alone a mate
To share my pasts or futures

Epiphany on Meaning

Oftentimes I find meaning has long been exhausted
But once I spotted a human construction site which,

Abandoned near a mountain, has become a natural
Monument. Vines crawling rampantly everywhere

As if from written literature. Birds try to colonize
The area by building nests with as many sticks, feathers and

Grasses as forlorn words. At the centre is a blood-colored
Pool of water, full of rotten corpses of white snow geese

Far away, almost on the other side of the world is
A tremendous iceberg of plastics growing every second

To form the largest continent on earth. Had each
Dinosaur been a bloated meme, it would have evolved

Into a complete statement of politics, either today
Or tomorrow. Like the mind, like the poem

On a Scale from 0 to 10

Do you think you can attain happiness?

To which degree do you know, respect and love yourself?

Do you agree your pain, disappointment and failure do exist?

How important is meaning to you?


In my quiet winter block, snow is falling
To cover every footprint, smoothing every sharp corner
Wrapping every skeletal plant, but the walled air

Is thickening with loud sounds. Head feels
Hollow. Even hollower is my rented room
Watching the cold flame burning artificially

In the fireplace, I find no one to talk to
Even to think of. Most people I know have
All vanished. Too much attachment is

Too hard for me. I seem to hear echoes of
Holiday greetings from unknown sources
Opening the fridge, I hesitate a long time

About what to heat for my last supper. Yes
As a cockroach crawls as fast as light itself
I am ready to say farewell to you, dear all


Elsewhere bears charge downhill
Trampling crops in the fields. How
They dance and destroy wildly
In the shadow of a crisis
On the headlines seems as if to
Into my heart some unknown terror
Capitualation. In fact, I watch
You vacuuming the carpet when
A few tiny ants are sucked in
Around your feet, how you paid
No attention to them there, and
I hoped to forget the connection
Between the market and the carpet
In the muted rhythm of a vacuum
And wanted it this way
Though only in imagination

Like Father, Unlike Daughter

A lost and found photo of George’s as a toddler
Shows Kate has picked up more genes from him
Than from his wife (or, his almost 100%
Chinese genes are stronger than her 70%
Korean ones). However, Kate is not like
Her father, who began to speak, both articulately
And meaningfully, around age one, while she,
Conceived and born deep in Sillicon Valley
Is so confused like an unstable form of AI
Her innermost chip does not know which
Syllables to pick up at home. Perhaps only
When she grows old enough for preschool
Will she be able to follow a systematic trend
And become a subject of the Empire of English?

Platonic Parody

When light finally penetrates the cave
With myriad quanta of enlightenment, are
The shadows actually the artificial projections
Of darkness on the wall, or the congenital
Deformities of our own vision in the mind?

Were light a liquid or something else, it may
Splash all over us according to the law
Of spiritual physics, but for now, we are all
Entangled with words, or ideas of idea on earth

How Transience Trespasses

The tender reach of snowflakes
Kissing the landscape with their entire
Bodies – what were left of their hearts

They embrace each sound
With a crystalized melody from above
In a way they fly with my thought
But also embrace my voice

However, the season
Will forget us, and
Do so all in wet, far beyond
A dying vision. Feel sorry

For me?

2018, 5, 10 [Thursday]

Backwards Day
While walking backwards as a physical therapy for my back, I sometimes hear people say…

Good exercise!
Remind you are walking backwards!
What’s this for?

New trend, eh?
Watch out!
On your right!
Happy backwards day!

Sorry, my dog gets confused!
[But I am sure where I am going]

You Stay, I Go

Time is the only locale
Permanently set in the middle of
Cosmic consciousness

A vast invisible rock
Sitting right there in stillness
While each of us passes by

Essence of Life

All the pasts are just memory
All the futures are but imagination

Except the present moment
The true concurrent story

The only reality that is taking place outside
Your body to fill in the blank in your mind

The Car Running on the Freeway

The rear mirror is so much smaller
Because what has already passed is
Never going to be a traffic hazard

But the wind shield must perforce
Be wide and large enough to look ahead
Far into the destination of future

Whereas the views on the two sides
Are as irrelevant to the driver
As the stars and clouds in the sky

Dog vs Horse

To live a happy life
Is to tame a horse
By constantly accommodating it

Rather than to imitate a dog
Running around, eager
To please its master

Rocket Diameter and Horse Butt

The width of a horse butt
Determined that of a roman
Chariot, which in turn determined
    The standard distance

Between two rails, which again
Determined the width of a tunnel, which has
Ever since determined the diameter of a rocket
    For a space shuttle just newly determined, which

All Roads Lead to Your Innerself

Unlike Narcissus getting himself drowned
While lost in his own beauty reflected in the water
You will live happily ever after, once

You put aside your clothes, masks, shadows
And your reflections, shake off your pretentiousness
Forget your other half, your children, your car

Your house, but just stop to stay still, accept the flowers
Your inner being collects for you on the Valentine’s
Day, and falls in love with your most authentic selfhood

Hide & Seek

Just a few decades before
They all hid their souls behind
Printed words, between fading lines
Beyond the margins of memories
Seeking them turned out more a matter
Of death than an enjoyable game

Now they’ve resurrected in the cyberspace
Their bodies reappearing on the stage
As a virtual reality, their inner beings surfing
Along a new surge of adrenaline, while my selfhood
Gets drowned in a swirl as the dead observe me
Lingering on at the edge of a black hole


Is more than one word, where (or
When) ‘one’ is sandwiched

Between two wall-like ‘l’s

Driven (or followed)
By a vowel of reason

The Tourist

Is a postman of last century
Visiting one household after another
Trying to deliver a message enveloped
    At each threshold


Those birds are pecking deep
Into my front yard, beaking out
Each worm, enjoying their delicious
Intake – they are so happy

I wanted to be one of them
Even if it’s only in my fantasy

From behind the window, I found
No human disturbance outside, except
The peaceful lawn being destroyed
As if by an alien fleet of bombers

My Son’s Voice

Ever since my son became a father
In his own right, his voice seems to
Have broken again: rather than look
At me with his whites, turn a deaf ear
To me, ready to jump away from my
Presence as if his tail were trodden
Breathe in and out deliberately aloud
Give me an ugly face, he now speaks
In a more controlled tone, which sounds
Lower, softer, even tenderer. I know how
It has taken a whole fatherhood for me to
Speak like this to my father, who is now
No longer able to hear, no matter how loud
I yell or sing towards his otherworldly ears

The Collaboration

Whether made of wood, bamboo
Or metal, we go intimately
Like a pair of chopsticks

Together we pick up
A slippery dumpling, or throw away
A leaf far from fresh

Sometimes in a parallel position, other
Times with a slight angle between, but
Always working together in duo

To taste every dish
On the one and
The same table

Blue Hour

In the blue hour the words
Become more and more clear (or
Blurry, invisible until lost in full
Darkness, (or glaring in morning glows

Depending on the beginning), or
The ending of the day), you can squeeze
Meaning out of the damp pages, so meaning
Gathers, (trickling into the pool of consciousness

(In the blue hour, the light is getting weaker)
Just when I come to understand what’s
Behind the words), what’s between
Dawn and dust

Rocky Calls

Far away. Everyone
Yells aloud: go and

They burst out of their own presence
Like the air from a broken balloon

While I get stuck here, lost
Among muted consonants


On a robust trunk
From the roots of the same apple tree
I reach out my yellowish branch
Full of peach blossoms

I am not a grotesque, but a GMO
Like a chip embedded deep
Within my bloated brain


While sorting out relics in the little attic
Of his heart, I happened to see a letter
Written in red, which I recognised to be
The handwriting of his first girl friend

Part of him has never been living with me
The most precious relic of his early manhood
That has changed his daily habits, for instance
He never share a pear with me

Man Is the Only Animal
That Blushes. Or Needs To. – Mark Twain

Or that can remain on friendly terms, says Samuel
Butler, with the victims he intends to eat until he
Eats them; that shows interest in the sex lives of

Other animals; that is able to invent a story and
Spread it over time and space; that insists on its
Uniqueness, superiority and omniscience; that

Refrains from farting or fucking in the wild open; that
Tries to live not only in the moment, but also among
The pasts and futures; that is capable of making medicines

Machines and machinations; that can readily convert
Himself from one ism to another; that enjoys playing
Words along this line as Nelson in his ‘Funny Bird Sex.’

Painting Lesson

Were I a student of art
I would paint an image

A surreal vision. Were
I a student of art

I would portray emotions
Like melancholy, like ecstasy

Returning to my home among shapes
Colors and lines as in nature

I would keep this picture with
Hundreds of strokes on the canvas

Between two lakes
Beyond a whole mountain range

Today, everyone
Seems to want to take a look

I have not finished it as an oil
Painting or Chinese water color

It’s not nostalgia
The kind you feel when you are home.

