Monday, 4 October 2021

yuan's lit endeavors - oct 3

 1/. got 14 acceptances in july, 14 in august, and 17 in september, among which 30 were offered by new magazines for the first time, including New World Writing and Malahat Review; 

2/. On July 2nd, a small American press informed me that they would postpone the publication of my collection  "Straddling Stanzas" until next year. The book included more than 30 what i have invented and called 'Bilinguacultural Poetry', which seems to have been quite well recognized by editors in Britain, America, Canada and Australia. I hope time will prove that this is one of my most important literary contributions.

3/ On July 10, Pacific Poetry Press published my first love poem collection LIMERENCE both in paperback and as a kindle  this is my tenth and the latest published English poetry collection, which contains 47 original love poems written in the past year or so; upon publication, about half of the poems had already appeared online or in paper magazines. In fact, this book is intended as a token I had prepared for my soulmatethe in case i could not survive the pandemic. links: (electronic version) https://www (paper back)

4/. On July 31st,  Pacific Poetry Press put out the fifth book I have published this year, which is also my last (autobiographical) Chinese work Last Letters to My First Loves. This book is a memoir based on my personal experience as a village boy who grew to be a supposedly well educated person and became a first generation immigrant in canada. The main content of the first half was posted in my chinese blogsite with eight years ago, under the general title of "Love Letters from Vancouver." but for a happy coincidence, the second half would never have been written to begin with. as in the situation of LIMERENCE. this book was published ahead of plan in case i could not survive the new crown plague. Connection:

5/. On September 22nd, i published On the Corner of Walk and Don't Walk, a collection of English poems by Mr. Duane Anderson, both as an and in paperback (kindle edition). links:; electronic version:

6/. On September 24, a small California-based press accepted my chapbook "All My Crows" for publication sometime next year, which includes 30 lyrical poems about crows. . The book was actually accepted by another small press as early as 7 or 8 years ago, but only to be later dismissed because the press suddenly stopped operation. at least half of these poems have been published in relatively well-established magazines. i am aware that things might change before a book actually appears, but the fact that it has been accepted twice is comforting enough to me. 

7/. On September 26, i published 胡說八道〉(Eight Lectures) by dr 胡子 (Hu Zi, pen name) as an  in kindle edition in traditional chinese. The book includes hundreds of mini essays writing in a humorous style about the cultivation of body, mind, and spirit. Because there are illustrations and tables in the book, the editing and typesetting process was repeated more than 10 times. it took a lot of work, but the result was not satisfactory! link:

8/. In recent months, I have written another ten love poems. In fact, since the beginning of the epidemic, I have been unable to return to my native country to meet my long lost first love. the only way to be together with her is to articulate my innermost feelings towards her. So far, I have written 48 English poems for her, and 5 to 6 original Chinese poems, of which 35 have been accepted or published. If my greatest creative achievement last year was to write and publish dozens of "bilinguacultural poems" in English, this year it is to have written and published dozens of love poems in English (all for one person).

9/. for more than half a year already, i have been hesitating a lot. though there are still many topics to write about, i decided, after waking up at two o’clock this morning, to discontinue my chinese blog series titled "Chinese Concerns'《忧华集》; instead, i plan to start examining my life and write about my thinkings over human life. more specifically, i will write about what i have realized about happiness, love, family, and other l most essential aspects of human life. at my age, it is high time to do such a thing to hopefully add some 'value' to my life as a human being through platonic exmination. 

Authors interested in publishing books in either English or Chinese are welcome to contact me at any time. Phone: 778/371-0952; Email:

Wednesday, 1 September 2021

[archived poems by yuan: 2018-2©]

2018, 12, 21 [Friday]


Something keeps returning
To the heart
A little old guilt, like a mosquito circling back
Again on a sleepless night – biting deep
Into your flesh each time
After you wave it away, as it makes
Every shapeless concentration of thrombosis

    A summer devil, attracted by the blood
Enjoys driving away all nice & cool dreams

The heart pumps blood without stop
Often do you suffer insomnia, with
Your capillaries constantly irritated
By a seemingly innocuous vampire

You + Me

Each time you fall asleep
In the depth
Of darkness
Don’t fear, my dear

I will stay close on guard
Like the sun on the other
Side of the world, keeping
Your dream warm, &
Fully illuminated

When you rise with a morning
Glow, my light will cast a shadow
Always ready to follow you
Preventing your soul from lagging behind 


My study has a small section for dreams
Another for history, & all other
Shelves for hundreds of
Printed material containing my poetry

One day, to a ghost familiar to my
Other self, I try to show off with my own work
But just could not find a single line between
The two sections newly messed up

Another Butterfly Effect

Gracefully, her left ring finger flaps
Its unseen wings against a guching string
There at the deep heart of a bamboo
 & here in the English Bay
A tiny fish jumps out of the farthest
Boundary of the northern gyroscope, &
God knows how many days
Will pass before a tsunami roars
In Southeast Asia
    Or a political tornado
Sweeps across Northern America

Tea Party

Each time I gather with one or two old friends
From history or literature for a couple of tea, I
Set my clock about half an hour later

    Than all the time devices in the outside world
Just to make us a group somewhat out of fashion
So we can enjoy each other’s company in the past

Totally unaware of the happenings in the present moment
There we are about to sip from my proud enameled teapot
When police sirens disturb us, as if

    To remind us of the crimes and accidents in the street
Cannot help wondering: are we not allowed to keep a distance
To reflect upon, or to predict the future as posthumous?

