Thursday, 13 December 2012

[archived]: Poems by Allen Qing Yuan - © Sept'12

Every Youthful Moment

Paving his own
Road, never backing

He does what he wants,
How he wants,
When he wants,
Making the light shine.
He has faith
The future
  He’s facing towards.

Enjoying the golden age,
Remembering every page,
Of his life,
Written or unwritten,
He gives it his all, hoping he will not
Every youthful moment.

Poker in the Rain

The shallow sunshine
Shying away without a reason

The greyed audience is dazzled
By a performance so magical, so captivating

I don my joker mask of lies,
A truth hidden between the shades
Playing my role like an ace of spades
Hoping to exchange this burden
For a hearty umbrella-wielder

The wet wind ravages and clubs my struggling spirit
Encasing my fortress of flesh & bone
With the drips of droplets
I splash dive into the city buzz
Forever amidst
The diamonds of grey rain

Scramble Crossing

Red, Yellow, Green

Hastily, aggressive people swerve from
Lane-to-lane, searching
For any & all shortcuts to one destination
A destined nation

Others are spread out like runners on a bumpy track
Accelerating straight ahead, avoiding or jumping over hurdles
To their fragile finish lines
Whether it may be escalation or annihilation

But I wait, behind the light
Is this where I cross?

Red, Yellow, Green


We are businesses that cannot stay out of each other
Out of this global corporation
Composed of countless microscopic workers unable to voice their cries and hungers
We each develop a striking union, or a dedicated company
To shift this social economy
Each department carrying out a dedicated task
In order to survive and flourish
Producing what we need and what others need

But we cannot deny our greed
Indeed, a business is just
A large-scale reflection of ourselves

Spring Slumber

packaging my entire selfhood in
layers of layers of soft, tickling fantasies
i ship my mind in comfy covers
for an sensation more than
the five senses can excrete

asleep, I fall into a misty typhoon
an omnidirectional mirror with a blurry reflection

I'm a shark chained to an anchor treading through this sea
ploughing through the starry specks of Atlantis
I look for whatever treasure is invisible
its scent is the blood I seek

As i peel the sore eyelids from my fresh eyes like a new cap off a pickle jar,
like a lemon juice squirting from a lime,
it's a citrus refreshment for the back of the eyes
the sunlight flares as I shoot my hands upwards

I configure my senses and then
i feel the numbness in my leg
an anchor that kept me
in this reality

Guilty Crown

Even if a dying green wreath of lies
Is placed on my head, soundlessly,
Without my knowing of it
I will keep on moving spaces on the
Black and white squares,
Divided only by their own borders
The smell incense arousing the tips of alertness
Will not even awake me from this struggle
With my black glass hand
Bearing a clear intention at the heart of it
For an ultimate checkmate,
A single attack that renders all other moves pointless
I will undertake the guilty crown.

Red Letter

a patch of red intentions
with seemingly ordinary shape and size
about to slip out of my sweaty desires

in my bleak twisted fantasy
the dots of doves
are swaying in a fall of crimson
rain unloved

slackly sealed with a zebra depiction,
a Bengal tiger colourway,
a messenger of the actuality that I couldn't have rode the other way
as if it could be for anyone, replaceable

your writing is the most flavorful painting
but blasphemy to my tastes

how much i yearned for those brief but weighty words
that 3 word statement
that 8 character declaration
but the end was just like
the end of a favour

“thank you, and good bye”

Buddha Beads

17 spheres conceived by the flesh of earth and water
each one a wish,
to keep myself restrained by good faith

rich cocoa coconut shells, albeit grazes and nicks,
each one a wish
weathered and dropping

yet so creamy like euphony from the lips
each one a wish
unspoken but powerfully recited

inscribed with mini-mighty Buddhas
each one a wish
to be enshrined and embraced

the stretchy wire coiled through and up into delicate loops
each one a dying wish
heading towards where they're all tied up

the carvings of Asian depictions
each one a wish
for luck to somehow hang around my hands


you ravage the confidence from their cracked spirits
feeding on their growing fear and shrinking self-hood
you pound their competitive edges into unrecognizable pieces
wrecking chaos in a line and into social circles
you crush their customs but they still don’t make sense to you
reverse-engineering to find no mental revolution
you stalk on their pride like an outcast lion
roaring for recognition, for them to be that pathetic reflection in their own eyes
you lack their unity and communal confidence
clawing at what threads they have thrown you, the scraps for you to live on
you desire to live so large although they left so little
running into a foggy section intersection where they are the drivers


Wondering, I Wonder

I wonder if you know,
what it means to find your dreams
like that dusty baby photo you had no recollection of
to gain confidence in a decision not yet made
like a healthy bird preparing for its first flight
to be the one when you're the only one who knows it
like a new butterfly fresh out of the cocoon
to have your dreams in your reach and then fail
like a naive bear hunting experienced fish
to try to perform what is possible but impossible for you
like a fish flopping on the beach
I wonder if you know,
what your dream is.

