Sunday, 21 April 2013

[archived]: Poems by Changming Yuan © -2004/5/6

-First From Behind the Bamboo Curtain

Look at this foreign moon above thee
Fuller or rounder it does seem to be
Than what thou used to have and see
Back in thy home and far beyond the sea

But can thou note even in her true glee
This moon is less bright and less free
Not that she is strongly attached to her he
But that she finds no love in thee and me

-A Sonnet of Solitude

All along my rough, rough path
I am tired of running, running alone
Without either a break or a hearth
To nowhere but just my gravestone
Which only I know here and now
Is still lying afloat on the vast see
Of nothingness of oblivion of how
My travel has long been and will be
But ready to be devoured by a wave
When finally I drag myself to the beach
And have my first and last sight of a grave
Being the only meaningful I am to reach
Oh already tired I am very much so
How much farther could I farther go?
Changming Yuan /

-The Lonely Climber: A Seed Poem

you are tired, terribly tired
tired of climbing alone
upon an unknown mt quazilla
your sons refused to join you
feeling uncomfortable in your presence
your wife laughed at your childish idea
preferring not to share your eccentricity
your fellow travelers are relaxing in cozy cabins
enjoying a moment of borrowed privacy
indifferent to your intent or interest
you threw your clothes and sweat
onto the dusk dyed trailside
ready to present your naked soul to nature
happening to see a multicolored stone
you wonder if it was dropped by the philosopher
or left over by nu wa while mending the sky
encountering a curious and cautious deer
you sing above the top of your voice
your favorite songs of the past with tears
as if to blast your whole being against clouds
but the echo scares her away
reminding you of your lonely tiredness

hoping to get my own vision of the valley
i keep climbing, climbing and climbing
each time i manage to come upon a little slope
i found another edge higher ahead
i stopped, hesitated and looked back
more times than i can remember
i know there is nothing for me on the peak
except a few nameless wild flowers
or some new branches of an ancient tree
but i keep climbing, climbing and climbing
pushed by the inertia of life

it is not a problem of climbing or not climbing
nor a choice between two different roads
he will eventually lose sight of human footprint
but there will be a trail once he is there
all he wants to do is to forget the human fact
he cannot really escape but leave it behind
down at the foot of the mountain
for now
under Yoho’s natural bridge (in bc)

among the mighty massive roars
full of wild wonders and deep awe
i come to worship this bridge-like rock
carved with icy chisels of glacier water
powerfully pounding
constantly cutting
a masterpiece out of the primitive
with no sense of design or purpose
nor intended expression of any feelings
nor embodiment of scientific principles
totally ignorant of my humble presence
under my feet is a wooden bridge
simple, but solid as a superb set
of symmetries, a perfect human artifact
where i stop and then step down
to overhear a god talking to himself

-I Love You, Dear Death

ever since pangu
separating the sky from the earth
all my poor fellow humans
have been hating
hiding from, or
fighting face to face with you
although in vain

but i love you, dear death
not because you are the more fair, and sincere
than any lover willing to declare
nor because you are the ultimate home
to any wandering soul seeking a dome
nor because you could even give one's name
a guaranteed immortal fame

i do not know how to count
the countless ways i love you
yet i have flirted with your shadow
hundreds of times in private
when i found it unbearable
every cutting pain in my body
when i was simply sick of the fact
life is full of the foul, or
when i lost the meaning and direction
of my dull and humble life
i love you, dear death
because only you can liberate my soul
from the stuffy prisonhouse and give me
the fresh air in the outside world

-The Hero Is Dead Also

it took more than eighteen centuries
and a great philosopher to declare
god was dead
now even a sophomore in the street
can casually claim
hero is dead as well
does this mean man has reduced
to an antihero, a commoner
who will live of, by, and for his sole self?