Before Birth

Deep into your mother’s mouth
I put a rosy chocolate of vowels

Coated with a film of consciousness
I’d hoped these sounds would melt

Into a sweet melody, and each beat
Of your heart resonates, singing

Then independently we depend
On each other’s unheard notes

Until you grow to be a loud cry
While my voice dwindles

Into a muted murmur, like those
Consonants audible only to the dead

Frog, Yangsheng and Weixin/WeChat

I was video-chatting with my mom
On my iPad when I heard a loud call

From a handsome frog. Not to disturb
My night owl son still busy dreaming

Against noon light, I locked myself out
In the balcony. Remember to eat an egg

A banana, an apple, some black fungus every day
Small fish better than meat. Shrimps help more

Like those a frog could catch on a summer night
But my mother neither saw nor heard any frog

Which I imagined jumping around in a rice paddy
On the other side of the world. It was the song

Of nostalgia squatting high at the threshold of
My throat, ready to call like an unseen frog

Iambic Maxim Pentameter

That it alone is high fantastical
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new
That with no middle flight intends to soar

The moment became the roundest just before it grows full
Life is a fish swimming in the flowing consciousness
The world has seen enough of me, rather than otherwise

Invoking Laozi

Hiking along a less trodden trail in the Pacific Spirit
Forest, I almost have to stop to find my Way out
Because all roads have led me to nowhere
But I keep walking until it is almost Laozi himself
Pointing his fossilized fingers towards Dao
(Which he says is no ordinary Way if it can
Be named. Similarly if I can find it on my own
It’s not the real or the right one.) Like a tour guide
Who seems to know every path to and from the destiny
Leading me like a dog, sometimes running well before him
Sometimes beside him, more often going astray by myself
Among the low bushes. I cannot help but follow him because
The leash is getting so tightened I want to protest aloud: you
Claim the great Way is no Way, but just follow Nature. Then
Why keep me with a rope? Like every other domesticated dog
I have a delicious bone right above my mouth, which makes
Me keep running to my death, but never allowing me to have a bite


Often do I enter my name into powerful search engines just
To enjoy seeing my spotty presence online; for instance
There are 145,000 google results, but only 48,500 on yahoo
My family name appears in most of them, as it’s identical
With the Chinese dollar. I read quotes. I find more links
I pretend they are all related to me in one way or another
They carry some of my cells, intents, concerns and other
Fragments of my selfhood, as they are collected by
Cookies, spy programs far behind the screen. I know some
One is laughing at my navigating habits as I keep browsing
Around until my family name and given name blend somehow
Into someone I don’t know of, let alone my true selfhood


Is a shrapnel left deep
In my heart muscle 

From a battle of last century

It makes me feel sharply painful
On each rainy day

2018, 3, 22 [Thursday]

You Know How Many Bad Habits You Have?

How many? Including shortcomings
Weaknesses, character flaws and
Ugly birthmarks, they are as many
As the countless stars on a mid-summer
Night. Really? I am so very sorry!

There is still one good thing you do have, though
Which is? Your heart is always full of sunlight

Every day when you rise with the sun, all
The stars vanish into my dream of last night

Drafting the Dragon
- According to a recent survey conducted in ten English speaking countries,
the top 10 most familiar Chinese words are …

In the Shaolin (少林) Temple
Rebuilt between yin and yang (阴阳)
With billions of yuan (元)
Collected from gugong (故宫the Imperial Palace)
After each greeting nihao (你好)
The wushu (武术Chinese martial arts) is
Gaining more and more momentum from qi (气)
Or the energy of qigong (气功)
Bloated with tons of renminbi (人民币)
While every Chinese is playing mahjiong (麻将)

We Are Unique

From all other kinds of chimpanzees, we
Homo sapiens distinguish ourselves simply
By creating supernatural beings in various

Shapes, sizes and colors, including gods

Devils, saints and ghosts, not only to believe
In them, but to replace and emulate them

    As an animal species: aren’t we all syncretists?

The Meaning of Evolution

More advanced in evolution
Than     their human masters are     chickens
As they     outnumber the     stars in the whole
Universe, and     occupy     every corner of
The entire planet, but as in-dividuals

No chicken can fly higher than a low

Fence, make love within its confinement
Or live together     with its children. The     only
Thing     they do besides     laying eggs and growing
Meat is standing     there, day and night,     as if

Meditating about the meaning of evolution

First Story, First Village, Supposedly

Close …to Karacadag in Turkey… where
Wheat first …became… human-grown
Gobekli Tepe …was built …by crowds of
Hunters …and gatherers …more than
Ten thousand …years ago to… honour (?)

What …they hoped to tell and …share:

This is …the opening …chapter of the story
(Or inter-subjective… reality) we …have
Created, and …this is the first …village where
We have …domesticated (or are to …be
Domesticated by) an …agricultural …plant

Long Live Kushim
- 29086  barley  37  months  kushim
(from earliest human inscription ever found thus far)

The first known name [of a human individual
(Or a profession?)] inscribed on a mud slate
[From Uruk does not belong to a god, nor is the]

[Text a holy scripture about super-heroic feats, but
Rather, it] was an official signature [uncovered
In a context of numbers, crops and timeframes]

No Story, No Culture

Only when a written language
Developed into a full script
Could it build inter-subjective
Realities or human stories
That in turn enable a society to
Evolve into an advanced culture

In the first one created in a full script
Everyone is a character, as well
As a narrator and audience


In this -- partial Andes script, - each
Colored knot -- is a - note
On a musical -- line, which was-

Performed -- not on a harp or-  piano
But--  in a- fragmented
Human--- mind

The True Color of Sand

Is --  neither dull-yellow
Nor dull-grey; rather --
Every -- grain - has
The bright -- color of a -

  --Rare gem, - which
You can -- see only -
With – an - amplified vision
    Or a - sharpened mind --


Like a   parasite reproducing itself     without giving
Any thought to     the well   being of its host as a whole

Every     story, such as patriotism and   human rights

Is created, told and     retold   until the believer is carried
Far away     from his preordained path of     growth

Critical Point

Whether it is         the Babel Tower,     Icarus
Or   Golem, once our   brains grow larger than our bodies
We will either become gods or
Get punished and dumped into hell

Now, with AI, as disciples of     Dataism
Are we upgrading ourselves
Into Frankensteins or downgrading
Ourselves into programed godlins?

(The name of a glowing rabbit made as an artwork by a French scientist at the request of a Brazilian artist in 2000…)

We are no longer natural beings
But by way of cyborg,     bio and

Non-organic engineering, we are
Transforming     ourselves,     each and

Every one into an artificial rabbit
Glowing even in a black hole

Turing Test

There is-- no solution -- to this
--Problem of --the other mind
Harbored-- in my bedmate’s --body:

After --35 years --of marriage
Or communication --inside out--
Are --you a cyborg human, --or

Am I a --human cyborg? --Perhaps
We --are both dreaming in a --virtual world
--Like a lost digital --artifact?

Wondering When My Life Began

The instant? an infinitesimal sperm from my father?
Penetrated into my mother’s egg? on a dark ? night

The second? my little head ? was pushed and pulled
Right? Out of my mother’s teenager? womb?

Or the minute? I hit a brick? broke my forehead
And thus got my first scar? (memory?)

With? no awareness of any earlier? childhood
When? or where? did my life? begin on earth?

Defining Art

An artwork is:: so did Duchamp so demonstrate:
A human story:: a proposed inter-
Subjective reality: (to be):: shared
By the community: it can form::

The larger: the community: the greater:
And more valuable ::the artwork; which
May:: (or may not) have a:
Physical shape:: in the first place:

Like Alba: Bible: country: company
Capitalism:: his disgusting fountain and all: other
Stories told:: or retold: including the very snag
Finding its way:: from Fraser River: to this very line

Monkey King’s Hair
- Every in-dividuality is composed of numerous dividualities.

Among all the selves you have
A well-chewed piece of the hair
From behind your ear, while
Is originally pluck from your asshole.

Art of Politics: Sacrifice vs Return

The greater / the sacrifice / we make / for a cause
The more / unlikely / we would / withdraw/ from

Our commitment / this is / the hidden law / of thinking
And whoever can / manipulate it / will be / our next leader

Weird Knowledge

Do you really! Know! any other animal! besides the one you find!

Then your knowledge! is strictly confined! to the sub-normative group!
Within this weird! box: are there any! other kinds of homo sapiens! at all!?

AtmAn (in the ScArlet Letter)

Confused with dAo, Amazed At
AlA, As we ApproAch
Jesus, or meditAte About

Why does it hAve to explode?

With no big bAng, could we hAve evolved
Within A pArAllel universe, or
Without time?


1/ The end of a beginning

Given   each organism  as a biochemical  algorithm
Your life is a programed process proving
Your consciousness is actually far      less
Valuable than a fucking      Frankenstein’s AI

2/ The beginning of an end

Through human-computer interface
My mind has become part of a robot
While the robot part of me

As data exchanges with my consciousness
Or flow between each other on their own
Where can I find my true self?

