Sunday, 21 April 2013

[archived]: Poems by Changming Yuan © -2008

-Chinglish Sayings

The moon over America is bigger and rounder than china
The crows in the rose garden are less black than the forbidden city

We natural follow our hearts more close than to our minds
Those standing most closest can strike most deadliest

The east wind will suppress the west wind is certain
We enjoy go watch play basketball on the weekend

Few Chinese individuals have really independent personality
In social relation face and golden mean are most important thing

Because china is the most populous country, so it has most problems
Tho our ancestors invented gunpowder, we used it for celebration only

Firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, tea are seven things of every household
People take food as sky while emperor is just as too far away as sky is too high

Since we without the condition, we strongly against this system
We are desirous getting into the stage though we lack of masks
We find simply inappropriate to use I or me too often
My home is the only place in which myself really cares

-The Making of a Best Poem

1/ A: a worthy arrangement of worthless words
B: a public print-out of private puzzles
C: a rational repetition of random ravings

2/ A: mailed from a good address, better school-associated
B: including a good bionote, better award-winning
C: signed with a good name, better recognizable

3/ A: received by a well-circulated magazine
B: read by a well-connected editor
C: recommended by a well-established publisher

4/ A: the magazine is in the right need
B: the editor is in the right mood
C: the publisher is of the right kind

5/ A: published in the perfect year
B: included in the perfect section
C: presented on the perfect page

6/ A: selected by a poetry lord, somehow intrigued
B: voted by an expert reader, somehow over-reading
C: chosen by a guest editor, somehow idiosyncratic

-Interview Interrupted

It does not sell a penny, even if it does
The honorarium can never offshoot the costs
Of the stamps, envelopes, pens and papers
Not to mention the computer and laser printer

Nor does it bring any worthy honor or fame
Since it died as early as a century ago
when people began to turn to novels, movies
fashion shows, tv, sports, rock and roll

Nor can it help articulate any post modern
Feelings, thoughts, impulses, dreams
Sensations, experiences which can be more
boldly expressed in digital fonts or formats

Nor can it really prove, record, mark, communicate
Criticize, satirize, promote, denounce, debunk
Describe, reflect, educate, stimulate, amuse
Amaze, appeal anything or anybody in todays world

Indeed, whatever can be said has all been said
And whatever has been said is already the best
Of all the artworks plaguing this polluted world
Why the heck do you have to write poetry?


It is perfectly easy:
All you need to do is
To separate be
From the intended act
Or take out the first letter
From the glove
[on your personality]
or simply press
and thus cover
the g [spot with
Your whole being

-Post-Modern Epitaphs

1. off line
2. tuned out
3. game over
4. id expired
5. a static statistic
6. too tired to toil for more fame and money
7. here I have found freedom, equality and fraternity

-Diphthongal Quartet
(for children and others)

hi the guy, dye the tie
I to my eye cry and lie
Why to vie and sigh in the rye?

Show or throw, a crow is no foe
No foe would go so very low
Flow the toe or owe a blow

How to tow, how to vow
Allow the bow for a pow-wow
Now to cow in order to row

Bake a cake, make a flake
Brake the snake for wakes sake
Take the ache off the fake lake


Although with a broken pen soul
I am not writing tear ably or pointlessly
on the new clear issue for the magazine
run by a non-prophet society
set up on the basis of its members lie ability
To me, an operation would not secure but mean
a sentence to the peace in that infected area
As a banana author, I may lack a peel
but it is rarely better to turn left than to be all right
To avoid a rest, Ive de sided to go fast on a weak day
then I will call my sun to rice in the mourning
after he falls in love at the first site
In deed, if we give the act an inch
it would become a ruler. Just like a life guard
I hope to keep all the buoys in line
With a film-like memory yet to be developed
I try to keep my head above the water
as I swim for word, yet I have no interest in the bank
Unlike a lawyer who may be debarred or a model
to be deposed, Ill never become a poet to be decomposed
nor do I allow my train of thaw derailed; rather
I will commit sue side by continuing
to write worse or move in verse

-QUX: Waltz of Alphabet

[A]bide one [B]arrow
[C]art another [D]ear
[E]late in the [F]air
[G]love the [H]owl
[I]deal with the [J]ail
[K]ill to [L]earn
[M]arch the [N]arc
[O]pen a [P]lay
[R]ice for the [S]crawl
[T]angle the [V]ale
[W]rite about the [Z]one