-A Fable

once there stood still
a tremendous oak tree
trying to enjoy dreaming her own dream
in her humble but hilarious way
suddenly a wild west wind
starting to blow her back bent
like a madly mating moose
never letting his sexual desire rest
unable to stand straight up
she shrugs off her broken branches
Mid-Autumn Moon

a rounded rainbow trout
shining bright and lively
until it is cast afar
onto the bank of my dream

-A Domestic Dialogue

how can i have myself unfettered?
----who has fettered you?
no one really except an unseen hand
----then you are free


on a sunny rainy afternoon
walking alone along a wornout path
i overheard a newly old couple
trying to talk into another honeymoon
yes, marriage is a closed castle
those outside long to get in
while those inside eager to get out
no, marriage is the tip of a fried chicken wing
you get little meat from between the bones
but you do not just want to throw it away yet

-The Angler

your hooked-heart thrown into the lake
your nerves becoming tight and straight
splashing from above the water
you get a sunpainted serenity
or a lively moonlit mist
for your soul to bathe
in a juicy hour

-Freedom vs Power

each time i come to stand on the beach
my mind eager to break from my body
flapping its wishful wings
chasing the silver seagull
gliding high above in the beaming blue sky
like a pair of ice dancers

as i enjoy this truly rare moment
of total freedom borrowed from a bird
i overhear the wind whispering at my ears:
being able to do what you prefer to
is a persistently pursued privilege on earth
but being able not to do what you would rather not
is the ultimate savings deposited in heaven

-Being a Balloon

i could be high up in the smiling sky
sailing with all the blue leisure i like
until the sun blows me onto the other shore
although i can never fly like a powered eagle

but tightly tied to a twisted spring twig
budding with a whole cluster of green dreams
i can only hope to burst not too soon
unless the rope is cut or the twig broken

-the jug of life

never full
this jug of life
its taste could change completely
with only one droplet of dreamwater

staring at it square
holding it tight against light
not a single drop spilt
except the colors missed
along my long way here
rich and brilliant

-the colored balloon

full of youthful air
brilliantly beautiful
flying elegantly high
but ready to burst open
when suddenly stung
by the needle of reality
always sharply pointed

-Personal Salvation

my sister lives on round rice
my brother prefers brown bread
my friend fond of fast food
i often wonder and even envy
how they can live on ready-made

ive tried to adapt to the local staple
but my stomach is simply too fastidious
probably belonging to the unlucky few
i have to constantly change my lifefood
or i might have died of hunger long ago

in my little field of famine resistant crops
ive grown green grasses of my own choices
they offer no fancy smell or taste
but they are organic sustenance to my soul
and so i have survived so far

-Canadian Winter

unlike the proud Prometheus
you stole from an unknown paradise
the white seeds of pure peace
sowing them tender and graceful
with softly solid stillness
in a dry and dreamless land
are you blessings bountiful from high above
or just muted wishes deep in our hearts?

-Noon Jogging

i am tired
so terribly tired
of running
running alone
along this less traveled path
quite rugged
rough and
seeming endless
but i have to
keep moving
past heavy shades
wild flowers
and some strangers
or i would never
be able to
catch up with
my own soul
rolling echolessly

fresh, fertile, fateful
full of unpolluting power
the mind of a newborn
is the bible of life
like that of aristotle
it may reprocess
all earthly knowledge
similar to li bai's
it could translate a frail raindrop
into an empowered poem
as miraculous as shakespeare's
it would put the whole human world
onto a single small stage
different from marx's
capable of turning the half of the earth
upside down
even sharper than einstein's
likely to penetrate
the deepest depth of the universe
or written in water
the words might dry up under the sun
before the child becomes
the father of man

-Poetic Impulses

a loveless life smells
sour as acid
a lifeless love tastes
bitter as soda
when they are put
into the same pen
they yield poetry

-The Crying of the Heart

a big broken drop of tear
like boiled or frozen blood
held too long
in your left eye
ready to fall right
onto the tenderest spot
of my soul

-Dream and Poetry

what fails to find its way
to the front door of dreams
sneaks into the backyard
of poetry, where
it awaits to be collected
for home exhibit or yardsale