Crow Up Call

“Caw!” beckoned the crow
“Aw!” shrieked the baby boy

the courier of omens flashed warnings,
like a shrouded light house,
but did the beacon burn brightly enough?

Before the boy slipped through the grasps of the call,
the crow informed him “Childhood is but the infancy of life”
“Aw!” replied the infant

the crow silently soared away,
the boy not yet ready to “caw”

Nature's Cell

the slender and straight trunks
seal our vision of the sky
like screen bars on a faulty monitor

unsure and hesitant
the green growth is the only beauty
blossoming in our domain

its bytes exponentially growing upwards and outwards
some shadowed, some shining
a canopy of yin and yang
a contrast so vivid on a scale of 0-100

the sunlight is a pure purge
for the virus skitters away like a shameful puppy

breathing life into us, we live free, carefree
to rise to the sun-kissed clouds in the open
to match the horizon to our eye level


standing on the shoulders
of your elder wood
where the sides curve into faces
long, disfigured yet noble

your arms embrace outwardly
not afraid to be broken,
because they are inseparable

your veiny growth pumps through
the stump, a heartbeat so subtle
like a tambourine against the clouds

your skin is so thick, yet you are so open
learning from the sun
feeding yourself with its rays of nourishment
you will rise, a living legacy.

Ventis: Wielder of the Philosopher’s Stone

Under the star-lit night sky
The boy picks up a petty pebble
Aims at a tree
And tosses it
The petty pebble weakly lands onto the dirt

The boy picks up a great rock
Aims at the menacing moon
And chucks it
The great rock heavily crashes over the tree

The bold white circle shoots a spotlight onto the boy
A young aspiring alchemist in the vast land of Aeria
Ventis gathers his belongings and turns back
To his hometown, where there is terrorizing fire

A civilization engulfed in its own creation
Only Ventis can save the day
With his created rock, a rock of creation

Running past the crowd
Ventis breaks onto the scene
With a clench of the Philosopher’s stone
The fire is dissipated and transformed into smoke

But from within the smoke,
A homunculus appears,
A creation not divine
A creation feared by God

But rocks have always been Ventis’ obsession
In his right hand he clenches a hard round rock
In the other he holds a smooth & slippery pebble

With magic the stones bend into weapons
Ventis fights and fights
And the homunculus falls and falls
Only to never rise again

He then reconstructs the fallen buildings
Making them bigger and better than before

After a rejuvenating night’s sleep
Ventis awakens to another fine day

Venturing back out to his usual spot by the river,
Ventis reaches into his plush pockets
For the special rock
For which is not there

No matter: he will create it again
Just like how he created homes,
How he created dreams,
How he created his name

The wind picks up the words and carries them away

Under the sun-lit blue sky
The boy throws the pebble
The boy chucks the rock

The common one falls into the strong tide
While the right one makes it to the other side

What is Poetry?

is music without a synthesizer, but equally delicious to the ears and mind
was an old expression but now a new hobby
will be created by graceful hands and tasteful hearts
has been retained thoughts, burst like mint bubbles
can be lyrics to a song never published or sampled
could be new art, Da Vinci’s undead pursuit
should be inspiring, a star searing sight
might be symbols for those treasure hunters
may be simple for those simple-minded
is being a pastime for those enjoying free time
but it is not dead
it is just dormant, inside our pens.


We are businesses that cannot stay out of each other
Out of this global corporation
Composed of countless microscopic workers unable to voice their cries and hungers
We each develop a striking union, or a dedicated company
To shift this social economy
Each department carrying out a dedicated task
In order to survive and flourish
Producing what we need and what others need

But we cannot deny our greed
Indeed, a business is just
A large-scale reflection of ourselves

Land of the Rising Sun
(A tribute to Japan because of the recent 9.2 magnitude earthquake on March 11, 2011)

Again, don’t know why
An artificial sun
Would hurt God’s sons

Hell rattles like thunder
More than a splitting hair
‘cause the whole world cares

Send one thousand cranes
It’ll definitely pay
For lives lost and saved

Cupid the Dentist

We fill the bad holes in
The holes that cause pain and won’t let us get what we had back.

We replace the bad ones with new ones
The bad ones that need to be gone and new ones to fill that empty space.

We keep the good ones there
The good ones that keep enduring, that will grow and decay together.

We stop pain, knowing that
It may be temporary, a fake relief

But together we keep them working.

Full Reception

One bar
We don’t have anything to say
Yet we want to

Two bars
We can’t hear over static
So make the call at home

Three bars
We can message whoever, whenever
But wait for an unknown reply

Four bars
We don’t have anything to say
Yet we want to

Five bars
Full reception, fully connected
Yet we don’t need to talk

Criteria for Respect

Does he go to a big building with a big name regularly?
+10 points
Does he accumulate over a million pieces of paper a year?
+10 points
Does he work in downtown and wear a suit?
+10 points

Does he do what he wants?
+20 points
Does he love what he does?
+20 points
Is he good at what he does?
+20 points

Marked out of 30 points, no bonus marks.

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