-Dancing Definitions

Descant of beauty
Art of mechanics
Geometry of youth
Poetry personified
Painting in 4 dimensions
Heavenly handwriting
Figure thinking
Rhythm of imagination
Each and all
In human dynamics


Happy is the baby who picks and plays with a plain bottle among all the fancy toys

The dog is successful when it finds the bone it wants to chew

If we love animals, they will love plants in return

When mice begin to enjoy playing with cats, there will be peace

Children are healthy as long as they are eating, running and giggling


If you have not yet found
The way to immortality
It does not matter, I have
And there is actually a short-cut

You dont have to convert yourself
To avoid hell and go to heaven
Nor do you need to take elixirs
Or even try to accumulate prestige

Fame or creation does not help
All you ought to do is not to lose
Your self-awareness, the energy
That preserves itself after your death

Keep it or let it drift against night
It does not matter, if you really like
Concentration can turn it into
A spirit, a ghost or even a god

So, concentrate


Is it an old bumpkin again
Driving a jalopy ford pick up
Unable to speed up on a highway
Or some mrs billionaire sitting behind the wheel
Of a s8000 mercedes
Too careful with her fancy life
Somewhere in the front?

Surely there is no accident
No police patrol or even a red light
You fuck, you dumb shit, why do you
Have to drive so stupid slow
On such a gray Saturday evening?

You dumb shit, you shouldnt do this, people
eager to press horns on you, to zigzag, to
Switch on and off their highbeams to protest
Against you originating such snail traffic

All of us have to drive at this speed you set
Even tho a red toyota cannot wait to make love tonight
A blue mac to have a good beer all by himself
And a white shadow to meet her death by the weekend

You fuck, blocking this long single-laned traffic
If only I were driving a crazy tank or a frenzy bulldozer
That I can crash your stupid soul, crush your snail car
And clear the way to my destiny in the twilight


1/ to the wild rhythm of an open fire
our ancestors danced with their naked bodies
in each others warm shadow
although they are total strangers before the cave

2/ to the blinking beat of a cold screen
we are now dancing with our gloved fingers
in the bright spots of our own minds
although we have no spectators in rented rooms

3/ to the unheard melody of a starry song
our offspring will dance with their lucent souls
along the borderline between earth and heaven
although they cannot distinguish themselves from air

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

-Real-Or-Unreal Conditionals

As if the chrysanthemum leaf were more tender than the petal
As if the china cat were being chased by a cloned mouse
As if money became something like air or sunlight
As if god were to come to rescue your name or fame in particular at the end of the world
As if the knob could tune up love or wisdom
As if the sounds were more brilliant than cherry blossoms
As if the butterflies had never seen a flower
As if the sun were to rise every other month from the north
As if language and art were not modern behavior
As if I had really found the way to become a god after my death
As if you were all to live to 800 years
As if all the worlds water began to drain away from our planet tomorrow
As if consciousness evolved into the only form of intelligent beings


I show her how to move her steps
But shes much too timid
Worse still, she cannot coordinate with my movements
Although she dances with me, to an unheard melody
Its her own music shes dancing to

She likes the way I hold her
Even lets me kiss her shoulder from time to time
so richly white and velvety
But she always keeps me at bills length
Each time I come closer
She backs off with a glaring scream

What have I done so wrong?
What is in her mind?
Jumping off the stage
She shows her best, which is a scarlet crest
Like plum petals blown onto the wall of west
I beg her to return
So she did, but only to depart from me again

Outside the spotlight
She begins to beat her wide wings against my blue wishes
Her eyes sparkling, as if saying to me
I have my neck and legs
Both too thin and too long to be your partner here
In this cage-like hall
Worse still, shes much too timid


Now another ice age is coming
Everyone knows how


If each night rises
Outside each day
There lies a mighty mountain
Where darkness runs wild

You want to climb
Along this trail of light
And hunt for the rising darkness
Even without an arrow


I had a conversation with a potted pine tree
Put precisely at the center of a corner
Among some dwarfed plants
Crowded in an ornamented house
Full of solid walls and railings