Introduction to Modern Art

I would like you to meet Modern Art

Just in the same way as you found
Your other half the other day
Whom you fell in love with
(Right at first sight), but intending
To comprehend
(Neither for a single moment, nor for
The rest of your lifetime)

The Souls

Myriad souls keep floating around us
Like so many unseen specks of dust

While we are making bed or preparing
Our lunch. They follow us closely

In swirls of entangled quanta as they try to
Dance to the melody of our innermost songs

They rise and fall but never disappear
From among us, & when we sit or stand still

In meditation, they might be blown away by
A gust of summer wind. Hanging around, they

Find no path into the blank pages of history, always
Wandering like lost travellers between hell & heaven


Towards the autumn sky
I make a shape of heart
With my clumsy hands
This is the feel of life
I tell the cloud

This is to illuminate the dark
Dreamland like a search light
I tell the crow stalking behind
Like the spirit of my late
Father. This is to gather all

The positive energy in the world &
Send it to the future. I tell my
Unborn grandson. This is the cycle
Of life & the philosopher’s stone

I tell the skeletal copse. This is
The circle to fill in with cries
& laughs.
      I tell my other self
Beyond cosmic wall, as if
To balance yin and yang
    In the whole universe


The first to go is the name
Like the title of this little poem

Then the image represented
By a thousand words, as if

One by one, the waves rushing
Against the beach, where not a single

Footprint is left by a snow goose
Stopping by during migration


Having nothing better to do, I kill
Time by looking at a traditional
Chinese painting on my iPad

Much enlarged, it appears like
A plain sheet of rice paper
Smeared with ink. I view it

In the presence of bonsai; I
Drop several thick strokes to the floor
Of history, leaving a few fine lines

Behind the sofa, & failing
To catch a colorless corner
Between black and white

It is a landscape newly relocated
Into my heart’s backyard. Then I sit
On my legs, meditating about there

Being no light in the picture, no
Shadow of anything, no perspective
As in hell. Isn’t this the art of seeing?

To the Scientist Feeling Awkward on 25 August 2256

On this 300th anniversary
Of mine, you simply
Cannot help feeling
  25 % less happy than

Normal? That’s because
My lost soul is trying to hack
The chip implanted deep
        In your heart!

Of Happiness

Everyone wants to be happy, but not every one lives a happy life in reality. Some were born with a happy character, some grew to be cynical and pessimistic, while others keep wishing to live happily. Some try to attain happiness through money or other tangible categories, others do so via fame or abstractions.

While most often confuse and confound happiness with success, achievement or other socially acknowledged measurement, few know that happiness per se is nothing but a personalized feel, a climate of the heart, a sustainable sense of self-content, a subjective choice and, as such, it has nothing to do with any ‘impersonal’ construct like money, merchandise, property, reputation; rather, it sis readily attainable to anyone any place anytime, like the air we inhale, since it can be achieved only within. This being the case, it is not only helpful but also necessary to develop a positive mentality.

Indeed, only when we learn to treat even the very worst with an optimistic attitude can we hope to live in true happiness. While one may suffer from unhappiness, another can still be happy even if s/he has a poor health and lives in poverty. Happiness is a choice to make for those who have to learn with a heavy heart, but a part of nature for those born and bred with a light heart. So long as you want to be happy, you can actually live a happy life no matter who you are, what you have, where you live.


Rolling my entire inner self
Into a fallen leaf, but leaving
A crack at the tip, I hope
To let in some sunlight
    So I can warm up again, or
Make a whistle against the cold


Paved in time with petals
Shades, leaves & snow
The same road leads me through
One year to another

The blue earth will evaporate
Like a dew when another
Civilization crystalizes from chaos

I am not writing poetry
Rather, it is poetry
That is writing me, again

1 is a line from past to future, while
    0 is the circle surrounding life

Chiaroscuros (tenebrism)

Antlike moments surging forward
Towards a distant shiny coastline

A beam of moonlight shooting
Through a thick forest at night

A lost crow cawing alone & aloud
Against the whole snowing season

That heavenly whim illuminating
A thousand miles of hellish darkness

2018, 11, 23 [Friday]