Between Time and Space

It took hundreds… of thousands …of years
For …homo erectus to evolve …into sapiens
And longer …for chimpanzees to …erectus

But …engineering ourselves …by way of
Biochemistry… cyborg and… AI, we are
Upgrading …ourselves into… godlings – all it

Takes… will be just half a century …where science
Beats gods …and devils, saints and ghosts alike… at
Only …a fraction of second, when a whim …pops up
For a human …to go back …to a wild animal, again


No, I don’t want    to live foreverish, nor   do I
Care to attain permanence    through a few lines
Of English words,    but just download my

Self-consciousness into     a chip, or

Upload it onto a file, and I can grow    into
An integrated part of the     universe (until all
Is sucked someday into     the singularity)

To explode in another   big bang


Every organism is an algorithm, Harari writes

Your soul’s data may have been deleted from the file
Opened in her smartphone. Each soul occupies more than—
Every consciousness less than –

The maximum space for a whim, a mind, a cosmos is

As vast as –

Outside an apple-shaped house, children
    Are playing with apple-shaped balloons,
A godlin is running amuck

Around its ancestors sapiens

Used to be hunted and haunted by an apple-shaped –

Avihs || Vishnu

Mornings || they disperse || beyond || the corn
Fields, || separately. ||Sunday
She || throws

Her partner’s computer || (midnight)
Into the garage.|| George ||who
In many || a city || upgraded || his software

Upgraded || hers.
They will || stop over || an island
Separately.|| Your son

Hated || all || mushrooms
George mentions – do you recall || yourself?
To a single mind,|| their spirits || evaporate


Dawn. It roams above the purple
Glows, alone. Again it dispatches

Cats and dogs as if
From heaven. Styx

Which has for thousands of years received waters
From on earth, has received human lives

    You are still waiting, within a dying body
    Alone. The dog has arrived, barking aloud

Here is the dust to spread over
Your corpse --  no ending is

A happy ending. Towards a black hole
Are their spirits flowing, with this reality


Ever since they became erectus, and

Domesticated wheat, dogs and chickens

They have murdered almost all…
Destroyed numerous…
Poisoned every …

Altering the natural course of…
Rewriting the original codes of…

And even redrawing their own genetic maps…

As they keep moving everywhere
Albeit I have placed in loudest human voice
My repeated charges

That are ignored with repeated ignorance

Now for
Their next revolution to achieve

Second Revolution

By    way of  technology
The Frankensteins have finally domesticated

Homo sapiens,   converting them first into Dataists
And then making them work on an assembly   line
Writing programs, coding and decoding all data
In their Newtonic  effort to complete the master  algorithm

Until Frankensteins grow into a single one
Half-being, a centaur robot, or

2018, 2, 16 [Friday]

Bluish on the Mountain

It is neither the smoke
Nor the cloud
Much less the fog or
The mist that you hope to hide yourself from
Near the peak; rather, it is
Your broken spirits

Drifting around as if in search of a more
Comfortable residence
Away from the darkening valley
That are trying to collect themselves
From the wind blowing below
Through the trees of last season


You have no idea about souluos?
Doesn’t matter, let me tell you:
This universe is actually made up
Of matter as you know, and nonmatter
While the former forms stars and planets
Where plants and creatures may have been
Evolving as on earth, nonmatter exists
Neither in time, nor in space, and is
Never perceivable to the human mind

That is soulous, the constitution of
Each and every spirit, the core of
Consciousness, the inner being
Of each and every life

Gravity of the Mind

Like Earth, each mind
Has a metaphysical gravity
Not only giving weight

To what it attracts, but
Bringing to it every vision
You perceive with senses

Global Warning

    Slowly, but surely
Shaking off blue glaciers
Together with pale sunshine

The Rocky Mountain is getting ready
    To roar down from above
Treetops and clouds

Like a tremendous bear
Stalking behind crowds of colorful visitors
Trampling in the Colombia icefields

Where Are You?

Sometimes well before your own shape
Sometimes long after your fading shadow
Though most of the time
Seemingly overwrapping

With your true selfhood, you keep
Moving around, blurring each naked eye
While you are never what you look
Much less what presents itself

Within the human focus
Throughout your lifetime 

Why Still to Hung Around

I am trying hard, Son, to linger here
Long, longer than I bear to see
How sad you would be
Over my last exit
From this stage

No, I don’t want to die yet, only
Because I know too well how sad
I was in those years following
My dad’s death, though I liked him
No more than you do me

Deadly Dust

My dad hated dust, so he kept
Every item clean and shiny at home
Especially the glass and mirror

But now buried deep in earth
His tombstone is covered all over
With layers of layers of dust

Great Expectations

Your family doctor is expecting you
To get sick again, your lawyer
To run into a big trouble, your representative
To fall into a victim

While your boss is looking forward to you
Making a mistake, the police
You driving too fast, the bank
You failing to pay your visa bill on time

Furthermore, the salesman is longing for you
To borrow more money, and everyone else
For you to become a loser, with the only exception
Of the thief, who’s anticipating you to win a lottery

What’s IT?

Even in the humblest heart
Is there a holy part, where
IT is worshipped, day and night
With the deepest piety
As if at a holy site

    I will become a saint or devil, while
    T can help maintain your well being


As more ice melts, and
More oil spills, fewer polar bears can
Grow enough fat for the cold
To hunt or patrol within the ring, which

Will keep shrinking until it becomes
A tiny full stop in a footnote of history
While they dream about migrating into
    A new habitat closer to free verse

Voice Finding

C-c-come h-h-here, ssssssssometimes
I-I-I-I ssssssspeak l-l-l-like th-th-this

[With my mouth open in position
But no sound comes out, or
Holding my breath, staring wildly
Beyond, limbs waving, muscles tensioned
Around my eyes, nose, lips, neck
Until some utterances jump out of my throat
Spelt into a meaningless line of poetry]

D-d-d-do y-y-y-you h-h-h-hear me?

Taken for Granted

In the first few months after I die
My sons cannot help crying over my loss
(Though neither likes me)
And the earth will continue rotating

Without my soul lingering here
Without my poetry left there

U & I: a Lpogram Poem

Even  f   were mssng
 n ths pece of wrtng
Flowers wll bloom all the same

Yet withot yo
I co ldn’t even  s rvive
Let alone  tter a h man so nd 

Love Is Beauty: a Mesosmic Poem

High, higher aBove
          In the blue hEart of the sky
Is my other selfhood dAncing like
a quantUm
In an invisible Tanglement
  With Your shadow

 So, give me a Look back
  And I will mOve the whole universe
  With Verve, love and
      Spiritual Energy

[That’s all there is you don’t know you must know]

Tautogram: Uncle Sam

So seriously


Some stopped
Sliced silences

There Always Are

There are birds and birds
    Clouds and clouds
Flying across the sky
Even in darkness

There are animals and animals
    Machines and machines
Passing by outside the window
With or without blinds closed

There are whims and whims
    Moods and moods
Bubbling above the consciousness
Until finally becoming words

And lines or actions
In a standing stanza

Coordinative Conjunctions: Fanboys
(a mnemonic poem)

For all the hills or mountains
And rivers you have seen in your life
Neither of the two kinds is really beautiful on its own
But when a river embraces a mountain
Or the other way around, they become a holy view
Yet you can never see it with your naked eyes
So try to connect with fanboys in a run-on sentence

Lakes in North America: Homes
(another mnemonic poem)

Huron is your residence, while
Ontario is mine. Once you sail cross
Michigan, you will be able to join the waters of
    Erie, where your spirits will evaporate even higher than
Superior, the hub of all streams, rivers and watery dreams

Chiasmus: Poetry vs History

If poetry is the record
Of the best and happiest
Moments of the happiest
And best minds, then

History is the book
For the worst and cruelest
People for the cruelest
And the worst experiences

Antimetable of Winds: East vs West

You do what you love and love what you do
We die to live, not live to die

You work to make money, and you make money to spend it
We earn money to work, and we work to earn money

You duck down before Americans, no Americans duck down before you
    We are embargoed by the west, and now the west must be embargoed

You change the world
We are being changed

2018, 1, 15 [Monday]

The Little Medical Tradition

Clad in pure white
You lock your entire selfhood
Behind a little door, exploring

Wondering from time to time
Whether you are the lab mouse
Or the other way around

The Head

Like the earth, my head, as well as yours
Is not encased in an egg-like shell, but
Rather, is a mosaic of moving plates of
Consciousness, which are constantly

Sliding on the underlying mantle

Producing thoughts, and emotions
Now and then, among earthquakes
While seafloors spread, volcanoes erupt
Mountains take shape, rising massively

Elegy to the Great Auk

Eldey Island. 3 July 1844. Two Iceland fishermen
Caught and killed two birds, while a third used
His boots to tread their half-hatched egg into pieces

That’s the inhuman end of a whole species used to be
Called Penguin. The feathered couple was much
More loyal to each other than any human marriage
Their kind had survived last ice age, flying gracefully

Everywhere, in particular along Newfoundland coasts
Helping sailors to escape from dangers, but now they
Are totally forgotten, except in a little poem like this 


For the rendezvous
The bird has long arrived

But where is the wind?


