Friday, 6 September 2019

[archived poems by yuan 2017-1©]

2017, 4, 14 [Friday]

Just Another Fallen Leaf

When Shakyamuni sat still under a puti tree
Trying to find answers to his own questions
A leaf fell down on his back, and no other animal
Noticed him on the spot, though he could have stood up
And been seen against the landscape. Me either
But I like to recall that leaf he might have spotted
Or reflected upon, whose veins encoded all the secrets
About the winds, the mountains and his growing fame
The connection that is accidentally necessary – he
Could have caught it, examined it, or played with it
But he didn’t. With its pollens spread near and afar
He never thought it helped make his name evergreen

Congregation: Let There Be Light

Seldom is the light so bright
Everything can shine in it
Even the mind, even the spirit
That is right now transmitting
Into rays amidst rays

You hate black holes at noon
Because they suck in all illuminations
Leaving dark matter beyond
Every anti-space. You concentrate

Your consciousness into a single beam
Of photons, which cannot stay
Like stars, but it may join the light
Enlightening as you are enlightened

Brush Made from Baby Wolf Hair

This is a traditional Chinese pen, an artifact
Combining a wolf’s wildness with a baby’s
Innocence. It is soft but strong enough to
Write dark history in rice fields, or draw
Black pictures on ricepaper. All in black
And white. Unlike the feather from a swan
That can fly up from an alphabetic epic

Yes, it is a colorless feeling the writer
Or the painter gets, from his inky strokes

Family Legend

Upon his dying of an unknown disease
In his infancy, a travelling Daoist told
The family to keep a goose to protect him
So he did survive and, since then, has never
Eaten any goose meat, nor could his sons
Or grandsons sing well, except calling
Monotonously as a goose does. They say
They are not the offspring of a dragon; rather
Their share the bloodline from a wild goose feathered
With the hope of flying back to the blue sky
Like a true migratory species, whose souls
Are hidden deeply behind dissonant calls

Place to Compare

On the mountain, where the tree waves
Keep surging towards heaven, or
Brooks flow noisily
You follow the invisible trail

            By new twigs
Their leaves shining
                        With dark veins
                                    Fully coded
Everything is so fresh
So uncertain about itself
Even the mists
Evaporating into spirits
Up there
Above the thorny bushes

My Woman, Who’s Such a Wonder

Among evergreens of an unknown
Hill, can come tight on top of me
Like a patch of heaven, sagging herself
Down for Penetration, Pop Pop Pop!

Let me grow harder and taller
Wrapping me with her dripping mists
Stroking me with her inner tongues
Then I roll over her

Bloated shape, ready to rise
Again, and again
And drift with me in a cloud
After planting my selfhood into earth

As deeply as a tree
An everlasting erection


Between two twisted twigs
A raccoon caught itself, neither could
It climb up for the fruit; nor was it willing
To come down to the barren ground

    A dark animal
With two big shiny eyes
Staring at me
The way a panda does
When he looks for bamboo leaves
From his native territory

Frog Calls

The frog has stopped calling
In the early light, but I
Still feel the sound waves
Surging towards my mind’s shore
Though different from the frogs
My mother used to listen to when
I must have heard deep
Inside her teenager womb
As she walked at dusk from her first job
In town back to her native village

Their calls separate us into two worlds
And my nostalgia is her nostalgia
Echoing from generation to another
As loud as the song of the heart
From the long lost rice fields


The autumn’s yellowish brain
Hardened within spiky skin
Keeps all the secrets of the

Passing season
    Cherishes its dreams
In each of its wooden lobes

Beyond Sunlight

Holding their breaths, many stood
Close to the neighbor’s
Broken fence

They bear no fruits, nor can they reach
Upto the sky’s fantasy while
The front yard stays still
With the sidewalk

As if waiting every passer-by
To watch it

Even including the sun

The Magician

While all audiences got lost deep
In wonder, the magician
    Forgot to bring the beauty
Back to life by putting her limbs
And head together, just as in
A pigsaw puzzle game