Like its twigs and even roots
All its protests were pinched and pruned
With the scissors of human art
It was mad, it was sad
Preferring to be growing in on a wild hilltop

From this pine tree deformed in a pot
I heard the muted cry of every soiled woe
Every suppressed life on earth


All your life, you have been trying
Flowing, pouring and dissolving
Every droplet of your thick and transparent being
Into this lake
For her sake
Yet at the end it is you
Who turn yourself into the lake
Your gift is as long as your life
While she remains absent-minded
As if worshiping herself
And never becoming a stream
To merge with you


I am the type you are supposed to despise
Smaller in size and duller in personality
More of a herbivore

I speak aloud in tongue
I eat noisily with bamboo sticks
I appear everywhere like locusts
I have recently been wanted by the editing authority
When the sun gets me
I am a dream walker

Now I am sitting beside you
In the same class
So whether you keep your eyes open or not
You can feel my warm shadow
Until we touch down
My breaths will invade
Your private space
My chanting will beat your ear drums
While you pursue your dream
My elbows or knees will occasionally
Touch or even hit yours
When monstrous clouds attack our plane
Youd better remain relaxed
Since it is not a matter of choice

Yet I am the type you are supposed to respect
I had an even happier childhood in nature
Although quite premature
I used to be the most civilized
Mighty and mysterious
I am in papers
I am not a phoenix
No more or less than a fellow traveler
With my own destination

So feel free to do whatever comforts you
We will travel together

-The-Peril-of-Watching-Too-Much-TV News

If you watch too much tv about what is going on beyond your living room
You go quite mad
Thats what marco polo used to say every time he saw someone
Watching the big well-washed mouth yabaaing in front of a bigger camera
All their reporters and editors, none of them a true fly on the wall
With their freaky bias and nancy ways of looking at others
Selecting and shuffling words and pictures about evil soviets
Demon chinese, civilized lamas, angel-like looters
Humans biting dogs, johns caps on jills heads, and the deer called a horned horse
All of em juggled and tripping over one another in your little fragile brain box
Well, its a bit like unleashing a whole centurys illusions out of the corral
To stampede right over your ears and eyes
All those colored or uncolored lies
Whirling around inside your poor skull
Beating up storms of yellow dust
So overwhelming you cannot see or hear with your own senses
The real other world which is just the real other world
They claim to be the bars helping cage the most ferocious among us
Yet they are more ferocious than the crowned lion preying around in the jungle
Listen what I say is
If you believe everything bbc or cnn reports about their edited worlds
You go quite mad

-Animal Farm Revisited
The other day, I saw a vulture wearing the feathers of a dove
That happened to sneak into this fairy farm
There it was bullying pigs and goats into flight
Torturing ducks and roasters for having wings feathered with similar dreams
Beaking the bear because of its claws just as powerful
Conspiring with bulls, elephants and walking dogs against the dragon for trying to fly just as high
And threatening all others for emptying their bowels through their own ass holes
Just like itself

Did you honestly see that?

-You Know How Fast You Are Driving?

I have no idea, officer, but
I am trying to catch the next flight to heaven
I have an important appointment with an angel
I need to go to a washroom

This is my first day to go to work
This is my last chance to save my marriage
This is the only hope to find my lost child
This is the right situation for a surpass

My new boss is waiting for me
My new bride is expecting me
My baby is being borne
My father is dying in hospital

Something has gone wrong with my right foot
Something blurred my eyes for a moment
Something is not right with the odometer
Something funny is going on…

Sure, but I have to give your ticket
For driving too fast to your destination

-Have Aliens Found Us


We havent em
We have found fossils
Those white birds of history
Their wings frozen in time
Once flying mischievously
In our personal climate
Its all like hide-&-seek
They have found us
We havent em


-At the Gas Station

Does this gas
Taste of grain or blood to you?

They say pump
What you dont drink with your mouth

Do all these nozzles
Serving the wrong thirst
Reach out from the same nightmare?