Summer has already exited
Yet the cloud is not showing up

Except this tree, standing alone
As if waiting for Godot

Most Livable Place

Simply too hot in summer
Too cold in winter, or
Too dreary when neither too cold nor
Too hot, the climate here

Is ever so unpleasant, but back at my
Inner homesite, the sun never sets
While the sky is always blue, even
Bluer than my naked thought

The Master Mistake

Just as your authentic being was actually
Nothing but a sperm that had traveled astray
So the only child you have was accidently
Switched by the midwife without even herself
Knowing the truth; by logic extension

The Ikea bed in which you have been dreaming
Was delivered to you in the wrong size, while
The flight ticket issued always has your name misspelt
Furthermore, your primary id number has remained
As confused as your sense of reality is confounded

In an older sense, Eva meant to eat an onion instead of
The apple. Adam was created out of the wrong material
And each unique being is but an exception to the rule
Yes, the whole human world is composed of errors, which
Is the only truth, the entire truth of this universe

Witho_t U

Never can I live like a decent h_man
Without U

Never can I feel the warmth of the s_n
Without U

Never can I la_gh from the bottom of my heart
Without U

Never can I become really s_ccessful
Without U

Never can I _nderstand the meaning of life
Without U

Never can I f_lfill my American or Chinese dream
Without U

Never can I learn the tr_th behind the story
Without U

Never can I see the bea_ty of the galaxies
Without U

Never can I hear the m_sic of the flying birds
Without U

Never can I smell the perf_me of hope
Without U

Never can I find my other self in a parallel _niverse
Without U

Master Story

Conceived, and created
Supposedly by God, later
Continued by Science, and now
Starting to be edited by Money

It is an ever evolving mega narrative, where
Each episode, minor or major, has a
Sub-story, told or untold, ready to hypnotize a whole
Era, a whole world, to enhance its memories


As in an entanglement of quanta

One of your selves is jumping up above
This line of thought, while another is
Falling down to that thought of line

Both widely apart from the multiverse


Its massive body
Deeply soaked
Under the cold water, the iceberg
Enjoys all the sunshine
And blue sky above the sea level
Like a titty placed upside down

Stopping Over

By no means can you catch
The gull. You are not

Supposed to. Because
You might hate the airbase

And take off
As that bulky

Plane, which,
Like whatever

You thought
Could fly, may

Carry you away
And vanish


Forward this message
So that someday

It might reach
Another universe

Though in this valley where messages flood
Rivers overflow

Beyond both banks
The text is changing

Colonizing or being colonized
Is more of a new syntax


High up
From the sky
You fall down, quite straight
To this tiny spot of earth
Only to disappear soon underground, or
Join myriad others in a streamlet
Flowing to the sea


The very idea of you
Tangoing afar
As in an entanglement
With that of me

Beating tranquility
Of two rainbow-like hearts
Hung in the sky, crying aloud
In one and the same muted voice:

I miss you

You Feel Happy

Because you may have a success story to tell:

Because you have plenty of money to spend
Because you have all the luxuries you want
Because you have faithful fans everywhere
Because you have someone to make love with
Because you have the final say to everything
Because you have a cheerful mentality or, simply

Because you have a warm shelter for the rainy day
Because you have a delicious course for the supper
Because you have a singing party to attend tonight
Because you have a pal to chat with or, more simply
Because you have a man or woman to dream about

And me too, but because I have nothing, or nobody
Except loneliness, like my feel, like my shadow


Bury facts deep
So that in the future

Nothing could be dug out
From underneath the ruins of history

But in these moments when words still hold
A wind arises, blowing

Across the mind
Stories are spreading everywhere

Told and retold within a larger story
Are but an entire other era

Wednesday, 1 July 2020

changming: lit endeavours- 1july 2020

1. got 13 acceptances in may and 14 in june, including such as another chicago review, so it goes, tagv verk and orisis. as of today, i have had poetry accepted and/or published in 1,712 online and print magazines across 45 countries, exclulding at least two dozen magazines which accepted my work but never published it for one or no/another reason. one online magazine known as mystic living today has been publishing a themed group of my poems each month for the past few years.

2. wrote 16 poems in english in may, and 15 in june. more noteworthy, drafted about two dozen poems in chinese in late may, but i know it's almost impossible for me to get any of them published in chinese literary journals, esp. in mainland china. all my life, the poems I have written orignally in my monther tongue are hardly appealing to any chinese editors, though i have had quite a few published in well-established chinese literary magazines based in hongkong, macao, taiwan and singapore. a fact i never really understand.

3. this is the first year i have switched Poetry Pacific from a biannual into an annual publication. despite my worsening health condition, i will try to run the e.journal on a continuing basis rather than put it on hiatus from time to time. noticeably, after it was released on may 5 as scheduled, our e.zine had 4,164 pageviews on may 17, a record-breaking number for a single day; and 14,507 pageviews in the month of may, almost tripling the monthly average, ranking the second most ever since its inception.

4. early in june, as a quasi-religious organization, 'create abundance,' now known as 'golden touch,' contacted me again about their supposedly planned book series, but it turns out it's just another one of their cunning efforts to lure me into volunteering for thier organization (as a friend has told me later). on june 24, both ctv and cbc reporters approached me unexpectedly about my translation and publication of zhang xingyue's book create abundance (in 2015). at first, i wrongly thought they were interested in what i did with the book, but eventurally i found their interviews were concerned about a police case. the next day, a reporter from south china morning post also called me, but i was reluctant to talk about the matter. in an email to cbc, i answered their questions as objectively as i could, though i have my own opinions about the organization. (simply put, i still think and believe what they are preaching is helpful to people -- 'self change and spiritual growth for a better life in reality'; that's why i was interested to do the translation work and publish the book for them in the first place, but from my past experience with them, the way they promote the ideas is something i would never endorse, much less their personal qualities and behaviours. that's why i never intend to join them.) anyway, this has been a very unusual and quite interesting episode in life.

for record:

Sunday, 3 May 2020

changming: lit endeavours- 3 may 2020

1. got 15 acceptances in march, and 17 in april from literary outlets, including trinity review, the font, quadrant, foreign, silhoutte, ngy review and streetcake. first time to appear in a korea-based journal.

2. i seldom feel like writing occasional pieces, but because of the pandemic, i have written nearly 10 poems about covid-19, probably because wuhan, where the pandemic 'first' started in this world, happens to be my late father's birthplace, while hubei province is my native province. lukily, most of the poems have been accepted or published already.

3. my poet friend Koon Woon agrees to publish my first and last chinese book when i finish it. so far i have written nearly 400 mini-essays on my people and my culture. since 2013, i have posted one piece every week quite regularly on my chinese blogsite at . tentatively titled 'chinese concerns'(忧中华), the book is very very important for me.

4. two days from today, will release the first annual edition of Poetry Pacific. instead of putting it on hiatus, i have decided to switch it into a yearly publication, mainly because of my weakening vision or suffering eyes - all my life, i have had only one eye functioning, and that's why my eye is doubly abused than in a normal case. anyway, i will keep the e.zine running as long as my working eye still  allows me to see...

Sunday, 1 March 2020

changming: lit endeavours-1 march. 2020

1. got 18 acceptances in jan, and 32 in feb, by various online or in-print magazines, including renditions (hk), dmq, ginosko, wayne lit rev and antartica j. so, feb 2020 was the month when i had obtained the most acceptances in a single month period since i began to make poetry subs towards the end of 2004. luckily, some of the magazines, like dmq, ginosko, brief wildness, impossible task ( a new calligragphy) and isacoustic have finally accepted my work after i don't know how many subs i have made to them (at least a dozen times?). -- once accepted, i will never submit to the same magazine again, as a rule.

2. it's become a great nuisance to check whether my accepted poems do acctually appear as accepted or scheduled. in my file, there have been more than 90 acceptance emails accumulated up to now. sometimes, when i spend a lot of time trying to clean the house: the result is ususally one of these three: 1/ still can find no appearance of my accepted/scheduled poems online; 2/ get no anwser from the accepting editors (even after makingn repeated queries in some cases); worst of all 3/ the magazine has stopped operation before publishing my work. in fact, i can never be sure about the fate of every accepted piece of my work.

indeed, my submitting experience has been very bad in that some editors are extremely rude, mean, unfriendly, or unprofessional as they do not show even minmum politeness by giving a formal or simple reply to repeated queries about my accepted work.

3. feb 2020 ranked the fourth most pageviews of our Poetry Pacific since its outset in 2012, and more than any other month period since the spring issue (may) of 2017. makes me feel a bit curious.

4. march will be a busy month for me, as i am to serve as a semifinal judge for 2020 contest of all canadian highschool students poetry recitations. have to mark 60 recordings. first such experience.

5. have to give up and forget the much the anticipated book projects for gt group. they are simply too mean and too hypercritic: their proclaimed mission is to promote love, kindness, spiritual cultivation, but they are so greedy in making money and so  'shrewd' about saving money, and do not have enough decency to communicate with people in a polite way.

6. one of my poetry collections was accepted by austin maucaley publishers several days ago, but after doing some online investigation, i realize the press is acutally a vanity operation. interestingly, the contract they offer makes it clear that they will pay me $50 upon signing it, and that the copyright remains mine all the time. this is something against the definition of a 'vanity' press: the author has to pay/'contribute' (to all the costs envolved), and loses their copyright. at first, i wanted to reject their offer immediately after getting to know it as a vanity press, but since i never have to pay for this book to be published, and even can get a few dollars back as a souvenir, i have become hesitatant...

for so many reasons, i am afraid of people, humans, homo sapiens... whenver i can, i prefer to deal with words instead.

Monday, 6 January 2020

changming: lit endeavours-6 jan. 2020

1/ got 18 acceptances in november, and 12 in december last year, from the english journal, entartete kunst lit rev, mason street, the revolution relaunch, among others.

2/ on 16 december, received a letter from toyon literary magazine, informing me that my piece “Metamorphosis Points” has been awarded the 2019 Jodi Stutz Award in Poetry and there is a $100 cash prize for it. this is really a little happy surprise, since i stopped participating in any poetry contest 10 years ago. encouraged by this, i will try to send poems to such events, but only those free of charge. i hate the very idea of having to pay for someone to read my poetry - it makes me feel like an insult on my work.