They are speech actors, working with
Eight classes of words and
Seven syntactic elements
Changing singulars to plurals
Passive into active, or otherwise

A whole set of rules
All as conventional
As idioms per se

Adding some new vocab every year

Their job is to make new sentences
Based on the same old grammar

Spring Is the Same

As love, youth or
Climate, where

Our body is fully prepared
For a smile of the heart

The Power of Words

The membership of the social elite
Is reserved for those who
Know more words in a vocab test
Than in actual use

That’s the shortcut

To the drama of words
To the kind of relationship aimed at





Heart of Marpole

Real estate agency                  Royal Bank
                                                Animal shop

South Granville
A run-on sentence
In a poem

Summer Emergency

firefire                                     firefire
firefire                                     firefire
firefire                       firefire
firefire                       firefire
    firefire   firefire
      firefire firefirefire
firefirefire                    efirefirefire

Black and White

Colorless art


Greetings from Aliens

Newer Morse Code:


Babel Tower


To Be Continued: Human Trilogy

After too much
The race has become
With numerous lower cases of

Words no longer in use: a poem out of archaic words revived like jesus

Shakespearean Couplets

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Just Another Touch

                        Even more so
               So soft
                 Fleshy and full
                        Of female warmth
                        Attached is not only
                          Your love for
                            But also      


This is not a pizza but
A cake to cut into
Pieces like the
Butterly pointed
Wide an arrow
To wedge
Into your

Nine out of Ten

You’ll love her
You will love her eyes
You would love her tongues, up and down
You shall love the way she shakes her hair
She assumes nothing is possible                     
She forgets to put things back after use
She takes a supposition as a fact
She throws a wet blanket

            Until you love her dog’s shit

On the Highway of Life

Sharp curve
Road closed
Prepared to stop
Construction ahead

If the Name Is Not Right

Says Confucius, the speech
Will carry no might, or something
To this effect, but I do not care
Nor will I put up any fight
If you call me chink, chinaman
Oriental, ching chong, dog-eater
Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan
Jeremy Lin, Yao Ming, Ling Ling
Even Jap or Gook while pulling
Your eyes back. Whatever name
You call me, my words do not
Go right, since English is never
My mother tongue, after all

[you vs us]

You cut meat with sharp knives
We poke grasses with bamboo sticks

            You punch others with hard fists
We dance around you with taichi gestures

Your men fuck around everywhere outside your households
Our women lay babies right in your living rooms

            You colonize every city with an English syntax
We decorate each street with Chinese signboards

You deploy aircraft carriers near our waters and coasts
We marry girls to your princes and paupers

You enjoy setting fires and blowing winds along our long walls
            We have Chinese stomachs to digest all insults and injuries

You try every way to overthrow our government
We sell every artifact to help your people survive

            You borrow money from us to build more weapons
We work hard to make more money for your banks

2017, 3, 16 [Thursday]


Moving on
Towards the setting sun
You will find all your pasts
Stretched long, longer
And darker than
Your own shadow

In the Forest of Life

He kept felling trees
One after another

Not to see whose ring is
The roundest, but to taste

Which cut offers the finest
And most fragrant sawdust

Memories, Your Hidden Memories

Are the wine you drank the other day
It can never get you
Really high, but only make you suffer
From another long sleepless night

On the Painting Canvas

Wherever his brush pen goes, it
Becomes colorful, but even more so
Is the blank he leaves un-brushed

Just as the words uttered can be meaningful
But much more so are those unuttered
Perhaps even un-thought of

For a Change

When the birds stop barking aloud
All the dogs in the neighborhood
Start chirruping in a new singsong
About their angel-like voices

Yes, when all is quiet at night
Silence falls into errors

The Everlasting Game

Each time God casts
His dice, man turns out
The winner

Not because he intends to cheat
But because God was created to play man’s game


Just as space is the artwork of
Time, so is time of God
The greatest masterpiece of man