Better to Break up, Allen

because you deserve a truly fine or 'better' girl,
because you need all the more to focus on your career development,
because you two may probably have disparate underlying values,
because even if you manage to save the relationship, she'd 'betray' you later,

because (like her dad) she seems incapable of retaining a lifelong relationship,
because she appears frivolous or not serious about you, love, sex & marriage,
because her love for you is not concentrative and enduring enough,
because such unstable pre-marriage relationship is not worth saving, 

because she cares significantly less about you than the other way around,
because the more you try accommodating her, the more she is to be 'spoiled,'
because she shows less honesty and loyalty than she ought to,
because she is not intelligent enough at least in terms of academics,

because her pretty face and figure (her only true 'value'?) depreciates soon,
because her family lacking faithfulness, trust and commitment apparently affects her,
because her-uncommitabilty doesn't deserve your deep or unconditional love,
because it is a waste of time, effort and affection to go on dealing with her,

because she may turn out too 'newer-minded', childish & willful for you,
because her personality is stronger than you can comfortably cope with,
because she is not a good or 'perfect' fit to you,
because 'you can take the horse to water, but never make her drink',

because it's better to suffer short-term pain now than long-term torture later,
because …

Bucket List

1. last year: find a short cut leading all humans to happiness;
2. last month: invent something allowing men to piss without spilling;
3. last week: travel to a foreign unpopulated mountainous area;
4. last day: climb onto the highest spot in a forest;
5. last hour: settle down under a tall and straight tree like a dying elephant;
6. last minute: look as far as possible at the landscape like Sphinx;
7. last second: release my inner being so that it can fly up;
8. last mini second: join the proto consciousness of the cosmos; and
9. the rest of time: drift around every quantum entangled with my other selves

Sonnet in Prepositions: Yes, It Is Right

Among the buds ready to stretch out
Beneath the mid-autumn moon
Circa 50 BC; down a rugged trail
Except when He needed a pen to draw

From hilltop to hilltop; in an alphabetic
List where neither g nor h can be
Found; like j and k; minus all masks &
Sloughs; near the end of twilight; on the day

When frogs had just lost their voices
Per sight; qua art; re: immigration to
Asgardia; since the breaking up of the soil
Than the matrimony of two snow geese

Under the lowest cloud; via Styx
Within the absence of x, y & z


High mInd + Low poInt Of Happiness
The salt of Earth (wisdom?) &
Water … under a bridge


Hardships of life
Reflections upon experiences
Leads to
Poetry (?), & fragments of

Sonnet in Split Infinitives: Just Fancy Them

To really stay far apart from each other
Within the same inner space. To almost
Completely have gone to the far end
To not spill darkness over the horizon

Of mind. To in this manner treat
Their loved ones. To heavily knock before
Struggling to enter the backdoor of God’s heart
To totally ignore the rules & conventions

To boldly go when no women
Have gone before. To nobly
Maintain a low profile
With tyrannical pride

To surely & steadily go along. To deeply
Drive 1 into 0. To ever yang with yin

Master of My Selves

You have a whole pack of selfhoods, constantly
On the run, bolting ahead, or lagging behind
While sticking their noses in gifts left behind

By other quasi dogs. Sometimes, one jumps
Ahead of you. Another sprinting far off into
Invisibility, & a third dancing around you
Like the shadow of a daruma doll. However

None of them really outpaces your living
Consciousness or your protobeing. Leashed
As each of them is, they arrive at your final
Destination almost exactly at the same time

As your mind stops functioning, you cannot
Help wondering: I am their only master, or
Just one of them to catch up with another?

Sound Effect

O! Fill in this vowel’s empty mouth
With every confluent consonant

Until the circling letter is blown
Into a loud note of exclamation!

Second Hometown: Written for Visual Verse

As a brand new settlement, this quasi-
Utopian Jamestown lies deep
In the heart land of another Asgardia, where
There’s no sun or moon shining in the sky
No god looking down from above, not even
A tree, a hill or a stream in the background
But humans can enjoy all the leisurely moments
Trickling out of their overly crowded buildings

As in a classic Chinese painting, where
There’s always plenty of light illuminating
Everything brightly, but leaving not a single
Shadow in the whole landscape, where night
Seems more impossible than darkness

As if in Tao Yuanming’s Peach Colony, where
People live in colorful harmony
With nature, never aware of
The New World, much less
The triumphant Trump or
His America First

(written between 9:35 and 9:45 am on 6 November 2018)

Towards the End of a Beginning

Now is the high time
To begin the ending
By ungrowing
Into happy childhood
    Lost long ago

To rejuvenate our
Day by day
Until our inner beings
Join His innocence
    As newly old newborns