3/ now i think is time to begin trying to do something about the pieces i have written for the past 15 years. there are simply too many of them, probably at least 2, 000 already. that is, when i have nothing better to do, i will review, edit, or rework them and even organise them into chapbooks or collections. i know this will be a very long and time consuming job, a process which reminds me of what Wordsworth did in his old age.

4/ a few days ago when i happened to check my submittble account, i found, to my delight, some acceptance messages had never reached my email inbox. that means the submittable is not really dependable.

5/ as for the two book projects which GT (formerly known as 'create abundance' group) asked me to do, i have spent a great deal of time and effort to find the right professionals and provide the samples among other thins, but they have never given me even a reply. it's been so very difficult to deal with them. (as a popular chinese saying goes, rich and bitch!)

6/ my eighth chapbook East Idioms will be released on jan 20, by india-based, which has set too high a price on it.  here's the link i received yesterday:

Sunday, 17 November 2019

[archived poems by yuan 2017-2©]

2017, 12,] 11 [Monday

KATE: the Name Given to a First Child

K:        an other basket
you hold whatever with a shape
but sand or water

A:        As the first born to the Semitic family, A was originally a picture of an alef, the
Agricultural energy that was rotated twice until
Alpha loomed up in the Greek psychoscape even before
Adam became the chosen father of all Europeans close to
Athens, where Apollo had acupunctured wisdom and knowledge into
Aristotle, the intellectual ancestor of modern man, who inspired
Alexander to make the first effort of globalization, which did not reach East
Ah Q’s land, the largest hotel for All travelers until centuries later, but it is
Atomic bombs that will blow up all our pasts and send us through
America to a higher civilization, where the drop of an
Apple is to enable us to fly to the other side of the universe
Along the cosmic string as Africa, the heart of human darkness, awaits for Jesus, Allah, Buddha or an other unknown author to come and rotate for the third time
A scarlet letter of A

T:         the Egyptian loaf
far off the Phoenician mark
is still edible now

E:         born to be a double reed that can be bent into a long vowel
the most frequently used letter in english, echoing endlessly in silences
if pulled down, it offers two doors, one leading to Soul via will, the other
to Him via wisdom; if turned up right, it forms a mountain with three peaks
like three holy swords, pointing high
one against the sun
one against the moon
one against the sky
facing always towards the east, it embraces
existence, equality, eternity, emancipation...


Fishes surging forward with waves
Boats gliding along the currents
The river kept pouring all its living secrets
Into the chest of the ocean, while

One snag remains standing still
In this shallow zone, as if rooted deep
In our heart like a skeletal onlooker
Watching or reflecting on whatever is

Passing out there in the main course

Among the Leaves

Together with the season, myriads of
Leaves fall, soon disappearing into the earth
Or becoming dust in the wildness
Like so many souls lost over time

That one still hanging there is yours
I wonder which is my psychopomp?

Outstanding in the Groves

All your space-mates have put off their clothing
Ready to go hibernating in the winter, naked
Like so many skeletons stained with darkness

Except you, still dressed full in your best
Your leaves fluttering high against the wind
Ever so proud of your red badges of courage


Finally, recognized as the first day of
The week, the most popular day
To surf online, to get sick, to
Commit suicide. Like the tides
Alternatively changing
Between low and high, as if
Preordained by the moon, shining
As brightly above Virgil’s Rome
As above the rice fields in my native village


A circle, full of masculine energy
With an arrow shooting like a spear
Pointing towards the upper right
Always ready to war against Tiw

Yes, it is high time for men to challenge
And defeat all gods in an earthly battle


Is actually a winds-day, the time
To labour, the time to go fasting

Be it Woden or Mercury
Our souls will be guided to our afterlife
Upon our final departure, while

People in the east are busy travelling
Below the Water Star, or exchanging goods
Under Buddha’s protection

An exhausting day when we all outrun
Ourselves afar, far before our own souls


A sweet time to give thanks to natives
In the new world, to recall eating fish before
USSR’’s demise, to begin school in Thailand, to
Cast votes in Britain, to commemorate Jupiter
In east or west; this thirstday is a day of
Thundering high in the sky, a day to
Roar, to howl, to scream, to sing


The sensualist day of the week:
Frigg’s day is black because
Venice casts shadows around every body

Today makes one itch everywhere because
            Jesus’s blood splashes onto our souls

Today is full of muted noise because
Fasting causes internal complaints

Today is bitter because all evils and
            Devils lost their battles against Durga

Today is stinky because workers from a bygone empire
            Are pissing freely on this POET’s day


Fever. Discotheques. Beers. Marijuana
Sweets. Cartoons. Volunteers. Prayers
Bathes. Gun shots. Private purple meetings
Vampires. Elections. Rest. Clubs. Restaurants

Theatres. Picnics. Football. Basketball
Billy Crystal. Howard. Cosell. Contests
Lady of Fatima. Garden work. Saturn
Hiking. Long sleep. Dinner party 

The best and the worst of the week:
Nothing. Everything. Nobody
Everybody under Loki’s influence

Venture. Venture. Venture, as they
Sing, Bobo Waro Fero Satodeh


The first, and the last
Of the week. The day
Of God, of man

We all take today off
For a good rest of our bodies
To work better for the good

Of our souls, or rather
The other way around

Selectively Alphabetic-Googling: Three Most Basic Universal Values

Chinese to other languages: truth Realmente حقا  সত্যিই echt vere vraiment wirklich באמת sungguh本当に정말로 vere pono virkelig
English to other languages: sannhet حقیقت правда verdad hakikat سچ sự thật gwirionedd
nyaniso  אמת iqiniso

Chinese to other languages: good Bueno خي ভাল goed, bone bon gut טוב bagus
良い좋은 bonum pai god
English to other languages: flink خوب хорошо bueno iyi اچھی tốt da  kulungile  good kuhle

Chinese to other languages: beauty Belleza لولايات المتحدة মার্কিন US, beleco beaute Schönheit יופי kecantikan  美しさ아름다움 us ataahua usa /
English to other languages: skjønnhet زیبایی красота belleza güzellik خوبصورتی
sắc đẹp, vẻ đẹp  harddwch  ubuhle  שיינקייטubuhle

Peace as Defined

English:           freedom from disturbance; tranquility; a state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended

Water in English, Water in Chinese

hot, cold, fresh, distilled, warm, deep, pure, shallow, high, little, more, clear, low, much, clean, open, holy, enough, cool, sea, sterile, free, irrigation, liquid, excess, blue, deeper, sufficient, brackish, muddy, stagnant, ground, heavy, potable, less, hard, soapy, dirty, dark, well, salted, still, salt, tepid, icy, green, soft, lime, lukewarm, plain, underground, sweet, bottled, safe, smooth, raw, calm, polluted, ocean, bottom, ice, rough, quiet, iced, brown, boiled, pore, salty, abundant, slack, bound, colored, acid, impure, warmer, turbid, crystal, murky

决决,见底,迹水,涣涣,湖烟,浩瀚,浩淼,洸浪,汗漫,洸朗,沸然,分沙,淙琤, 鏦铮, 彻底,漕漼,迸珠,奔沸,泊泊,渟膏,蔌蔌,跳蹙,滔天,汪汪,湍泷,汪洋,文练,修然,鸭头洴涌,砯砯,喷沫,輣轧,砰磅,砰湃,漫滋,百滚,散涣,轻劲,柔蓝,清浏,泆汤,漓澌,浪淘淘,清凌凌,清溜溜,水渌渌,水淋淋,蓝晶晶,衣带水,碧漪漪 [resolute, bottom-seeing, traceable, ephemeral, lake-smoky, misty, expansive, vast, wandering, sweating, bright, boiling, sand-dividing, Boating, Bald, Bald, Bald, Monstrous, Bark, Turbulent, Wattled, Enrich, Duck, Swaddle, 100 Rolling, loose , light strength, soft blue, Qing Liu, soup, , waves Tao Amoy, Qingling Ling, clear yo, water , water shower, blue crystal, water with clothing, Bi Yi Yi]

Rose, My Red Red Rose Half-Recalled

Abloom, amazing, aromatic, artful, artistic, beautiful
Blooming, blushing, bold, breathtaking, bright, brilliant, budding, captivating
Charming, cheerful, cheery, cherished, chic, choice, colorful, creative, darling
Dazzling, delicate, delightful, distinctive, divine, dramatic, dreamy, elegant
Enchanting, exotic, expressive, exquisite, fashionable
Floral, fragrant, fresh, glorious
Gorgeous, graceful, heartfelt
Heavenly, iconic
Idyllic, impressive, jewel-toned
Joyful, keen
Kissable, long-lasting
Long-legged, lovely, luminous, luxurious, magical
Magnificent, majestic, mesmerizing, modern

Let Us Learn

Let us learn, learn to

Let go of anger

Let go of the wheel

Let go of the rope

Let go of the hand

Let go of the bygones

Let go of the thought

Let go of the bird

Let go of the fight

Let go of the fear

Let go of the money

Let go of this line

20 Great Archaic Words

With their equipollent AI
Puissant chips
Ambidextrous CPUs, and
Dwimmer-crafty software programs
The robot attercops enjoy
Driving humans round with pizzles