Wrapped so tightly
With ever growing roads
And routes, Earth can

Never hope to flee
Out of the cage of
Human network

Into the depth of cosmos
Where true freedom is
The order of the day

Muted Musings

1/         Snow has buried all roads and trails
So that you can walk your own way out

2/         Join the whole of the white world, or you
            Would be fragmented into the darkness

3/         This is the most dynamic stage, where
Whitewashed silences dance ever so wildly

4/         The entire season is holding its breath
As if waiting to embrace the snowfall


Illuminates the whole eastern sky as it burns, and

All the darkness in the universe will be dispersed
If, even if there is only a small comet
Flying above the horizon of a hidden inner space

Not to Be Watched

Some bloom brilliantly in spring gardens
Some reach out large leaves along summer roads
Others bear juicy fruits in autumn fields

While this little plant grows slowly, in silence
Until it becomes a towering tree in the snowland

Don’t Stand Still

What you face is only a wind; what you feel around
Is a whirl, but if you just keep on walking
Against the storm, you will become an anemoscope

For an Umbrella

Walking too long in this
Cold rain, how I need a shelter
Be it a small leaf
Or even an old newspaper

A Small Wish

I would rather be a leaf
Whose body may contain
The secrets of a whole forest


A single dewdrop
Whose soul can see
Through an entire ocean


Both fish and birds can
Get lost in the blue
Of sky
Of sea

Or the other way around

So, don’t attract yourself
To the reflection of colors


Every human is a book to be read
Every heart has a song to be heard

While the mind offers a view

That can never be revisited
Like a long lost dream

Biting Time

This is all life is about:

If there is no bridge, you can wait
For the river to get frozen

If there is no road, make shoes
And kick a trail out of the thorny bushes

If there is no shelter, use your thought
And dream to put up a tent against the storm

Just keep on travelling, and you will find
Just another strangely familiar path

Come and Go

Humans keep coming to this planet
So are gods and other super beings

Where both are as busy in this world
As are the story tellers in a parallel one


I wished for a single dew, but you
Have given me a whole morning

I wished for a little cloud, but you
Have given me a boundless sky

I wished for a petal, but you
Have given me an entire season

I wished for a small tree, but you
Have given me a range of mountains

    So I have stopped making wishes
    Just to feel grateful to you and all


Is a morning glow, which costs
The sun nothing, but it creates

Indefinite add-on value
For the morning, for the world


Is the landmark of
A healthy life, and of
A healthy soul

Each Worm

Is a fertile garden, where grows a
    Love into a family flower
Or tree, where the birds
Are hatched out and flying away
Like her children

So, how can you enjoy the bird’s song
    Without appreciating the worm?

Word’s Wisdom

Life contains many
A hidden if, as does every wife
Or rife

Once f – is absent
What remains is but a lie


Does not need
A motivation
Like you do

Its motivation, if any
Is to be an action
That’s that

… Needs a Smile

So it invented flowers
To bloom in every season, and

Rivers to irrigate the dry fields
Beyond the barren banks

On Loneliness
The sun is as lonely
As the moon is alone
Because they are both unique

While stars are so many
As to fill in the whole sky
In total darkness


Deep under the snow
All animals and plants
Are lost in their white dreams

To melt on a long and                              
Warm day, when stories become
Ready to start


Abilites accellerate acheivements


The monkey scratches
Its hairy head
Then its hairless butt

The way you scratch
The paper (or the screen)
With the itchy fingers of your mind

Beloved Butterflies

You often imagine your soul
Transforming into a butterfly
That is, one of 20,000 species of
The kind, or 725 north of Mexico

As a butterfly, your soul can perform
The many deeds you can never hope to
For example, perch on a pink petal
Flap its wings against sunlight
Return to its cocoon to change its past
Or even travel back along the trail when
It was still an ugly caterpillar before it flies
Forward to the dawn of tomorrow

Although unable to fight with an bald eagle
Relocate a whole forest or, more
Modestly, bite off a thorny leaf, it can dance
With an angel for a whole night

Yes, you enjoy being that butterfly, taking
On a different shape with more colors

Afternoon Call

Listen, just in case,
            In case what? 