-Prism of Life

on the other colored side
of this world full of sound and fury
stands a lonely being, being alone
at the bushy and muddy bank
of a long but unknown river
looking beyond the blue universe
dying speechless without a will
left at the horizon

-When Am I

maybe i am really too old fashioned
but please help me, dear reader
i just could not understand
traditonal trends
or trendy traditions
such as
why some people are so keenly interested in
seeking a handshake
taking a co-picture with
or securing an autograph from
another fellow human being
why some souls enjoy staring at a ball
rolling or bouncing around
kicked from one side to another
on a fenced ground
why some hands are so stuck
with a mechanical mouse
and eyes deeply nailed
into a piece of cold glass
why some bipedal animals
try so desperately hard
to be different from others
while forcing all others to be
the same as they are
in particular
why the mind is so ready to see to say
why all this is not a lie?

-Beauty Is Not Truth

born with two problematic eyes
for which i have been searching in vain
a suitable pair of corrective lens
one is too near-sighted
the other without a focus
given a vision thus deformed
how can i see the truth
of keatsian beauty

-At the Lost and Found

i seem to remember
still belonging to someone
yet somehow long lost
lying now in this ignored corner
before my owner comes back
to claim me honestly
like the umbrella, the old bag
or the keys beside my bare body
i am nothing more or less
but a forlorn personal object
without my own identification

-The Dark Room

in this little cradle of light
the photographer
gently rocks
his newly born child
until he finds a magazine editor
willing to adopt her
encouraging her
to tell her unsolicited story
about darkness


seldom have you failed
to offer me
a ready shelter
against a sudden shower
the pressing hands of clocks
all ticking above the horizons
whose every beating
i spread like a spray
as if flirting with you
in a private oasis
yet with the west wind rising
you become a saggy sail
exposing me to the annoying tongues
trying to bite afar from the winter
or blown upside down
dragging my off my course
as i strive to hold you
tightly in hand

-At the Kitslano Beach

i spot and pick up
a curious clam
whose flimsy lips fairly open
and her tongue keeps reaching out
as if to reveal
the saltiness of seawater
the sad face of sand
and anecdotes about certain fishes
whose narration i really do not understand
although my younger son assures me
he can

-My Ink

is a blue cement
holding the bricks of my days
tightly together
or the whole house
i call home would
become loose
ready to collapse
even without
a pull or push


each time i pare my nail
i feel deeply grateful
for its unselfish readiness
to die in my stead
sparing me the keen sense
of the unbearable pain of growth
out of those parts of me
always younger
more romantic
and much more memorable
spread randomly
like unnoticeable seeds
sown in the spring soil


soon after his fifth birthday
my little allen solemnly promised
to purchase someday
a huge house for mom
a big benz for dad
a mighty motorcycle for bro
and a big pail of paint for grandpa

two birthday cakes before
he often imitated
playing "wild wild west"
with a broken broom
as his electric guitar
and when he was a second grader
he asked me many times
whether he could make big bucks
by becoming a street musician

now he has just blown out his ten candles
finally begun to learn playing guitar
whose sounds he finds really fascinating
although he still cannot keep the right beats
with neither his simple music
nor his feeling about future
nor his past pledges
he is trying hard to play
his the song of his own choice

-A Brief Bio of Water

Deep from the heart of the mountain
You flow up in the sky
Down falling from the cloud
As a raindrop into the river
Becoming part of the soup
Running along a blood pipe
Sweating or tears
Dried into the humid air
Becoming a morning dew in the autumn
Frozen on an icy night
Melting and running off
Along the stream
All the way to the ocean
You keep changing your expression
But never disappear
In you pursuit of the connection
Between life, sky and sea

-Symphony in Colors

High above in the summer sky
Hangs a thick rainbow to each eye
Whose brilliant colors resemble
The seven notes of a music scale
Or as many wonders in the world

Out of peace-dotted scraps of confetti
A newly married couple walks hand in hand
One with black hair, brown eyes and yellow skin
The other has white skin, blue eyes and golden hair
Their blood running both red through their hearts