The Most Meaningful

With so many more meanings
Than any other English word

Run has finally run out of definitions

In a dictionary as in a layman-
Defined life, much like mine


Unhappiness oozes
From your inner
    Self, a different
Kind of sweat. It’s
  As if your protobeing has
Just run a Marathon race
    & burned out all
The unwanted fat
In your body

& now it’s outside
    Of you, unhappiness
Not a dehydrated waste
    But a by-product of
The consciousness. Like this

It will evaporate soon
Under the afternoon sun
Until what remains is
    The other version
Of past each time
You do a vigorous
Inner exercise in the wild

Gaining Perfect Health

Keep shining brightly
In your inner universe, &
Your heart will dispel

Every shade of darkness
Warm each cold corner, &
Nurture each spiritual cell

At Qingming Festival

True, it can never grow
Like a real seed, but
My father’s bone ash is
So well planted there

In the rich soil of his
Native village, it has kept us
Hoping & hoping
For just another harvest

What’s All This About?

As the blind fortune teller caressed the face
Of a patron, she knew the shapes, & color
By the flesh flushing to her tenderest touch

The sun was rising when I reached out my hands
For the stretching shadow, & began to feel
The slippery darkness from the world’s other side

Trees in the Depth of Autumn

The season shakes the whole forest, blowing
Every twig into a note of the rustling melody

From light green through yellowish to dark

Brown, as layers of layers of leaves retreat
From the sun as if peeled off like an onion

Language Acquisition: for Katie

You are learning the rules of syntax:
With a diphthong, you call Mama
In English (or yeye in Chinese), &
In a single syllable, you pronounce
Go after your favourite (winnie) pooh

Unaware of an world overly crowded
With nouns as subjects, you know it is
A verb that helps to convey a meaning
It is a subject followed by a predicate
That makes you a statement of innocence

On New Year’s Eve, Again

At each new year’s gathering, crowds
Count aloud to ten in every dialect:
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six
Five, four, three, two, one
As if to remind themselves in a ritual
Of what will turn to be the other side

Of when. Just minutes ago, you received

An automatically sent phone message:
If you do not act at once, you will be
Arrested. A mischievous call it seems
But I could have launched an evil missile
To blast the police headquarters for failure
To safeguard the peace of a whole inner world

Tuning in with Liu Weijian: a he Poem

So profoundly delighted am I
In listening to your xiao music
As it resonates with my inner voice

That I could die here & now in comfort
After finally finding my best audience
Much like Bo Ya meeting with Ziqi

Set Tight against It

The river through the city
Is littered with snags
Dumped by the storms
    On their way to the sea

Snags don’t leave with storms.
Floating up and down on the surface
They become invisible to lookers-on
Like hidden notes of history

2018, 9, 23 [Sunday]

As I Get Newly Old, My Dad Mailed
A Reminder to Me, Which Says

Soon you can no longer see anything, anybody clearly
Enough with or without your glass, even at a close range

Some pain will bug you here at a joint, or there
In an organ, and become part of your daily life

Also, your lower leg skin will sometimes get so itchy
You’d scratch them with a metal brush, or peel it off

You can afford to eat whatever you dreamed of in the country
But doctors will advise you to avoid any seafood, even meat

While you cannot focus well during the daytime, it is
Often a big battle to fall asleep in the heart of darkness

You will visit the washroom more often than you’d like to
But fail to urinate clean or excrete to your heart’s content

Seldom will you find yourself among fellow humans
Nor can you make new friends as you could before

You will walk more slowly until you lose mobility &
Carsickness will return & make you nervous again

You will go through all such & many other sufferings
Besides being chased by darkening shadows of death

But you can enjoy more freedoms than ever before, &
Stop saying or doing whatever you would rather not


The plum-apricot tree bears less
And less fruit somehow
With each passing year
When it grows in my backyard

Its twigs reach higher
And farther to the neighboring yards
    Like lines from a poem
Before its author conceives it

Sonnet Starters: a Found Sonnet

When I have fears I may cease to be
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

I met a traveller from an antique land
Death, be not proud, though some have allowed thee

How do I love thee: Let me count the ways
Let me not to the marriage of two minds

When I consider how my light is spent
Remember me when I am gone away

I have been one acquainted with the night
Sundays too my father got up early

Earth has not anything to show more fair
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind

Do not stand at my grave and weep
Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink

Metamorphosis Points

I would paint my skin
Into a colorless color, & I would dye my hair
Wear two blue contacts, & I would even
Go for plastic surgery, but if I really do
I assure you, I will not remove my native village
Accent while speaking this foreign tongue (I began
To imitate like a frog at age nineteen); nor will I
Completely internalize the English syntax &
Aristotelian logic. No, I assure you that I’ll not give up
Watching movies or TV series, reading books
Listening to songs, each in Chinese though I hate them
For being too low & vulgar. I was born to eat dumplings
Doufu, & thus fated to always prefer to speak Mandarin
Though I write in English. I assure you that even if I am
Newly baptized in the currents of science, democracy &
Human rights, I will keep in line with my father’s
Haplogroup just as my sons do. No matter how
We identify ourselves or are identified by others, this is
What I assure you: I will never convert my proto selfhood
Into white Dataism, no, not
In the yellowish muscle of my heart