They say its all civilization
So be a vampire

-Politicians & Public Opinion

This distorted shadow of a monster dancing widely
Or of a colossal rain cloud above the borderline between sea and sky
Constantly changing its shape and thickness
With lightning and thunder
Ready to blow or to be blown into an unseen bubble
By the whirl beaten up by another dancing monster


On a bright night, at a violet site,
I sowed a seed onto a fertile field
Never expecting to enjoy the thick shade
Under this tall pine tree
Like an all-purpose shield

-Not My Ashes

No, please do not keep my ashes in that suffocating urn
Where my spirits can neither fly nor to the ground return

But throw me high, higher against a wild west wind
Let me travel along with this seasons sigh thinned

Like the seeds from an unseen hand
Spread finely across a far virgin land

-3 Sketches from Sichuan Earthquake [12May08]

1/ Mother and Baby
with all your human motherhood
your arms and legs like concrete poles
you created a safe cradle for your baby
as it enjoys sucking life from your withering breast
under tons of debris

2/ Teacher and Pupils
as the mountains clashed
you returned to the school sinking in the quake:
how did your single small body manage
to protect four teenagers from being smashed
by the walls caving in?

3/ Victim and Rescuers
just from the bloody battlefield against death
you are carried down on a stretch made of soldierly arms
too feeble even to feel alive
yet you remember to make a military salute
to the unseen PLAs supporting your boyhood

-No One Knows When

Deep in every human heart
Is caged a ferocious tiger
Always ready to spring out
And eat you or me alive

-How Does the Big Eagle

How does this big eagle
Improving its shining claws
And spring around like a mad beagle
To every unwritten clause

How innocent it pretends to be
How fresh it prefers fowl
And bullies the starving bee
Out of tasting a petal foul


Under a narrow and starless sky
Dig me no grave but let my fly
Loud did I sing and loudly sigh
Please throw me against a high wind

This be the spirits you scatter around:
Here he starts from and falls on the ground
Here is the cuckoo, home from the sound
And his ashes fall upon a wild flower

-White Crow in the First Place

You’ve never seen a white crow
You will never expect to see one
But you know your colorless soul
Would rather be than see one

--on W. H. Daviess Leisure

what would our life be if, full of desire
we can from our own hearts all retire

stop counting every shining rusty coin we could make
or selling our dignity, freedom or something even fake

stop trying to have sex with someone ideal
or to kiss, and talk dirty with someone real

stop gathering fame like picking every fallen pine cone
or seeking the autograph from someone better known

stop pursuing the power to influence others
or building the authority belonging to fathers

stop looking for bigger houses, richer foods, and more fashionable clothing
or getting newer hardware or fancier cars even when theres nowhere going

stop pleading Jesus, Buddha, or Ala for a happier after life
or building heaven with earthly prayers said only to survive


Some sing life will restart out of soil
Some sing out of air
From what youve never heard of
You give up on those who hate soil
But if it were to be born once again
You doubt you had any idea of love
Not to sing that for construction air
Would not hold even with sunlight
Or suffice


First on clumsy panda feet

It squats, eye-sweeping
Over trees and grasses
On silent haunches
And then, begins to loll and wallow around

-Confucian-Gentility: the-Origin-of-Haiku

Orchid: Deep in the valley
Alone on an obscure spot
You bloom none the less

Lotus: From foul decayed silt
You shoot clean against the sun
Never pollutable

Mum: Hanging on and on
Even when wishes wither
You keep flowering

Plum: Your brave bold blood dropped
As though to melt all worlds snow
Before spring gathers


Ten, turn tight.
Nine, note night

Eight, alienate April
Seven, Satan saddens

Six, spirits secrets
Five, fight fire

Four, forward force
Three, thread throes

Two, tourist tools


I could never really fly
But into the air I often jump high
When the moonlight dyes the whole night
With all the glimmering tranquility

It seemed a perfectly natural thing to do:
I took a deep breath
Then bent my knees
And jumped again
Before I fell onto the ground

From above tree tops or lake waters
I willed myself to rise like a hot air balloon
As I strove to prove with every demonstration
That it was not a dream

And, each time, I wondered
Even if it was all but a dream
Why did it never melt
After the sunbeam set in?


Was it the shadow?
Was it the shadow beyond?
Was it the shadow beyond the shadow?
Still fell the thick night,
When the heart blocked the light.

Yes, it is light!
It is light within!
It is light within light!
Loud sweeps the morning glow,
Where the mind has no shadow.