While my mind tries
To find a way
Out of the labyrinth
Walled with thick wishes
My body is left
Wandering around
Like a headless fly
In a vast desert
Another labyrinth

-On a Rainy Sunday

While the whole world runs amuck
in its thin and pale dreams
I keep watching in dark stillness
Afraid to awake and shock the dreamers
To a shameful death

-Bus Ticket

With the yellowish ticket
My parents happened to put
In my statistically wrapped hand
I have been trying hard to catch the right bus
Running fast somewhere in the busy traffic
Before it expires shortly

-The Shelter for the Night

the rented room for my soul
can be either large or small
so long as there is a bed in it
where I can think about nothing
and look through the window
Just to see a shower passing by

-Post Modern Behavior

Near the hearth of my heart
Hides a Venus-designed website
Visited and revisited only
When the night is thickly dyed
With the stillness of privacy

When a crow chats with another crow intimately
And a dog writes poetry on my frosted lawn
Can I still see myself as a human
capable of modern behavior?


-Some Poems

with too many thorns
some poems can only
be picked and put
in a flower pot on the table

with their juice too bitter
some poems can only
be brewed with grapes
and drunk from a small glass

-Rain and Poetry

it is raining
raining again
in vancouver

i am trying
trying again
to write poetry

raining / writing
writing / raining
until somehow
they are related
within my room
just rented

-Sowing after “Digging”

Above an empty sheet of paper
With lines like the thin ridges
In an open fallow field
My snug pen squats
As if waiting in ambush
Below my window, my fathers shaking shadow
Is shrinking slowly but surely
Into a focus constantly adjusted
By the noon sun of spring
As he scatters some strange seeds
Over the soil like salted brown rice
He has been preparing since last winter

By god, the old man enjoys sowing
Even more than his old man

My grandfather died at the age of 29
In a hilly village in central china
He had cast every drop of his soiled sweat
Onto a field not belonging to himself
It is said that he reaped little in autumn
Nor did he really care about reaping

Like a bridegroom planting his plump sperm deep
In his brides virgin field on a mid-summer night
I am now sowing, with my pen

-Life Is Full of Paradoxes

this is a bewildered
and bashful bat
seeing with its ears
flying without feathers
biting, chewing, and sucking
instead of beaking or pecking
dreaming on its back
more than on its belly

although a perfectly normal mammal
he has been trying hard
to make a bird's living
never intending to deceive
or human attention to receive

are you a comic error of nature
or rather a tragic wonder of life?

-he Harpist and His Audience

more than two thousand earthly revolutions ago
somewhere on the other side of this new world
a horizontal harpist named bo ziya
burned his bare but beloved instrument
and never sang to any more human ear
upon hearing the news of zhong ziqis death
the only one who understands and loves his music
even until now

-Dangling Modifiers

to write your dead past
into a living essay
this chapter should be read
with your eyes and mind
both widely open

by perusing or pursuing
such perfectly bound books
all the essential rules
can easily be learned
about their sophisticated syntaxes

taking notes with all her attention
the idiomatic usages
of her adopting language
will be mastered well
over a small spot of time

heavily loaded with grammar
his whole being is
an isolated adverbial
often meant to modify
the wrong logical subject

-Senses Subscribed

we seldom see what we look at
when we look at what we see

do you always hear what you listen to
as you try to listen to what you hear?

were I to live under water again
i would only smell of fish forever

most tasty would be worthy words
even more so are juicy conceptions

master god is snapping a rest
his apprentices are busy today

-The Seven Wonders of the Human World

1. the birth of a child
2. the feeling of a nerve ending
3. the forming of an idea
4. the ageing of a cell
5. the separation of mind from matter
6. the establishment of language
7. the interaction between yin and yang

-Your World

is or is not
that is all
there is
to all the world
that is there

-Five Life Equations

Desires = Living years X (physical needs + spiritual needs)
Happiness = love X (freedom + peace)
Wisdom = application X (knowledge + experience)
Success = wisdom X happiness/desires
Life = 13 + achievements / number of living years
Newer Testament Left on an Elevator

The maximum capacity is a dozen humans plus some luggage of faith and hope
Overcrowded now with thirteen lifetimes how can we all go up into the same top?