The Smartphone

At daybreak, my wife unplugs it from the charger
Puts it into her transparent bag & goes to work at YVR
In a hurry, playing with it whenever she can, the gadget
Of post modernity. Occasionally, back at home, I look at it
Feel tempted to unlock it & take a quick peep to see
How much more of a husband it is than me. She had wanted
Her own phone & was delighted when I gave her last year. &
Since we’ve been married over thirty years, it seemed
Like the right time for the gift of a smartphone. A compromise
With the helpless inertia and intricate boredom of marriage

But today I thought of my brother’s wife divorcing him
For failure to strike rich or climb up high. Not smart
Enough to function in her daily life, and much less useful
Than a preprogramed device. How powerful the way a phone
Stays more intimate with a human soul.

    My son is a senior
Engineer at the Apple, where he spends every minute
In front of a computer, trying to perfect a circuit for another
iPhone to replace more husbandom (or wifedom)

             But I just
Cannot unlock it. Everything she wishes from me has now been
Digitalized into this e.machine. With just a soft touch, she obtains
All she needs from a partner that, though non-breathing, proves
Far more attractive than any living soul beyond the virtual reality


    Unlike the owner of a house who
Remains plump as a well-fed pet
Static as a loyal rock, accumulating
As the calcium on a reef, I keep moving
From one rented room to another

Like a migratory bird, a seasonal wind
Or a warm current in the sea, where I can
Dump some of my pasts &
Decorate my new residence with all the
Furniture I can afford to get from the future

Haplogroup Hypothesis: My Son Is Mine

The relief I feel today is not my relief

Maybe it’s my late father’s
For a male descendant carrying exactly
The same haplogroup as his son; i.e., for
The biologic fact that he has a grandson
To fulfill his filial duty as did Confucius

The delight I feel today is actually everybody’s.
Everybody is delighted because we are
All offspring of the same DNA Adam
If only we know how to trace back in the big tree

Because as 23&Me’s reports show, we will survive
Even if we continue fighting each other until
The last one: then he will become the next DNA Adam

For the past two decades I’ve had a hidden fear
George may have been wrongly switched at birth
As in a movie or the media, since he neither looks
Nor acts like me at all, but his paternal haplogroup is
O-PK4, consistent With Allen’s or mine (O-F838)

    The condolence I feel now is not my condolence
Rather, it’s everyone’s in that there’ll be no problem

For us to keep killing our own species, besides others

They Believe They Are More Advanced

In evolution, because they think
In numerous complicate languages
While we express ourselves just in
Several simple short-syllabled songs

They accumulate stones, graffiti &
Other countless (in)visible items
While we only pick up seeds
Or hunt animals in the open

They live on, for, & around money
While we follow our hearts only

They win their fucking rights
Through face, clothing, money besides stories
While we mate by dancing
Or fighting instead

They are busy trying to develop
Themselves in every human or inhuman way
While we don’t care if we are less
Advanced in nature

I Fly Across the Pacific

Myriad clouds sit still in sun-rimmed shapes
    Watching us like so many bloated sphinxes

As we pass through them with mechanic roars
    Each passes through our innermost horizons

Cherishing sunlight in its soft heart
& none seems to carry rain or anything else

Darker than a human whim. God knows
How many of them hold earthly dreams

Like seasonal secrets. Similarly, most of
    My fellow passengers are still sleeping

In these early hours; their postures as relaxing
As restricted within their confinements, while

A few were watching tv or reading on i-phones
In hypnopomp, I opened a journal & it took me

A moment to realize that a story is unfolding itself
      Though what it is really about I can never tell

    The main character has vanished into his own
Consciousness & the setting is beginning to collapse

No words are spoken. His soul becomes a migratory
    Bird flying to a higher realm of more still clouds

On My Birthday & Off

    I don’t remember how many years old
I am, but I do care about my birthday, a time
When I can imagine getting good wishes
Or words. Rather than having a party
With a big cheese cake or a bowl of longevity
Noodles, I would prefer to leave home
For a lonely walk in the country, wandering
In a poetic wonderland

   Where I stop to reflect:
For the past decade I have done what I could
By way of a poem, but since it is unlikely I can
Do anything with it, I find it the proper
Occasion to write one last stanza just
To commemorate my yearly visits to Quzhen
Homerburgh, Dantefield, Shakespeareston
Goethestadt, Pushkingrad, Baudelaireville
Nerudastad, Frostdale, & Tagorerboro