-Modern Narsasis

Id better stop
Looking hard in the mirror
With these gold-rimmed lens

Or Ill cut myself
Into sharp bleeding pieces
If it is broken

-Songs and Calls

Birds make two types of sounds:
They sing
When they perch
On the tree
They call
When they fly
In the heavens

-Between-Me-and Mirror

Looking right in the mirror
I find
No human reflection
Not even my shadow
Though the room rented
Is full of morning glows
Except the presence of absence

Where I am
I am
What is blocked
However I turn
The mirror absorbs my entire being
I long to take a closer look
At my truer self
But all I could see there
Is a blank space only


Tho my partner threw me away
Like one of her used lipsticks
After putting on a new makeup

Tho my landlord gives me shit
Each time I fail to pay him
In full amount or on the first day

Tho my boss has just fired me
Simply because he happed to see me first
After he lost a fortune this morning

Tho my only friend big mac
Is too weak to play with me
Or dream about having gold solid

Tho some call me trash
Others look down upon me
And still others never see me

Tho I have had little luck
Not to mention money
Except a few human rights

Be all that as it may
i got to eat a loaf of bread
and sleep in a dry corner
even on a rainy day


Hard above my head
Is a heavy rhythm
As deaths thumping steps
Ready to iron me onto the ground

-fair Is the Fate

each of us
has a fiery steed

you may tame it
and enjoy the ride
on its back
like a pilot

or you are kicked aside
and even trodden
under its feet
like the dirt

so, be brave
and to horse!

-Musings over the Moon

1. what a splendid silver plate
holding so many gold dreams

2. you cover your face with cloudy gossamers
not really because you are too shy or timid

3. this world can never go without light
so you come even before the sun exits

4. when darkness rules over the earth
only you remain close to human life

5. you always keep a cold and hard distance
tho your tender fingers caress every soul

6. you give no warmth in winter
but you offer light at midnight

7. unlike flirting stars whose affection is never stable
you are always loyal to those truly in love with you

8. you know all the secrets of the moonless night
yet you never use them to blackmail the sunlight

9. you quietly withdraw from the scene in the morning
only to let the sun receive tribute from all worshippers


so long have I longed
to give up all my earthy concerns
like an enlightened Buddhist monk
i am ready to climb up to
the peak of an unknown mountain
where I can build a plain hut
with fallen leaves and branches
where I can feel nothing
but the fresh songs of the forest
where I can hear
the budding of wild chrysanthemums
where I can taste the green wind
caressing the bubbling stream
where I can watch the sweetness of bamboos
shooting from the rocky vale
where I can smell the heavy breath
of tall pine trees and unknown bushes

will earth stop rotating round the sun
because of my humble interruptions?

-Reflections on the Road

1. the road is narrow because few have traveled along
the road that has few travelers is not always narrow

2. broad ways lead only to the foot of a tall mountain
it is thin trails that lead travelers to various peaks

3. there had been no roads in this world to begin with
they came into being after people began to travel

4. there are thousands of roads available to all
but you can choose only one to travel along

5. like bars falling down from the heavens
roads have chained the world into history

6. roads have neither starting or ending points
except stops and stations along either sides

7. there are no roads just as straight on earth
as those followed only by the human heart

8. no footprints can be found on broad highways
only on paths are they marked like milestones

9. while the straightest road can disappear
your steps will lead to your destinations


with your resolution hard as diamond
you punctuate the whole universe
like a prolonged exclamation mark
as you accomplish your mission
leaving nothing in the heavens
but a memory of light
or an idea of fire

-Voices: Active vs Passive

To say
Loves a woman
Is not to say
A woman is loved
By everyman


Using my yellow tail
I yellow-swam
From the Yellow River
As a yeast of the yellow peril
Against the yellow alert
In yellow journalism

With a yellow hammer
And a yellow sheet
I yielded to the yellow metal
At a yellow spot
Close to Yellowstone

People call me Yellow Jack
Some hailed me as a yellow dog
When I yelped on my yellow legs
To flee from the yellow flu

Speaking Yerkish like a yellow warbler
I have composed many yellow pages
For a yeasty yellow book
To be published by the yellow press

Dont panic, I yell low


It was the same old story
Story of one meets many
Yes the same old story
Story of one meets many
The one is disabled
While the many enjoyed all the powers and freedoms