-3 duiju

bright clouds drifting tamely in the sky
dark waves galloping wildly on the sea
beyond the backyard blue bells ring brilliant
round the ramp red roses blossom radiant

with gods permission the eagle soars above the whiteness of clouds
against mans will the shark swims beneath the darkness of waves

-Decisive Discoveries

the moment i squeezed into this world, i discovered that there was a quite big difference between light and darkness;
the day my mom stopped breastfeeding me, i discovered that i could use my own toothless mouth to intake food and satisfy my hunger;
at age 5, i discovered that the colorful marbles i had buried deep in the backyard of my house would never grow to be a magic tree as i had expected;
when i was 7, i discovered that the gas emitted by a running truck had a peculiarly pleasant smell;
at 11, i discovered that during drowning my body felt much lighter and more resilient than my spirit;
at 14, i discovered that poetry looked very beautiful when i saw it with my minds eye;
at 17, i discovered that i could say "down with chairman mao" in my heart without running any risk of being discovered and thus put into jail as a counter-revolutionary, as in the case of one of my classmates who had happened to misspell mao's name during a spelling quiz;
at 22, i discovered that just as a political commissar could change my outer life permanentely, a charming girl could alter my inner being once and for all;
at 28, i discovered that fathering a child was a joy forever;
at 35, i discovered that many of my childhood dreams had actually come true without my knowing it;
at 39, i discovered that a rented room was never a home, while a house of my own was nothing less than a whole climate of heart;
at 47, i discovered that poetry was the religion i had been trying to convert myself to;
at 49, i discovered that it was much easier to change or reform myself than anyone else, even my wife's little habit to leave her toothbrush and toothpaste around after use;
since my last birthday, i have discovered that there are numerous new and interesting discoveries waiting for me to make...

-3 Cursory Couplets

in the absence of an inspired wind
all fallen leaves report to their roots

between the sliced silences of white pages
a whole forest struck down as if in a tunguska

every infant smiles when recalling
all the pleasures in its former life

-Questions Not Really Rhetorical

  1. Wards always have more beautiful views. Isnt this because we have never looked at life out there from such a detached point of view?
  2. Both lives created and creations of life have patterns or identical parts. Isnt this the essence of life and beauty as well?
  3. Isnt the hospital really the most luxurious but most unwanted hotel on our journey of life?
  4. Without my personal involvement, the world supposedly mine has been running just as smoothly. Given this, why not try to live in a different world after being discharged from the hospital?
  5. Why did they have to make such devilish inventions like the IVAC pump to drive a suffering patient to more nightmares?
  6. Isnt it ironical that hospital offers the most humane lifestyle to a human who cannot really enjoy it?
7. Doesnt it take much more effort and courage for us to learn for the second time how to eat, drink, piss, pooh, crawl, sit, stand, walk and speak?


[Pale with persistent pain]…Excuse me?
[No response from three chatting nurses]
[A bit louder] …Excuse me?
[No response from two chatting nurses]
[Timidly] …Knock, knock?
[One remaining male nurse yells with a ferocious face] Are you dying?!
[Terribly embarrassed] No, sorry, but I…
[In a much louder voice] Nobody, n-o-b-o-d-y knock here!
[More embarrassed with greater pain] I am so sorry, but…
[With a bit more professionalism] Since you are obviously not dying, wait over there!

-An Other Inspiration

Like every animal face
Every leaf
Has two sides:
Left and right
Strictly symmetrical
And two facets
Obverse and reverse
Starkly contrastive

I try to find
A green page
Without any pattern
An other law of beauty
With one single
And whole design in
And winter
But I cannot
Is it because
I am also a leaf?