New Territory

No two watches (or clocks) tell
Exactly the same story/time
But each difference offers an infinitesimal
Crack inviting a lonely soul to enter
Like a lost spot of sunbeam. Almost
In no time
I come
I see
I conquer
All the new spaces deep in time

Deep Learning

Even when we were still chimpanzees, even
When we are to become breathing robots
We can always hope to enroll in Dream 101
A prerequisite course for humanity
(Not to be confused with ‘humanities’)
Offered neither in the Egyptian hieroglyph
Nor in the Chinese ideogram or
The Greek alphabet, but in
The colors of sunlight

Wakened by stillness, I realized
My dream’s been lost
Among white noises

2018, 8, 30 [Thursday]

Refracted Reflections (1): Inner Penetration

Dripping, constantly
Into the heart
Of the rock
    Quietude splashes
Over its whole being
Inside out

RR (2): Transporting

Once the road begins
To run forward
    The car can drop us off
At any destination
Beyond earthly traffic

RR (3): Spiritual Freedom

For every human soul, there is
    A whole patch
Of sky (or heaven), where
    It can fly freely
    Only if it can find
A taking-off position up there

RR (4): Self-Discovery

Unlike a handful of mud
Shaped by Fate
    Like an urchin, each
Of us is a rubber ball:
    The harder we hit
      Against a wall
The higher we bounce

RR (5): Return Trip

Collecting our past footprints
    As does every lost soul
We live a double life
As if through
A posthumous excursion

I Appreciate It: A Parallel Prose Poem

I appreciate the roof, ceiling, wall, floor  every window all the detailed structures of a room

Two Saying Sonnets on Shadow

1/ Sub-Selfhood

Each self of yours
Is nothing(ness)
But a shadow. Depending on
Whether there’s sunshine, or

Where the sun hangs
Above the landscape, your shadow
Keeps changing itself
    Within a shapeless shape

Sometimes shorter, other times longer
Always moving around your proto being
Bloated against light

Under the sun, the moon, or
A lamp deep in the valley
Of darkness surging towards dawn

2/ Cast by a Light

Hiding in a shadow
You cannot complain
    Against the unfairness, or
Injustice of the sunlight
On a clear day

Thoughts are the shadows
Of our feelings – always

And simpler

So, keep your face
Towards the sun, and
Will fall behind you

Hearing the Wind

You left there in old age
A snow ball off the slope

Heard a bus to heaven (or to hell)

Heard a field without any crop growing there
Which may have been reserved for an alien growth

Heard a young girl across the street
Dancing around a crowd of robots getting newly old

Heard a bomber taking off the New Foundland
While frogs were singing a lost monody
On the other side of the world at midnight

Heard a key hit hard before a blinking screen
& a naked body turning & twisting constantly on bed

Heard a couple of blackbirds tangoing on a powerline
    & myriad leaves falling against autumn

Heard an icicle beginning to melt under the afternoon sun
Ready to shed tears in memory
    Of last storm:

Shhh, my Lord, just let sounds
Fill up my ears, and heart stealthily


Fiction hit
The fact hard, and ran

With truth per se
Being the only witness

No Internet, No Life

Once off the line, the fish
Would die of the hook
Gnawing deep into the heart


The facts have buried themselves
Deep in fiction, where
    History stands tall & straight
Like a wordless tombstone

Sonnet in Infinitives

To be a matter when there’s no question
Or not to be a question when nothing really matters

To sing with a frog squatting straight
On a lotus leaf in the Honghu Lake near Jingzhou

    To recollect all the pasts, and mix them
Together like a glass of cocktail

To build a nest of meaning
Between two broken branches on Ygdrasil

To strive for deity
Longevity and
Even happiness

To come on and off line every other while

To compress consciousness into a file, and upload it
    Onto a nanochip. To be daying, to die

In the Shadow of Socrates

Someone tells me I look like Laozi
    It is the way my forehead protrudes
Or maybe it is my eyes

Someone mentions Socrates to me
Though I am not interested in his maieutics
Nor does he seem to care about my indifference

Anyway, I remain as silent as Sphinx
Or Laozi’s Dao which, once articulated
In a human speech, would become totally lost

Like truth
Like wisdom
Like any authentic knowledge

While Socrates pursues his argument persistently
I move my proto being far away
From every shaped human

He enjoys arguing
I believe whatever is voiced
Will get lost in void

He upholds logic
I uphold mythicism as someone tries to bring me
Under the influence of the Greek syntax &

    Cast Socrates’s shadow on my thinning soul
But I shy away farther to an unknown forest, where
 I will eventually die alone

Like an old African elephant that does not want to
Disturb the progression of
A whole migratory family

Snowing in Spring

             In the wild open west, flakes keep falling
Like myriad baby angels knocked down from Paradise