Like a sampan
Riding on a stormy sea
Against foams of prejudiced justice
Foams of jealous pride
Foams of fearful composure
Foams of hateful fraternity
Foams of selfish altruism
And foams of foams of ignorant knowledge
She was edging forward
Inch by inch
On a little wheelchair
Under breaking waves of quasi-lamas or lama supporters
Waves of frenzy political correctors
Waves of ill-focused professional cameras
And waves of waves of impulsive pinchers and grabbers

You remember how we watched her
Struggling like a strong coral tree
And we knew for that moment
She was more noble-minded than ever we would be
A Chinese girl carried the Olympic flame in Paris
The cradle and capital of our most advanced civilization
Where she danced with democracy

*As the 3rd torch bearer for the Beijing 2008 Summer Olympics, Jin Jing was physically assaulted during the relay in France on 7 April although escorted heavily by the Police.

-Harmony of Homonyms

Assent of ads adds to the ascent
Blue buses blew busses
Chaste councils chased counsels
Dyed days died in daze
Earls elicit illicit URLs
Fazed fays faze phased
Guys in guise graphed to graft
Hairy Harry heals heels
Idols idle in idyle
Jugglers jammed in jambed jugulars
Knights knock at the nocks of nights
Leased lyers are least liars
Mind mined in mist missed
Nice gneiss on nickers knickers
Overdo once ones overdue
Past profits passed prophets
Quays quoined with coined cays
Ryes rise with rows of rose
Sighted symbols are symbols cited
Tales about trust are tails trussed
Urns earned have no use for ewes
Violed verse versus vale vialed in veil
Weeks whiled are wild weaks
Xi sighs with psi in size
Yoke your yore in yolk
Zealous Zellers zooms in zooms

-Hey Neighbor!

Would you like to try
These pyramid-shaped dumplings
With glutinous rice
Wrapped in reed leaves?

The fillings are my wife Helens recipe,
But the tradition is my cultures specialty.

We eat them only
During the Dragon Boat Festival
To commemorate the death of a great poet,
Who drowned himself in a river
Long before Jesus was born.

Oh yeah, in my country of origin,
This food is called zongzi, yes, z-o-n-g-z-i


Nay, Eve did not
Eat the apple
Rather, she ate an onion
A really red hot onion

Nor was she seduced
By the ugly serpent
But by a handsome human
Who became her sole partner

So, the human history
Has been infused with
Womens tears
And mens guilt

-Eas-Idioms (1)

All the animals of the jungle
Flee in fright from the little fox
As it carefully stalks behind
In the tigers shadow

A dog begins to bark at the sight
Of a shadow that seems shivering
Then all the dogs in the neighborhood
Jumped into a chorus like crazy

It is the magistrate that indulges himself
In random arson in broad daylight
But prohibits local residents from lighting a lamp
Even in the heart of the night

The oak tree longs to stand still
Or sit in deep meditation
Yet the wind would never stop
Trying to uproot or remove it

-[suspected spam]

Dearest One,

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I am Ms Poesia, the only inherent of the late Art. Before the war broke out, my father deposited thousands of Stanzas in the Literary Canon. Given the present state of the human mind to be entertained in my society, I am hoping to get some understanding in installments from readers like you. For each reading I promise to offer you one golden Stanza to show my gratitude.

Please kindly contact me on this e-mail address for more details. (For example: one Golden Stanza is equivalent to about one million American Dollars.)

Miss Poesia
Peach Garden, Erehwon

-Misplaced Modifiers

You bartered a beautiful ball for your baby with a big basket
You will plead your pal tonight not to play with the panther
You have helped him to hum the hymn to heave heaven
You walked with your warbler, always weeping and whining
You did not dart into the darn because you were doomed

If grammar serves you right when the ambiguity is completed with a phrase
You will stop as long as she finds the adverb before he places the adjective

-Gerunds vs Infinitives

I remember forgetting singing this song
I remember to forget to sing this song

Stop regretting telling her your story
Stop to regret to tell her your story

-Relief-and Belief

When one leaf begins to tremble
The whole willow may remain still;

When one poplar tries to shake
The whole forest will stay calm;
When one forest cannot help agitating
There must be something arising, like a storm.