-What Am I

in a digitalized world
i have lost all my fashionable clothes
except as a 100% naked number
dull, dumb but beautifully deformed
often wondering among piles of statistics
which set of numbers is my true self
my dl, my sin, my pin, or #?

-Statistics Studies

According to the latest report
For the past three decades
One hundred percent of US presidents
Like to doodle since childhood

So many a boy decides to give up
All his pursuits and begins to doodle
In a remote village somewhere
On the other side of the globe

Like prints on an invisible film
These lines and shapes of
Apples and bananas
All so deep
In the developing mind

-These Few Words

In hundreds of languages
Over thousands of years
Under millions of circumstances
By billions of human beings
And for trillions of times
These few simple words
Have been repeated
Still on the mouth
At finger tips
Or with heart beats
Even though they have become meaningless
Pale and feeble
More tasteless than thin water

-The Story of a Sycamore

out of countless rains, winds, frogs and frosts
you finally managed to grow up, tall and straight
until on a dull day you were desperately recruited

hiding you head and limbs, you continue standing
your naked shoulders always supporting something
with all your breadths but without any hope
of lying down even for a single private moment

now they need you no more: go back home
as you are tired of standing alone: totally exhausted

but after you leave your long standing post
you have no life left to grow the tiniest bud
nor do you feel any less tired when lying down

-The American Dream

like a superstitious stream
not too wildly wide
but you cannot simply cross it
without a raft or a canoe
nor too dangerously deep
but you may easily get drowned
if unable to keep floating on the water
nor too radically rapid
but the current is often swift enough
to carry you far away to nowhere


after a whole seasons
yellowish hesitation
that last leaf finally jumps off
from the autumn-twisted twig
as the winter-coded wind
begins to wave

-Last Lines

the day he lost his voice a wicked specter
came to challenge him to sing a real song
an elegy without any metaphoric reference
to anything as fancy as dream, sun, moon
light, flower, rain, frog, cloud, wind, snow
river, tree, bird, sea, beach, land, mountain
morning glow, starry night, or loneliness
he said he could and would but he should
not do so as all ears have become deafened

-Song of Salmons

deep in ever deafening waters
of the pacific never really pacific
you speak a highly salty dialogue
too unique to be readily translatable

painted with shiny eloquence
your language has no tattooed taboos
under every spot of your silver skin
is hidden a richly pink secret

within your little body shorter than a meter
spurts out a strength of three thousand kilo
you keep swimming in bluish solitudes
against the waves of an entire ocean

your heroic journey back to your birth stream
is nothing less than a pilgrim to immortality
along your single long line writ in water
you have striven, for a tiny egg of after-life


between the unpolluted pages
of my little worn-out book
put in the shelf of my heart
lies a scarlet maple leaf
a pretty piece of peace
a native nugget of nature
from my chosen garden
home to crops or plants
of all colors and textures

-The Conscientious Moon

to make sure
every little corner
of this darkening world
is lightened up
the moon rises
and sets
and rises again
even when the sun
is still shining


If I lend my dull-colored mind
To the other me in the mirror
Then I would become a human
Reflection of my authentic being

Long and abstract is this process
To relocate my lukewarm soul
In a world of engulfing glass
Its cold surface is all its bold depth

Let me be as careful as I can
Not to break this magic mirror
Or I would be cut to blood
By the sharp shreds of selfhood

-That Summer

we jumped naked
into the fond pond
of our boyhoods
where we loved to
loll and wallow
like playing dogs
chasing frogs madly around
from one lotus leaf to another
our pants beside the muddy path
blown far away
in a hot and humid dream

since then
our game has never been over

-Temporarily Floating

I am the little creature
He put on his hook
To be kissed or swallowed
By an unknown fish

Many trout are swimming around
I have no idea which one of them
He intends to take out of the stream
The only thing I hear is His laughter
Echoing along the tightened line

-The Man and the Fish

There are fewer and narrower streams
But much more and wider highways
Where are you heading? Asks the man
How can you survive? Asks the trout