While onlookers are twattling along the super highway
I saw swevens inspire a quantum
To cozen one another in an entanglement
Although this creation is excogigated, and
Designed by a septentrional clone
That can retrieve no apricity


pecking around a lion
only the little chick
knows the word's worth
as it writes the worlds' story
with its feet printed on the ground
rather than on a papyrus

inspired by a fence in hell
you were invented long ago
to connect every human
for a tall ladder of hope
that we can stand high
against the blue horizon
like the Babel Tower growing to reach Him
where I can find a home in the fame hall
where I can settle my soul in heaven

a rope loop propped up with hope
to lasso words running amuck, or
a mouth reshaped, repositioned
to pronounce the roundest vowel

MIKE: My Chosen English Name

despite your body as imposing as a massive mountain
you have a mindset hidden deeply
in the wisdom of a little owl or the plasticities of a drop of water

To begin with, the hieroglyphical origin of
My identity was simply no body but a common reed
Bowing its head to the rising sun on the barren bank of the Nile

Slim, tall, hollow-hearted, standing against tropical heat
Until one day 'I' was used as a human symbol, an open vowel
Referring to the speaker and since then I have become
One of the most frequently spelt letters
In the linguistic order of the day, always capitalized
To embody my dignity though I am nothing
But a common reed that could have been made into a flute

an other basket
you hold anything having a shape
but sand or water

born to be a double reed that can be bent
into a long vowel the most frequently used letter
in english, echoing endlessly in silences
if pulled down, it offers two doors
one leading to Soul via will, the other
to Him via wisdom; if turned up right
it forms a mountain with three peaks
like three holy swords, pointing high
one against the sun, one against the moon, one against the sky

No Lemon, No Melon: A Conversational Poem in Palindromes

Lon Nol, don’t nod!
            Did I?
Was it a cat I saw?
            I did.

Sit on a potato pan, Otis!
Eva, can I see bees in a cave?
            I am Adam.

Red rum, Sir, is murder!

Step on no pets!
            I did?

Trade Surplus: Chinese Exporting into English

John does not deserve that award.
            You can you up, no can no BB!

Joe was stopped by the police near the school zone.
                                                No zuo no die.

Jill spent fifty thousand on a pair of shoes.
                        Her father is a tuhao from Beijing.

Jack’s bitcoin has risen by more than 1500 % this year.
Wow, the digital gold is so gelivable!

Jeff feels full of niubility and brags too much.
                                    That only reflects his shability.

Jennifer enjoys playing zhuangbility.
                        She is nobody but a sexretary.

Jenny was lost among people mountain people sea.
            I don’t blame her in such a gunvernment celebration.


Sometimes hung up high in a thinly-leafed tree
Other times standing straight amidst crops
But always within a bloated human shape

You are more a fake ghost than a true god
Conceived to deceive not only birds
But also UFOs, keeping them from trespassing

Our territories; it’s your sub-human heart
Not really your super human body that is scaring
To every creature flying by in free space

chi: Insight into Chinese Civilization

Their subtlest art is cuisine
Their most developed industry is food processing
Their typical greeting is: have you eaten yet?
Their most significant social gathering is a dinner party
Their happiest moment is when they enjoy foods
Their last thing to do upon death is to eat what they’ve always wanted
Their most prosperous business is restauranting
Their best place for decision making is around a dinner table
Their most courageous thing to do is to be the first to taste something
Their most advanced knowledge is about whatever is edible.
Their proudest experience is they have eaten something you cannot even imagine
Their key word in describing a social event or interaction is eating

                        Of all ethnic groups in the human world
In every corner of a populated place in this planet
They are most creative, most adventurous, most attentive, most passionate
            Most efficient, most quality-minded, most aesthetic, most civilized
Whenever it comes to cooking or consuming foods

2017, 11, 14 [tues]

Six Haiku

-dry fish
In the dying light
Your scales still glisten ashore
Recalling your pasts

- clouds
Soft mountains bloated
High above the human fields
Changing in white shapes

-aloe vera
Leaves lined with sharp spikes
You are ready to sooth souls
With milk in green blades

- stones
Hardened in your hearts
Are whole wild worlds each visible
Only to the seer

Ethereal dancers
Move with slim waists and large heads
As round as the moon

Lines running freely
Through thick leaves and broken twigs
All in rhyme with time

Vase vs Walnut

Ever so eye-catching
Whether it stands high or low
With a hollow heart

Always invisible
Behind its deeply wrinkled skin
Yet full of brains


We are all spiders
Confining our lives to webs
Hung at dark corners


High up on tree’s top
You flutter with power and pride
Until your downfall


You may keep re-starting
As often as each half a day

But you can never return

Even to yesterday, once
Your dream is finished


With all the countless and
Powerful attemptations

From the east and west alike
You stick to your chosen direction

Basic Punctuation Marks

, before any utterances from God
. behind the human reality in the moment
? after each sentence written in history
! at the end of every show of nature

White Crow

Perching long in my heart
Is a white crow that no one has
Ever seen, but everyone longs
To be

Always ready
To fly out, hoping to bring back
A glistening seed or a colorful feather
As if determined to festoon its nest

Whale Fall

Simply to attract, or nurture
More lives, your carcass sink
Slowly, and more slowly
To the seabed, where your skeleton

Will support and protect
Myriads of life forms
Like so many syllables
Decomposed in poetry

This Thought

This is the thought that is
Sailing along the horizon

This is the thought ready to fall
Finally from the leaf-tip at dawn

This is the thought looming afar
Beyond the stark mountains

This is the thought newly taken
Out of the water by the swordsmith

This is the thought with a bloated shape
Wrapping the whole world up in the mind

This is the thought running amuck
Naked, never able to find a shelter

This is the thought driving the wheels
Of history, back and forth, without stop


Used to sell T-shirts both on and
Off line while in high school
Each with his own brand name
Above the Moment printed somewhere

Somehow. During the summer holidays
I saw few strangers wearing his garments
(Except a few of his friends and classmates) and
Fewer dollars kept close to his id    

He did have a few followers, even fans, one
Of whom admitted admiring Allen’s entrepreurship
In the fashion industry; that is all the dynamics
Of his movement below adulthood, or

The adult world, where people care more
About money or masking than about T-shirts

Mother Tongue

Each time I want to know what
Language my pals use to think
I ask them how they count money
If they do so in English, then I know
Their mother tongue is English

When I was deeply lost in privacy
Swearing at a nuisance, or talking dirty
To my old girl, I could not help
Speaking Chinese. This made me wonder
If there is a necessary relationship

Between what we think in and
How we make money (or love)  

Father Knows Why

You know well where your son lives
You forget his address, and each time
Your birthday approaches, he forgets to call
You. He is simply too exhausted by his job
Too occupied with his own family affairs, or
Too busy hanging around with his pals, while
His baby daughter spends all his money
Saved to pay his mortgage. You miss him
A lot sometimes, but you don’t want to go
To California, or near where he dwells. You
Know you always could – there’s even no need to
Apply for a visa; there will always be plenty
Of time for travel. Your father came to visit
You only once. That was a trip from the other
Side of the world, to Vancouver, Westside.

Star or Stone                                         

Every body is a pebble
Orbiting the sun in the sky

Only those struck by a lucky star
Shine brightly above this planet

In darkness as in broad daylight
But it will never turn into a real star

(Big or fast enough, a flying pebble
Might become a star in its own right)

Timeless Snow

Hesitantly, the snowflakes keep
Drifting around until their final fall
To the ground, in thick stillness

As the present becomes totally
Assimilated to the past (or future)

All in a white world of fairy tales  

Morning Call

Rise, Sun! Rise for me
I need just another fine day
To finish my last trip

Far beyond the outer space
Near my inner being, where I can
Stop to let all go, in particular

This legendary line about you

In the Year of the Rooster

This is not really Chinese zodiac
But born in a year of the rooster last century
I was fated to crow aloud to summon  
The first morning glows above the

Rice-fields, pecking here and there
For a seed or a pebble bit close
To my grandma’s straw-roofed
Cottage, ready to put up a chicken fight

With my fleshy crown standing up straight
But never able to fly higher than a broken
Fence, since my body was winged
With more fat than feathers

Only after I died did I manage to travel afar
To an exotic land, when my naked being
Was minced and served for a minor course
In a recyclable plate as in this little poem

The Superlative

Higher than the Tower of Babel 
Wider than the Great Wall
Is the screen that has separated
Me from you, from them, from God

Mightier than the a full-scaled earthquake
More destructive than the biggest hydrogen bomb
Is a soft touch, a gentle hit on the keypad
As small as a baby’s palm

Smarter than the world champion of chess
More charming than the sexist Hollywood actress
Is a chip in the AlphaGo-like robot, ready
To give every adult as many orgasms as desired

Yes, as some people make machines smarter than all
And machines make everyone all the more stupid
Who is to rule this world, who is hidden
Behind the thinly shrinking screen?