In case there should be, in case tragedy
                  What kind?

In case volcano, in case earthquake, in case fire
Where? When?

In case market, in case earth, in case
                                    In case Trump?

He cuts her short, switches off his iphone, puts down his
Coffee cup, gets up from his long held position
And leaves his voice echoing at the other end
In case asynodia, she murmurs, in case


Crows don’t know they have a god
But we do. It is pure white as snow

Instead of cawing, it keeps shooting
A seven-colored arrow into every ear

Of the mind. It never flies, but like a
Rooster, it perches upon the curtain of

Light as we saw yesterday, and
The day before


There is a fairytale told, and retold again
In Ming Dynasty, about a coquettish fox that
Takes on the shape of a beautiful young woman
Ready to offer herself to a poor obscure guy

Like a magician she brings rich food and wine
To him during the day, and uses her two mouths
To suck up all his yuanqi (energy or masculinity)
At night until he dies in ecstasy of sexual love

Then, the immortal woman would marry another
While many hungry boys would rather become
That lucky guy. I enjoy thinking of that fox
Like a deformed soul wearing a human mask

With hair behind, which makes it feel itchy
While all men are waiting, in anxiety

Lines from the Sky

With wet syllables, spring lines fall down
From above, thin, transparent
So many they fill in all spaces
So many when animals and objects

Move around. The lines cut themselves
Into corresponding shapes. Like those
Printed in a traditional Chinese book. From
Top to bottom, from right to left

Line beside line, each to the earth
Each with a slanting trail of ellipsis
Everywhere on the ground, they gather
Into pools, streams, rivers. Everywhere

They become oval syllables
Spelt into a whole splashing season

A Nest to Dwell in

A bird flies back to a nest
That closes on the vowel
The vowel is I

Each time it chirrups
It reminds of my other self
So the bird cannot live
With its voice in the nest
            Into my thought, feeling, breathing
            You will leave your soul behind
            In the nest that is larger, more
            Self-contained than the forest

Way to Examine Life

As waters from the Fraser River
Join the Pacific with pure streamlets
From glaciers, there is no clear cut
Line between inland and oceanic waters

Walking along the bank, you see
A barge full of sawdust pulling in
From or to nowhere at dusk; along
The mouth a small tugboat drags

Half a mile of timbers where seabirds
Are trying to hear the gurgling
Between fallen trees, like a tiny
Ant carrying a huge dunghill. You feel

Tired of running, but you find waves surging
Towards the bank as if to send your thoughts ashore


Rather than the Douglas Fir’s
            Top towering against the morning sky
It is the way it reaches up

            Penetrates the darkness of last night
                Supporting a whole corner of
            Tomorrow’s world like a tremendous totem

The same is true of man. The sublime is
In his rise, his civilized mind is
Uplifted to a different space

Nothing pushing up under
Your feet, your heart, and your spirit
      How it stands high

2017, 1, 18 [wed]

I Love This; Jesus, I Really Do

Yes, you’ve just had a terrible car crash
You broke both of your legs
You were laid off last night
You lost all your files saved in your hard drive
Your only child has just died of an unknown disease
Your wife has eloped with a rich and handsome boy
You have not been able to sleep for more than a week
Your sick father has just turned a plant being
Your eyes cannot see any longer
You become bankrupt today
Your bad cough is getting dramatically worse
You find yourself a new cancer patient
You are being tortured by an evil interrogator
Or…. no problem, but you still have at least one remarkable reason
To celebrate: you remain alive, and so long
As this is true, you will be rewarded, sooner or later
In an ever surprising way, for every single occurrence is
A real preparation for the better to come

Indeed, what I say is, each event that takes place in your life
Leads you nowhere else but one step closer to heaven

You Are Nobody

Come on, don’t put on airs, but just get rid of all
Your masks or make-ups, including your clothing
Be they for god or devil, for crown or clown, and
Lower-case your first person pronoun: indeed
You are neither the most powerful leader of others
Nor the humblest boss of yourself; you are neither
The shining star on the stage, nor even the speaker, the teacher
The doctor, the driver, the constructor, the programmer
The prize winner or whatever you think, you claim, or
Your hope you are. You are nothing more or less than
One of billions of humans who need to process food
In your belly on a daily basis, who have to deal with your
Emotions on each occasion, who wish to live a happy and
Healthy life. Such being the case, aren’t you tired of
Pretending someone bloated like a bubble, why not just crawl out
Of your thick slough for a fresh breath in another open field?