--Ill try to become a grass
--Ill try to become a seagull

-The Memory

Like a thorn
Deeply stung
Into the flesh
Not far from the heart
Hurting much more
When pulled out
Even with
Great care

-Writing a Poem

put your sensitivity
into the jug of life
soak it really deep
under the spring water
of your imagination
let the sunshine
do the whole work
you do not need
to go to the city of phoenix
for a cup of suntea
the most natural and nutritious drink
to a thirsty soul

-Day in Day out

each time the clock agitates
there are tens of thousands
that let out loud cries
about the boiling pain of being borne
just as so many others
who cannot help cold-sweating
with the fever and fret
of a commonly unknown disease
unlike you and me

each time the sun rises
there are tens of thousands
who will never get up
to greet the morning glow
just as so many others
who can no longer go to bed
to continue their rosy dreams
under the moon-painted roof
like you and me

each time the dew drops
there are tens of thousands
whose backs bend a bit more
pushed down by an invisible hand
just as so many others
whose countless troubles and traumas
make them tremble with chagrin
yearning for a sunny spell
you and me


Between the spring breeze
Brushing its green signature
On my forehead
And the winter frost
Putting its fluffy seal
On my naked chest
Is thus painted my whole life
On a single rough page
No thicker than a maple leaf

-Deep in the Mountain

hand in hand with a fluffy fog
walking alone along an un-trodden trail
is a rare luxurious thing to do in life
i cannot help hopping, jumping, singing
shouting and wallowing in the grass
with sunbeams peeping through the clouds
as nature turns me into a wanton
full of wild wonder and deep awe
forgetting where is my home at all

i try to find some secrets about the mountain
but it seems never to stop changing
from a bald hump to a shadowy castle
indeed, no one can see its true face
because it may have none to start with
or because i am too deep in its arms
Changming Yuan

-Once in a While

in her overly farmed field
of language and feeling
she chose to grow
two fallow crops:
one trying to survive
in its constant strife
against the foul weather
and ferocious weeds
the other just fallen asleep
in its leisurely dream
about the golden dawn
of the following autumn

-Then the Maple Tree

Some time then
The maple tree was
Between us

Some time then
The maple tree was
Beside us

Some time then
The maple tree will be
Between us, again

-The White Goose

My grandfather was younger than my son
When he died of an undiagnosed disease
Somewhere in the Mid-South of China
So we have been told since childhood:
He did nothing memorable or forgettable
Left no picture of his or any handwriting
Not even one impression on my fathers senses
Since he was born after he passed away)
But he had bought a big white goose
To protect his infant son in his place
And a single-syllabled family name
Copyrighting every little poem
I have composed
In a foreign tongue

-The Worn Worm

This is a transparent creature
Gnawing at the tiny roots
Of my withering senses
Before it becomes a chrysalis
Buried deep in my hearts soil
Then it tries to climb out
Sucking all the fresh dews
Held long in my staring eyes
Before it begins to beat
Its blue wings against the frog

Then it will fly away
On a cloudless day

-Simply Because of You

You gave me a smile the other day
It attracts many fish swimming towards me
When I share it with a little lake

You sent me a message the other night
It makes some nameless plants burst into blossom
When I read it aloud in their presence

You told me the foreign town you are in
It becomes tightly connected to my homepage
Boldly marked on the screen of my heart

-Natural Logic

The Nile flows as far as five thousand miles
Because its course never changes its destination

The Everest towers as high as nine thousand meters
Because it enjoys growing in solitude all the time

The Universe is more profound than the human mind
Because it never bothers to make any earthly noise

-Another Snowflake

A tiny kiss of winter
So soft and tender
Lightly falling upon
Your uncovered head
Melting into teardrops
And running into your heart
All in white silences
Metabolism of Selfhood

as millions of my skin cells die every day
my micro-selves become invisible dust

as numerous speckles of dust return to earth
my macro-self grows bigger out of living flesh

-Sitting behind a Hotel Window

With winter-washed walls
In all directions
He sits alone
Under a spectral light
The heart of the night
As the surreal interface
Between his mind and dream
Becomes immensely vague