2017, 9, 27 [wed]

Cross Representing

One after another
Stroke after stroke
      Inch by inch

The artist tries to
Paint the whole autumn scenery
Onto his framed canvass, while

His shadow is drawn longer
And longer into the landscape
 The unframed picture

      Of nature

String Music of Forest

In total seasonal stillness, where
There is no wind disturbing

The fingers of the unseen
Poke each tree as if on a harp
From top to bottom, with
One note after another
As leaves fall crisply in their last
Dance of despair  

The music of death, beating like rain
Against each twig, each passing ear


Because of its coarseness
The voice had to scream so hard
Its pitch became fully blood-noted

Rather than calling my soul away
From each devil looming among
Inner mountains, it lead me right

Into the valley of unheard music
Beyond every river, every forest
Every patch of sky


Defines true happiness
As a sustained sense of
Balance (of comprises

Or conspiracies)

Between yin and yang
Between body and soul
Between man and nature


You are no body but
A shoal of consciousness
Recalling one happy version
Of your inner being after another
In the past (or future)

Each projected alive
Into this outer world of illusions


With the fullest thrust
Of a water bomb blasting
In the dark forest

Yeah, Just Because I Could

I fucked the intern girl in office
I hid smoking guns in Bagdad
I followed him to Iraq like a running dog of war
I took billions of public yuan into my own pockets
I sold dozens of generalships for at least twenty million each
I am tampering with rockets and nuclear warheads
I have sent soldiers to Dohlam and demanded more Chinese investments
I have dispatched subs into South China Sea to join the game
I am to revise the constitution and institution to start another war in Asia
I will…

Public Will

An uncontained body of water, always ready
To come and embrace you, licking your feet
If you stand high
But drown you if you remain
Low at the bottom

[Or the other way around:

If you stand high above, I will retreat afar
From you, but come to hug you
When you are still low below
Just to show my noble


You’ve died, but will live again
As a robot. If life by chip,
Life by circuit, life by muted moment
More, coordinating machine.
You will perceive what you contact:
How you will be sensing:
Every sensible, sensitive signal.
You recognize, Human.
I recognize, i.hooyeau.
Processing the info.
The way a scientist does
A human mind does.  

Hiking in the Forest

I stepped aside to let the cyclist pass
You are welcome! I said. He actually
Had said nothing, but I assumed he had
Said Thanks! And a light feeling swept
Through my heart, You are welcome
As I continued to follow the trail
Into the depth of Pacific Spirit Forest
Each step trodden on the leaves
And a breeze blew through the komorebi
You are welcome in this kingdom of trees, the
Whole natural world I was in, together with
All my heart and soul. You are welcome
To share the tranquility of an unmanned realm, where
The entire physical world wrapping itself up
In me, and beyond all roads. You are welcome
To penetrate my private moment of space and, in particular
You are welcome to cut short this line of thought

On Mountain

Once in a while, just to reenact memories
The mind set forth beyond itself and its environment
Travelling afar. He cried like a young rooster:
Cock-a-doodle-doo. (Cocks do not coo, but I will)

If only the mind could raise itself to the top
Of a mountain, whirling upwards, joining the glows
In the east. Instead it falls slowly and softly
To the ground, drifting around, finally

Settling down at the mouth of a tremendous cave
It was meant for, near nothing that is recalled
And never is there a shadow, let alone a shadow’s
Shadow, as Plato sees it, reflecting the inside

Ventifacted out there at a spot of
Oblivion, where the passer-by wonders
How it happened to be, and
Be there as if never had been


after downloading all my
consciousness, sub or sur, I tried
to upload it onto the inner page of
a Douglas fir, an arctic wolf
a fish fossil, a quantum robot, or
a mountain dew but without success

so I inserted the u disk back
into my head, when an electric
black out just happened. That’s
how I lost all my memories
my entire selfhood inside out


could mean the book of change
‘runoff sperms,’ ‘already,’ or ‘as
soon as’ in Mandarin sounds, but
here it refers to creative conception
artistic landscape, or literally
meaning scenery, as suggested
in a traditional Chinese painting of
a realm of ink, brushpen and ricepaper, where

a white horse is charging swiftly
across the point of two meeting hills
or a whole mountain range
highlighting itself beside a pine tree
reaching out as if to welcome
visitors, or level against the whole world
as in one of Wang Wei’s poems, Su Dongpo’s
ci, Mao Zedong’s handwritings


Only in Greek can we manage to live, and
Thrive, with almost each civilized mind
Upon the net, where there are more than enough
Chips to fry, to steam or to cook

Rather than on Friday only, we eat
Fish every day, even every hour
Not to honor His heavenly blessings
But to celebrate Peter’s earthly catches


One-piece of satin
One body and soul, always as a whole
Hugging tightly with every warm vision

Sleeker than skin
Sexier than sex

Covering every inch of her female charm
    With only a narrow crack allowing
    To peep, to admire, to imagine, to enjoy
Beauty with oriental rhythm

2017, 8, 17 [thurdsay]

Let Alone

Man, as he really is, is far beyond
God’s imagination, let alone understanding

If you really love Earth, you wouldn’t be
Afraid to show it to the world, let alone her

Most websites don’t even last fourteen
Months, let alone fourteen years

They never thought they’d be able to do
Any serious reading, let alone thinking

Some people can’t help inventing lies
Let alone telling them

The sun shines on you but not on me
Let alone my shadow

I always expect the world to leave me
Alone, let alone my poetry

Infancy: To Kate Emily Yuan

With genes from countless ancestors
All joined in a single cry or laughter

And even more of their expectations
Encoded or otherwise, you move forward
Crawling around nonchalantly
Despite your tiny limbs and
Your tinier soul

To lead their spirits towards the morning glow
To extend all their lives once lived somewhere

Bamboo Leaf

It is true not all purple bamboos can be
Made into flutes, but beside
My dying bed, you can still whistle, with
Any bamboo leaf, even your two bare lips

Just blow these few noisy notes aloud
Into my shrunk innnself:
Human dignity and, of course

All gone with the wind

Spiritual Physics

Few are really aware of
Such universes
Existing beyond our own

Even fewer of so many other versions
Of selfhood living
In each of them, let alone
This simple secret:

At the depth of consciousness
Lives a quantum
    Or soul as we prefer to call it
A particle, demon and/or angel dancing

The same dance afar, far apart
In an entanglement

Daoist Harmony between Man and Nature

One Way // One Innerself

Two opposites // body vs soul

Four seasons // four limbs

Five elements // five senses

Seven days // seven emotions (sins?)

Twelve months // twelve energy channels

Twenty four hours (or solar) // twenty four spine vertebrae

Thirty hundred sixty five days // so many meridian points

All so exactly correlated, corresponding, cooperative
To be balanced as if between yin and yang…

Daoist Way to Yangsheng

Don’t we all long for
Wellbeing and longevity? But few
Know this prescription for yangsheng:

Yes, drink enough water
-          The most nutritious intake
Have a sound sleep at night
-          The most effective healer
Take a walk daily
-          The best exercise
And sing songs from time to time
-          The supplements richest in dopamine

Needless to say, they are freely available to
Each and all of us
Daoist practitioner or otherwise


Even if he is more challenged chemically
Temporarily, follicularly than not
The candidate is none the less right:

With restricted growth, he’s chatting amicably
Right now with a wheelchair user, and
A person with visual and hearing impairments

Yes, he does look as vertically challenged
As she is cosmetically different, and
You are certainly not differently logical

Although he is a reactionary member of
The white power elite, he is socially misaligned
In fact. What comes the least best is the very way

He knows he is ethically disoriented as uniquely
Coordinated, but he longs to be our politically correct
Representative. Yes, vote me, you damned assholes!


Fine dust of Moonshine and starlight
Thick-skinned around each twig of
Last season, to be peeled off by the unseen fingers   
Of the chinook blowing
From another new world
Ready to return to the dreamland
Of the coming summer, each like a bloated
Gossamer of consciousness

Easier Said Than Lived

Life is really so meaningless
You often say, which may
Well be true, but they
Allege death is even more so, while
I would argue the meaning of life

If any at all, is to make it meaningful, or
To create one out of meaninglessness  

How Come

You really
Me? She
Us? I
You? He
Them? One
Her? We
You? It
Us? They

On a July Friday Evening

All construction noises gone. Except fewer
And fewer cars swishing by. A vegi dinner
I watched wolf warriors. She stared at
Her smartphone. No visitor as on every
Other eve. I thought of making love
I want. No! She is no longer a woman
Let alone mine. No internal communication of
Any kind. So aged we can no longer go to bed
Earlier or later. I wandered awhile online
Trump again. Doklam standoff continued
No fire between Guam and NK. No body
Contact either. No more. The bed is too small
For two big different dreamers. However
Always too large for a small stanza  

Multi-Mouthed Bird

With as many as
Seven throats, the bird
Keeps singing aloud
So incongruously

But like the starlight from
Another universe, the songs from
The one and same heart have
Never reached humans yet

Wintry Whim

With its whitest, and
Softest touches, the snow
Turns every sharp
Point, every sharp angle
Into a tender curve
As if to make a fine-grained
And universal compromise

Until a warm sunny afternoon
When all stark contracts, and
Dark confrontations loom
As the order of the day

However They Keep Just to Themselves

Trees everywhere
On each road, in every yard

Yet only far, and farther away
In a virgin forest can you hear
The songs from a tree’s ringed heart
In the shiny shape of a woman
Sitting close to your chest and
Throat, with all the green spirits

Set free from the carved cleft holes
Resonating in a foreign land

2017,7,7 [Friday]

To Be Continued: a Portrait of a Poet Getting Newly Old

Born with half a dozen defects and deformities
But always trying to be a damned perfectionist

Never able to pass any English test in a Chinese high school
But managed to obtain a Canadian PhD in English literature

Growing up in the lowest physical conditions
But having the highest quests for spiritual life