    Blurring the landscape behind the vision
Hunting each consonant trying to rise above

The ground. The day is brighter, lighter &
   Softer than the feel. Soon there will be

      Dirty prints leading to everywhere (or nowhere)
& no one will care how the whole world will collapse
        In blasphemy. The missing cat won’t come to
       Trespass the lawn, nor will the daffodil bloom

To catch a flake drifting astray. Nobody bothers even to think
     About where the season is held up on its way back, how
         The fishes are agitating under the pressure of wintry
         Water, why people wish to see more and more snow

The Past

   More than enough has been recollected
      About being in the past. It’s no time
To be, yet except for a handful few, many
  Keep filling in the blanks of the present

          With the leftovers of the past, or catching
The past from the present moment as if the present
         Were a tail of a vanishing fish rather than
             A rock from which the colt is running

       To the rising sun. Indeed, the trouble with
       The past is that it is deadly lost in the white pages
Of history. Plus, even if the past can be edited, but never
 Be rewritten. So, let’s move to the future where

The wise men want us to, where the pasts cannot
   Prevent us from surpassing the present

Sunday, 1 August 2021

Yuan's Last Letters to My First Love Just Released

Last Letters to My First Love is Yuan Changming's fifth book published this year as well as his last Chinese work ever written. In this non-fiction or autobiographical book, Yuan employes montage and what he calls  'diary-letter' as his basic narrative framework to recall and re-enact his rich life experiences starting as a Chinese village boy, who worked in a 'labor camp' after high school during the 'Cultural Revolution' and served as a college administrator before coming to Canada for his doctorate and becoming a prolific English author of poetry. For anyone interested in the lives of contemporary Chinese intellectuals and immigrants, Last Letters to My First Love offers a highly relevant and representative read, which can be seen or even 'examined' as slices of a whole sociohistorical age. 

This is the link to the electronic version of Last Letters to My First Love:

CALL FOR MS SUBMISSIONS: Those who have poetry, fiction or non-fictional books to publish, please feel more than welcome to contact PP Press at

Sunday, 11 July 2021

Yuan's LIMERENCE Just Released!

LIMERENCE is Yuan Changming's tenth and newest poetry book. In this short collection, which includes 47 love poems written mostly over the past year or so, the author not only explores but articulates his innermost feeling about a Platonic relationship, a subject which chinese poetry authors have tended to avoid since ancient times.

Limerence, Platonic love, soulmating or whatever else you call it, has always been a common psychological state, but few, and even fewer Chinese, poetry authors have given it a 'full' expression; that's probably why half of the poems included in this chapbook were soon accepted for publication by such as New World Writing, American Media, Private Photo Review, Botsotso, Mediterrean Poetry and the Temz Riview.

LIMERENCE is readily available in both paperback and forms:

Table of Contents

7    The Thought of You
8.   Stream & Lake
9.    In the Grove

10.  Valentine Gift
11.  Action and Reaction
12.  Chronometry
13.  Oxymoron: Love Is A
14.  Love Lines
15.  Kharma: A Mega Romance
16.  You and Me
17.  The Tuner

18.  First Meeting after 42 Years Separation
19.  At a Dinner Party, Songzi, 2019
20.  Before, Before
21.  Behemoth
22.  The Unspeakable Spoken Out
23.  Confession Delayed by Half a Century
24.  Holistic Relationship
25.  Cardioid Reviewed
26.  Re: Posting
27.  You Are Sure
28.  ‘I Want to See You’
29.  Emoji
30.  Mamihlapinatapai
31.  Yearning for You, I Reach out
32.  Soulmating
33.  The Lovebird
34.  All Day Long
35.  Qi Hong Tea
36.  Vigiling
37.  Unrequited Love
38.  Man’s Last Position in the Battlefield
39.  Ways of Rejuvenating
40.  Cohabitating
41.  Quasi-Omnipotent Lover
42.  What Softens
43.  You Have Never Had Enough of Love
44.  Futuristic
45.  Wooing
46.  Missing Moment
47.  Craving
48.  Star & Butterfly
49.  Love Dose: A Sensual Sonnet
50.  Foreshadowing
51.  How I Wanna
52.  Screenshotting by a Weixin/Wechat Monitor: An Apolitical Poem
53.  Each Time

Saturday, 3 July 2021

yuan's lit endeavours: 3 july 2021

1. got 11 acceptances in march, 17 in april, 15 in may and 6 in jun from online and/or print magazines including tuesday, xavier rev, flinthills rev, meniscus lit j, welter, borderland and tint j;

2.  on 31 mar, Poetry Pacifc Press released via kindle (traditional chinese) my mom's memoirs Ordinary Life, Ordinary Story《平凡人生,平凡故事》at