Yes, this is the nest for his soul
It is neither too large nor too small
The bed is also the right size
Where he can think about nothing
And look through the window
Just to see a shower passing by
All on their journey

-The Operation

So seldom succeeds
In removing the infected tissue
Reeking of pus and blood
More often than not
It makes the wound fester even worse
When it functions in effect
To take out the ruptured
Piece of peace

-The Fence

Like a grandpa's teeth
Cannot bite the softest days
Passing by daily

-Fate Fossilized

Thanks to his hard bones
Quickly buried
Deep in the soil
His sudden death
Has been printed
On a rocky page
Covered thus with eternality

-Heart Transplant

You have died with a living heart
I am still living with a dead heart
So long as we co-exist in peace
What difference does it make
Who lives within whose heart?

-At the Lantern Festival

Before the first lantern is lit and hung up
The darkness of this world represents all the light of the day

After every lantern is lit and hung up
The light of this world stands for all the darkness of the night

It has been like this since long:
During every festival only half of the lanterns are actually lit


On the lawns covered with chilly dreams
Like a huge heavenly herbivore creature
It wanders in ever fresh and warm leisure
With its transparent tongue reaching far out
As it licks at the snow left under the tree shade

From under the thick quilt of last winter
Hills wake, and all buildings loom up
Like its bulky body showing its strong figure
While the wind collides with the clouds
As if it were shaking down its fur like feathers

-Vegetarian Will

All he wishes
Is to have this
Hardy heart of his
Transplanted to
A dying Douglas fir
Thus adding a bit of
Ever green to
A wild wild world


Some times the bed is simply too big
Other times the bed is way too small
However its size seems to be changing
They never change their shared bed
Sleeping Habit

After he came back from hospital
She began to sleep in a separate bed
Since he left for hospital (forever)
She has returned to their common bed
All because of the pain

-Round Trip

On her way to the city
A total stranger to her
She only knew her own shadow well
As she picked every stone shining bright

On her way back from the city
A fair familiar friend to him now
She forgets her own maiden name
As she casts away all her diamonds darkened

-The Roses

a splendid present
from my former girl friend
this pot of flowers
looking so drippingly fresh
full of dreamy tenderness
even attractive to wild bees
flying against my window glass

watering with my wishes and worship
i fell in love again with her very soul
adding colors, grace and pride
to my dull and drab dwelling
even my wife became jealous
of my care and devotion
until my sharp-eyed little son told me
the flowers were a famous fake
so i threw it into a box marked free
during my neighbor's garage sale

-The Wild Gooses Will

Those who know me not
Find me a kite tied to the skyline
Those who know me well
See in me a true sunshine chaser

I have never traveled high
As the reputed American bald eagle
Nor am I attached to the ground
Like the pigeons on Tiananmen Square

Plumed with the feathers of disappointment
My wings of hope may melt like Pegasus
Yet following my heart along the horizon
I have never lagged behind my shadow

Let me keep flying all the way to my death
Despite the cold clouds watching in silence

-In the Forest of Life

like an open cage
like a free hotel
my balcony has become a home
to many wild city birds
pigeons philosophizing in private
seagulls stalking with arrogance
crows beaking at unseen seeds
sparrows quarrelling non-stop
on the branched-out railings
behind the dusk dyed wall
sometimes all alone
more often in company
looking out of my wingless window
i find myself to be one of them
coming to perch here by chance
but ready to flee by need

-Masking Up

to my surgeon in charge
my puffed piggy face
is just another common case
of allergic reaction
to sensitive cefazolin
for my wife still with her appendix
intact close to her idle womb
this face has all its wicked wrinkles
ironed out, every caved-in surface
was evenly filled or dressed up
indeed, it looks younger, more attractive
and even sexier, as if it had gone
through a perfect plastic surgery
but nobody except my old self
in this world of fret and frenzy
suffering alone from the pink itchiness
as I long for the return of my own face
not handsome
but authentic enough

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