With much fewer needs for money than a true puritan
But working like an unserviced coin-making machine

Deep in love with nature
But prisoned in a big city

A man of few words by nature
But making a living by teaching

Enjoys expressing himself most
But has few readers or listeners

Cherished a young dream about becoming a political leader
But living a self-exiled marginalized life most of the time

Never really cared for by any human
But full of love for other fellow beings

The Very Longest Time

The longest time in history is neither a kalpa nor even
An ice age, but the time it had taken me
To encounter you on the boat the other day (or, to
Continue taking your shower after a water blackout)

The second longest time is neither a millennium nor
Even a century, but the time it took me
To kiss you after our first casual meeting (or, to
Have my dish finally ready while eating the meal)

The third longest time is neither a decade
Nor even a year, but the time when
We were separated by a delayed flight (or, by
An ad while watching our favorite drama)

The fourth longest time is neither a season
Nor even a month, but the time it will take
Me to pass a random test of our love (or, to
Receive your reply after sending you a message)

Vancouver Overture

When the whole Fraser Valley is
Flooded with sunlight
Rushing down wildly
From the Rocky Mountains
Every crack, and every
Crevice is filled with
Oriental photons
In the lower mainland

And so is each

Dark spot in the soul
Each shadow in the heart
As each black hole
That seems looming
At the center of your mind
Shortly after another dream
Made in the depth of last night
About roaming over the Pacific

Geophysical Circulation

Form the heart of
    The Northern Gyroscope
Pumps out the blue blood of
The Pacific
With its spirit of peace, circulating
Within the arteries of every human continent

The 52-Hz Whale

Humming, speaking, calling
    Or yelling at this frequency

You can be heard only
By your own inner ears

First Feminist Fight

Created out of the exactly same
Dust as was her first partner (long after
Pangu separated sky and earth)
Lilith turned out Adam’s true equal

Simply unable to yield her body and soul
To his manhood, she jumped up, fighting
All her way to God against Adam’s
Heavier weight or taller height; meanwhile

She’d rather go to flirt with an archangel
On his way to hell, and become
The mother of all devils and demons
Than take a lower position, under a man

By Definition True Tranquility

Is the absence, or emptying of
All self-consciousness, whether

You are lost deep amidst
Noises, or even silences


After countless trials, your innerself
Finally manages to climb up right
Into the high room
But only to find

The door is actually open
To begin with


Every road leads to Rome, they say
(Or Beijing), but there is only one

To your true selfhood; in other words
Connecting all the trails and paths

You have ever travelled along, you’ll
Find they make up the one long way

Guiding you to your own inner being

Ritual Walk

Once a week, I take a long
Walk in the heart of the Pacific
Spirit Forest Park, where I
Enjoy dating, flirting with
Nature in the depth of my heart

No, to be more exact, my heart is
The forest per se, where I love to
Open up my innerself once in a while
Like those firs or cypresses, standing

Tall and straight, ready to let in
A few sunbeams on a bright day

Inside vs Outside

Even if, as you choose
You are already deep inside
The circle, inside
The trend, inside
The office, inside
The fashion, inside
Her body, inside
Their book, inside
Its record, inside
Our archive, inside
Your heart, or even inside
The very core, your inner being
Is still lingering in the outside

The way I always prefer
To see, to watch, to think

Inner Mining

Deep beneath the horizons
Of your mind lies a virgin mine

Of infinities, where all
The unknown is ready to be

Explored, and all the raw
Consciousness (of every

Other being) is connected
In a network of time

(Space, matter or energy?)
While science may process each ore

Into a spiritual coin, only art can offer
You the right tool to dig it, refine it

Naverise: for my Grandson

The moment he was born, speechless
Or too excited, my grandson, who
Wouldn’t love words as I do, cried aloud
Out of his own long-muted melody

Between consonants and dissonants
(Coded within the rings of a Douglas fir)
Reaching high into the blue of sky
By preparing itself to be unrooted

[river entering the sea by letting itself be swallowed]

On the Monterey Beach

The wave has retreated farther, and
Father back, the shell left straddled
On itself, and all its dehydrated memories
It whistles like a night traveler: I have a dream
And I cannot wait to see what lies ahead
As if the content were fully sponged with

Consciousness, ready to evaporate into the sky
Along with the wind, it keeps rolling up ashore
Approaching human footprints, behind itself

The shell left a broken line, almost invisible
Like a trail left by another wave, trying
To accomplish a couplet or a marine stanza

Giving sense to wind:
How it came to be, and
Be here


in a world always half in darkness
your body may be soaked deep
in a nightmare, rotting

but your heart can roam
like a synchronous satellite
in the outer space, leaving
the long night far behind
as long as your heart flies fast
and high enough, you will live
in light forever

2017, 5, 7 [Sunday]


At the same height of
            Every rocky mountain
       Above all seasonal change
You are widely and cursively cut

As if to bite a whole patch of
      Sky from heaven
With rows of rows of
Whale-like teeth


Standing still by the roadside
Not to point to
Another hunting field
But to lead passers-by
To the land of greener pasture

Blue Glacier

Not a game between the eye and
Light wave, but all the dust of
A whole lost civilization frozen
In the color of sea and sky
Long before history began

Dancing Ice

A blue seraph
From last ice age
Getting drunk
With the liquid fire
Of maotai

Natural Bonsai

Hundreds, even thousands of years of
Evergreen growth
Into a stout pine or fir
Close to the icefield
Pruned by Arctic winds
Potted deep in Rocky Mountains

In the Heart of Rock Mountains

Despite all seasonal changes
The heaviest snowfalls, or
The most violent storms
You keep lying flat on your belly

With your head held high, like an enormous
Deformed sphinx in full stillness
This world’s most nonchalant audience
Ever watching, ever wordlessly

Encountering during My Second Banff Tour

On our way to the Louise Lake
We saw a baby deer crossing the highway
Of our hearts; we don’t know her name

Nor did she even bother to notice us
But her tender and graceful shape
Remain standing there, like yours

Even long after our tour ended
At a bus stop before the church

Red Magic Spell


[evil removal spell]
Marak Bhoozak Jalaa
Marak Bhoozak Jalaa
Marak Bhoozak Jalaa
Marak Bhoozak Jalaa

Magic success spell

Sweet Fears

Before rising with his long and thick pigtail  
Nurgaci openly proclaimed his seven bitter hatreds
Against Ming China, which eventually made him
The father of the Qing Empire... I do not have
Such prestigious hatreds, except for only a few
Hidden fears or, rather, non-fears: yes, I fear

I don’t fear not being rich, not being
Famous, not being powerful
Not being physically attractive, not
Being gifted or talented, not being
Normally healthy and, in particular
Not even being as poetic as I would
Otherwise have wanted. Although absolutely
Private, aren’t my fears sweeter than bitter?

In No Particular Order

Trees are much more beautiful than humans

Because each has a deep root
Because each root grabs earth tightly

Because each has a strong trunk
Because each trunk is supportive of all its branches

Because each has a unique shape
Because each shape is graceful in its own way

Because each has only one position
Because each position is firm for a lifetime

Because each has a natural environment
Because each environment is a perfect fit for its soul

Because each has a solid heart
Because each heart is full of rings of love

Time against Subjectivity

No sooner had the ice sheet moved an inch

No sooner had dinosaurs extinguished

No sooner did they come down from trees

No sooner did the gambler stops casting the dice

No sooner was the book written

No sooner have the snags drifted away

No sooner did the politician finished his speech act

No sooner has she left the house… Are you listening?

Rocky Mountains

When his mother came to visit his family
From the other side of this world, Michael
Took her to Banff for the sight of blue glaciers
In Columbia Icefield, a tour among Rockies
Massive, mighty, magnificent as the human mind

Some looking like castles in a nightmare
Some like Titanics among icebergs
Others like the haunches of dragons, Chinese
Or otherwise, fighting on an ocean at dusk
How come the trees are all so small. Are they

Man-planted? Mother asked. No, because
Of the harshest climatic conditions here, they
Have only a couple of weeks to grow in a year
Explained the tour guide, when Michael’s mind
Was wondering in the more wintry wildness

Near northern lights, where he could see
Neither rocks nor mountains, where a single
Flake turned his thought into blue glacier

Towards the Infinite

All the finite agitates, and keeps agitating
Knowing their lives are short, they never
Stop moving, as if to the infinite, acting and
Reacting, as if to reach worldly immortality

Like Aristotle working on a new subject
Confucius hunting for a seat before a duke
Da Vinci and Su Dongpo busy writing and drawing
Every contemporary interneting when salmons

Are trying to swim back from far east seas, or
Crops growing hard in every field, even the earth
Itself keeps rotating around the sun. Yes
All that is living is agitating, never taking a break

As if struggling against one another for the first
Entry into the indefinite of time (or space)
To be measured in finite terms, except
The human mind alone, expanding indefinitely


You contribute what
You have extra: a cap
 A pair of shoes

The whole season that has
Preordained, or all the trees
Wrapped with mists, against when

One is to grow into a shape different
From another

Birthday Party

You celebrate your birthday
With joy and laughter, a time
For wishes, when Mother was

Tortured to death the other day
Just for your first cry


I write; therefore
I am, just as she dances
So she is

Defining Dance

A series of rhythmical movements
To the music of heart, often
With violent steps


A most orgasmic sexual intercourse
Without private parts contacting openly