3. on 22 april, PP Press release via kindle (traditional chinese) my My Chinese Concerns 《忧华集》, a collection of flash blogpostings about chinese culture and chinese personality at;

4. on 27 april, PP Press released via kindle (traditional chinese) my first and only poetry collection in chinese Selected Poems of Yuan Changming 《袁昌明诗选》   at;

5. on june 11, the results of canada's 44th national magazine awards were officially released, meaning that my work as a juror was formally completed, while all the background information on the jury released at the same time;

6. on 16 jun, PP decided to publish via kindle (traditional chinese) dr Li Gongbo's book Nonsense 《胡说八道》by the end of october, which is a collection of mini essays about ways of thinking, as well as about the spiritual cultivation;

7. for the past couple of years, i have written 38 love poems, about half of which have appeared or are forthcoming in english journals. this is poetic breakthrough on a personal level, since i had been simply unable to write such poetry before the pandemic began in my native province towards the end of 2019, when i met my 'first love' (rather than for my 'first date') for the first time after 42 years of separation without knowing each other's whereabouts. needless to say, all these poems are inspired or written for her.

Tuesday, 27 April 2021

《袁昌明詩選》 Just Released

Changming's 1st full-length Chinese poetry collection袁昌明詩選( Selected Poems of Yuan Changming) has been formally release today and become readily availabe as an ebook or kindle edition:


published by vancouver-based Poetry Pacific Press, 袁昌明詩選》( Selected Poems of Yuan Changming), which consists of 120 poems, is the author's first full-lenght poetry collection in chinese. covering a wide range of subject matters and a whole spectrum of forms and styles, including such as haiku, free sonnet, siamese stanzas,bilinguacultural poem and one-act poem, this book samples Yuan's 'best' poems written between 2005 and 2020.  while most of the pieces were orginally written and published in english, some of them have appeared in 'best' poetry anthologies, and others have won or been nominated for various poetry prizes. translated into chinese by the author himself, this collection offers an important and intriguing window to see the differences between contemporary english and chinese poeticses.  

Thursday, 22 April 2021

My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) Released Today

 My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) Released Today

Published by Poetry Pacific Press, my first non-fiction Chinese book My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) has just been released today as an via Kindle here at:
Consisting of 378 'flash' blogessays, this collection is mainly about the 'chineseness'. From a sociahistorical point of view, each flash essay discusses a specific aspect of being a Chinese or Chinese culture. Anyone hoping to gain a deep insight into, or an inside look at 'Chinese Cultural Personality' would find it a highly interesting and even helpful read!

Wednesday, 31 March 2021

PP Back with First Chinese Book Released Today

So, we here at Poetry Pacific Press are back after more than four years on hiatus, and even before the pandemic is gone...

Today we have our very first all-chinese book (kindle edition) officially released on amazon here:

basic information:

book title: Ordinary Life, Ordinary Story 《平凡人生,平凡故事〉
author/narrator: LIU, Yu 刘瑜
character count: 48,000 chinese characters
number of pages: 81 with about a donzen photos
brief description: in a vivid chinese vernacular, with accurate narrative details, Liu recalls how she grew up as an adopted girl to an extremely impoverished family in an isolated village in Hubuei Province, left her parents without their knowing beforehand for a government job at age 15, and became a 'model' mid-level communist official before retirement. To celebrate her 80th birthday, Liu gives this book or memoire to herself as her best birthday gift.

Tuesday, 2 March 2021

yuan's lit endeavours: 2 mar 21

 1. got 11 acceptances in jan, and 19 in feb.

2. some chinese poems published in taiwan's Autumn Water《秋水诗刊》, and 12 in huaxinshe: wall street journal 《华新社华尔街报》: link::

3. completed Love Letters from Vancouver (part II) between 27 dec 2020 and 27 jan 2021. as long as 110,000 chinese characters, the work is composed of 17 letters, as in the first part. since the addressee has some serious concerns, i am not going to post it openly as i did the first part about 8 years ago. but before my death, i will probably self-publish it in a book form, as a record or memoire of my life as well as the way i examine it and hopefully make it 'worthwhile.'

4. on feb 4, and 11, attended a english class held for the toyon literary magazine staff-students, as a special guest and translator. this is a really rewarding experience, not only in terms of money, but more importantly in light of what i have learned. first time to return to an english class in university since i finished my coursework in 1994.

5. on feb 22, received an email from national media foundation, inviting me to be one of the three judges of the 44th national magazine awards (best poetry category). given the great honour, this is really a big happy surprise. as of today, i have completed exactly half of the job; the results will be released sometime in april.  

6. on feb 25, invited by poetry in voice, to write a 'one liner', and 'dive-in' ( a group of questions about a pariticular poem). i have chosen wang xiaoni's 'i feel the sun', and even finished drafting everything. i selected this poem simply because i wrote something similar long before i knew of her.

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...