During high school, I kept dreaming to change the whole world
Grown up, I find I cannot improve even the back lane of my house

While dating, I strongly believed I could reform my girlfriend to a great wife
But 30 years after marriage I still fail to make her close the toilet lid after use

Thinking hard about why I cannot alter anything, or anybody
I find the reason lies exactly in my failure to see the harsh truth

About change: you can never hope to change what you are a tiny part of
And the only person you can change is the humbler version of your self

The Rapist: the Chinese Catchword in 2016

Fate is neither the knocking at the door
Of your heart, nor the perfect storm

Nor a peculiar restaurant, nor a gift
Nor your life per se; rather, it is…

The more powerful red rapist: if you
Can’t resist it, try to enjoy the process


Despite all the relationships you have developed
And tried to maintain, be it with god or nature
Be it with man or woman, with your father or son
Your boss or fan, you have deplorably failed
Even to establish one with your inner self
As an independent human being to be put right
At the center of your network, though you don’t know
How, except for your natural tendency to treat it
Like your foe, or like your soulmate

New Millennium of American Politics 
            yuan changming : a canny nigh mug

listen : silent

george bush : he bugs gore
reformer with results: true former whistlers
(hillary clinton : only i can thrill)
barack obama: a mr boa aback
change we can believe in: viewable chance engine
forward: far word
donald trump : old damp runt
make America great again: i am a egg mania caretaker
[or] a cage earmarking tea
america first: a racer misfit  

Anagrammed Variations of the American Dream 

A ram cairned me
In a crammed era [where]
Cameramen raid

A dire cameraman [or]
Arid cameramen


A creamed airman [or]
A carmine dream
A minced ram ear
[a] maniac rearmed

As freedom turns into a dorm fee
Democracy to a car comedy, and
Human rights to harming huts

Snow Sunday

A muted black and white world, where
Each sound wave is straightened
Along a whitened thread of voice
With all glaring vowels frozen, and all
Shadowy consonants covered with
Shredded words, in this pantomime of
Nature, we look and see, but
Fail to hear amidst fluffy flakes

Basic Formula for Happiness/Mindfulness

Let I be me, let me be nobody, and
Let all pasts and futures be a void, then

Focus your consciousness
Right on the present moment
Open every cell to receive cosmic light

And we get the desired result as the whole
Universe conspires to make it come true

Removed SAT Analogies 

President Obama is to real change as
President Bush was to true peace

            Republican senators are to family values as
            Family values have been to domestic violence

Fire is to forest as
Hurricanes is to beach

            Afghanistan was to Iraq as
            Iraq was to Vietnam

Brush is to a painter as
Word to a liar

Updated: Chinglish vs Americhina

As halfyuans climb near
The wall-e to celebrate
Freedamn newly gained
From the innernet
As well as from don’trains
We antizens find ourselves living
A livelihard and getting poor
In the stuckmarket

Full of niubility
Some renowned profartssors
Keep playing zhuangbility
By acting like tuhaos
Trying to sponsor foulsball

Meanwhile, many a gambller
From our goveruptioin has to
Prepay for his own corpspend
Like a real shability because they
Cannot remain emotionnormal
After breaking the harmany
As they receive canslsensorship
Or play suihide with their conscience

There are people mountain people sea
All yakshitting over there
You can you up; otherwise
No can no bb, since you know
Well: no zuo no die