-The Clothes from Heaven

Clad with the heavens brilliant cloth
Weaved with golden and silver light
The blue and the dim and the dark embroidery
Of heart and soul and the half-heart,
My dreams hang there with the morning glows
While my soul remains stark naked
In the shadow of last night here on earth:
I am standing right in front of you;
Do not stare because your eyes might hurt.

-Tall Tale Newly Told

As peach flowers fell like a brilliant snow
From the back lane to the wood did I go

Listening to the stream sing without a mouth
I forgot to return where is my monster house

The water flew from the mountain to the sea
As if it had nothing whatsoever to say to me

But its song always held my heart tight
Thus the night would give me no fright

I sang with the stream, whose song let me go
I am home again, and find every soul so low

-Intermezzo of the Flute

I saw a flute in Henan,
And slim it was, at an archeological site.
It made the noisy quietude
Overwhelm that muted site.

The quietude agitating underground,
And spread around, no longer quiet.
The flute was slim upon the sound
And long and of a melody in the air.

It was carved out of a whole eagle bone,
With a stone chisel by the same hands
That played a song, its pitch rose
As high as the eagle could fly.

Fluted descants were delicious,
But those un-fluted are even more so;
Hark, even after eight thousand years
They still echo from soul to soul


What a strangely familiar blizzard
That has blown your bare body
To the far end of the prairie

Standing stiff at the still cliff
You listen to the muted monologue of the valley
With all your hardened heart

Then and there, in the shape of the wind
You start to shake off your silver branches
Like a huge skeletal seagull beating its wings wildly
Eager to flap into the northern lights

-After The Bulb Burned Out

Through the dark tunnel of the hallway
I fumbled my way humbly to the door

Back home again
I found everything
Just so much brighter
Even my old shoes
Dusted with thick shadows
At the closet of my heart


Gray is heaven
Gray is hell
Gray are human buildings
Even grayer are human beings
From behind all this ash gray
Flies a big bird
Feathered with black humor
Right onto the white stage of history

-Masculine Haiku: A Poets Family

Head and heart both bald
Hes not pulled out one single line
Except his surname

Using no poets lathe
He shaves off his young manhood
With an e-razor

Like son, like father
His voice has begun to break
All for poetrys sake

To his great credit
Hes published two finest sons
Among his fine poems

-Dream China

Shanghai! Burning bright in the heart of night
Where do you see what you keep looking at?

Sure there is no Dragon King or Jade Emperor
Nor could the western moon be really rounder

It is a good cat that can catch mice in the dark
He who finds Venus has the eyes for the mark

Bright is the heard symphony performed by the fingers of culture
Brighter would be the unheard harmony between man and nature

Shanghai! Burning bright in the heart of night
Where can you see what you keep looking at?

-Another Dilemma
--on David Budbills Dilemma

I long for tons of
so I can be a
with all this

What good is my
when I get
in such

To have
The lock
I had

I kissed your morning
With mine, and held
Your night closely with mine too

Between your spring and autumn
I lay my summer
Deep in winter

From your January through February
To your March, I wrap your April and May
With my June and July

Within your August
I use my September or October
To caress both your November and December

And right from your moment
I suck my whole year


How many times
Have I lain in thick darkness
Imagining a white crow
That I wish to see
Or rather to be

Not until the other morning
Did I hear a wild bird crying
Like a loud persistent knock
At the door of my heart

Beyond my curtained window
Beyond my curtained dream
It was a crow hammering all its white yaws
Right into my soul
Resonating with my truer selfhood
The Game of Love

Always a three-way hide-&-seek:
You are fumbling for Helen
Helen is looking for Harry
While Harry is trying to find you

Who can take off the ribbons
Let you open your eyes wide
And see what you are looking at?

-Family Mans Fantasy

Boy, who says its ideal
To have a Japanese wife
An American salary
A Chinese cook and
An English garden?
Who says they can make
Every man truly happy?

For the past twenty years or so
He has been tired of them and more
Like a spoiled and exploited old bunk
Ever deep in debt
With an oily belly too big to budge
And a whole backyard of dirty dirt

Who says he is truly happy
How much more unhappy can he be?