To Change Yourself Is to Change the Whole World

You know little, you know nothing
About quantum entanglement?
Don’t feel ignorant. Me either

But listen: once you’ve changed
Your own inner being, you will
Be better off, and once your self is
Better off, so will your family; so will
Your neighborhood; your village or city
Your homeland; your (and our)
Whole world. The same is true

With quantum physics, exactly
As in human society

Introduction to Quantum Superposition

Certainly you cannot be in different places
At once, nor can you have different true
Selves in the same place, but the Monkey King
Can do both on his journey to the west (supposedly
In quest for the authentic Buddhist scriptures): simply
By pulling a thread of hair from behind his ear
Chewing it, and then blowing the broken
Pieces out, they will become as many

Monkey kings. Got the idea? Few of us understand
Quantum superposition, nor do we all
Really need to, but aren’t we all evolved
From monkeys? So we can chew our inner beings
And attain many identical versions of our selves:

As a quantum state, it can be represented
As a sum of multiple other distinct state; otherwise

Just choose another self on the stem cell of your mind
And you will see what you can never imagine seeing

Consciousness Determines Existence

It is not the consciousness of men that
Determines their existence, Marx says
But their social existence that determines
Their consciousness. However, the opposite
May prove true, since once you change

Your way of thinking, or your frame of mind
You will live a different life, which will
By logical extension, change your whole
Social existence, just as a single drop of dye
Changes the color of a large body of water

Accumulated within your inner space

Choice Is More Significant Than Effort

If, if only we chose
To see, to hear
To smell, to touch
And to taste what is good
True or beautiful, how
Desirable a human life
Would be worth living

Alas, we might never hope to do so
But we can at least try, and in trying
We will elevate our inner being
To a high frequency which will
Resonate with an equally high living

Or did you?

Inner Cosmesis

We spend tones of effort, time and money
To take care of our outer looks, but little
On our inner being. Is this because nobody can
See it, or because everyone is happy about it?

Oh, me for one, how I wish
To improve both the appearance
And essence of my selfhood
Not with cosmetics
But with surgery

How Large Is Your World

No smaller than the internet
Or virtual reality itself, my world
Is populated not only with those
I know or know of, but also with
Total strangers, expanding daily
Beyond the boundaries of my senses
And of my mind or imagination, a world
Where my heart embraces my world
My world embraces my heart, where
I am my world, and my world is me

The Last of Homers

All gods returned to Olympus long ago
All heroes have recently left for Mabakoola
Now even the surviving poets are finally dying out
Like yellow-shouldered blackbirds or whooping cranes

As the printed word is replaced by the icon on the screen
And the world we used to live in by the virtual reality
We intake artificial compounds instead of natural produce
We inhale chemical particles rather than pure air
Our genes are undertaking a mutation, which are
Turning us from humans to e.yahoos. We live to seek
Sensual pleasures only like ancient hedonists

No more do we care about truth or good, (perhaps besides beauty)
Dying together with the last of Homers are all legislators with
Every statesman, doctor, teacher in the traditional sense
Of the word; what is left to prosper is physical senses and hard
Currency besides showmen while our body evolves into comfort
Our mind is degenerating dramatically like our ugly tailbones

Creating on a Snowtrail

Many are ready to be the first
To try eating a crab alive, perhaps
But I most enjoy walking on
A trail newly covered with snow

Leaving my foot print there like Armstrong’s
On the moon, I become a unique painter
Whose steps are shallow but fresh and bold
On a landscape with no spots of darkness  

Even if they are soon to melt
When the sun rises, again
The memory will last
At least for a lifetime

Love Cure

Falling in love with, or marrying
The wrong person is not
Like taking the wrong medicine
For an unknown disease: your
Suffering remains the same
While you cannot live normally
Like you used to; rather, is like
Getting a cancer without hope
To find a ready cure; or vice versa?


In the climate of my heart
You will evaporate into the blue
If I am too hot; or become frozen
If too cold; but you will always
Remain clear, soft, pure, ready

To flow gracefully, as long
As the temperature is mild enough