-Faulty Comparison with My Hometown

Like Vancouver, the climate of heart is mild all year round
Unlike the Lower Mainland, it is very hot in mid-China

The grasses on Grouse Mountain are similar to Luojia Mountain
The trees in Stanley Park are taller than the East Lake Park

The salmons in the Fraser River swim as far as the Yangtse River
Most residents in BC live much longer than Hubei Province

(after Bill Holms The Icelandic Language)

You do not speak that language
Neither have you been to their country
But within the territory of our English vocabulary
You can easily find who they are:
They enjoy playing mahjong in a casino
They are afraid of typhoon
They kowtow to show their respect
They fight with kungfu skills
They believe in fengshui
And now they have their own taikongnauts
Visiting these lexical spots
You will witness the way they work and play

-Keeping-Hands Full

You are always grasping, my friend
Says my therapist
You must learn to let go:
Whenever your hands are not full
You want to get hold of something
Or indeed anything
Now a bird in your left hand
And a bunch of flowers in your right
Thats why you are unhappy all this time
Because you do not have more hands
To grasp more things
Like green backs, purple ribbons
tall titles, soft sex and charming children
If you empty your left hand to catch the ribbons
You became unhappy about the departure of the bird
If you put down the flowers to take the greenbacks
You feel unlucky about the loss of beauty
But if you let go
Just let go
Whatever you are grasping
You can get happiness whenever you can
Since your hands are free

-Poetry Penning
(after Charles Bukowskis Poetry Readings)

Poetry penning has to be the saddest damned business to do today:
You melt the letters with the best ingredients you have
Your boldest blood, your tenderest tears and your saltiest sweat
Every piece uniquely heart-made
Packaged with the purest silk of your soul
And priced far below the cost of the little fire in your body
But you can sell it for not a single cent
Indeed, only a few tribesmen and tribeswomen caring most about this archaic trade
Might come and take a casual look
When it is marked free
Like some utensils in a used box put on the road side
Oh yeah, with more wordsmiths than wordwares
More wordwares than hawkers
More hawkers than patrons
How can you expect the miracle of a market niche
For this sad damned business
As more and more patrons turn to raps, heavy metal music
Soaps, chat rooms, computer games, virtual sex
Hot dogs, chilled beers, pot or marijuana
That can entertain every nerve ending
The human body may or may not have besides the mind
So, if you must pen something
Youd best try a story, a screenplay, a slogan or even a spam

What I say is, pen pal
You may well pen anything
But for Christs sake
Not this crap


For God knows how many times
I have ever so strongly felt
Like crying at the very top
Of my hoarse voice
In a corner of twilight
Crying my nerves away
Crying my blood dry
Crying my head off
Crying my heart out
Crying my body up
And crying the whole sky down
But each time
There are no tears
Just no
Damned tears

According to a poll conducted worldwide in 2008, these are the 50 “most beautiful English words

Mother of Passion, Smile
In love for eternality and fantastic destiny
At freedom or liberty
With tranquility or peace
In blossoms and sunshine
On the sweetheart gorgeous
To cherish enthusiasm, hope and grace
Under rainbow blue
Like sunflowers twinkling in serendipity
With bliss and lullabies
Beyond the sophisticated renaissance, cute and cozy
Under butterflies from the galaxy
At this hilarious moment beyond extravaganza
Against aqua sentiment
In a cosmopolitan bubble
Above pumpkins, bananas and lollipops
As bumblebees giggle
About paradoxes and delicacies
Despite the peek-a-boo behind an umbrella
Beside a kangaroo


In exchange for


Just as the shadow beyond the light
Is fictional, and fictional is
The word on the paper or screen
So is this hand also fictional
That writes from the heart of the night?

All the feelings swarmed together
What I meditated, flows
I wonder if this life of mine
Is posthumous before the birth
Of a refracted metaphor?

(For Jane Kenyon)

You could have been killed
In that accident in 1997
But you did not. You could
Have lost every hard-earned loonie
When the big bubble burst
But you did not. You could
Have failed to realize your boyhood dream
To have your poetry published
But you did not. You could also
Have had to stay in the bed
Unable to eat or piss for three weeks
After the surgery last time
But you did not.

This morning you could have broken
Your newly old legs or arms
On the icy road as you jogged
But you did not. One day
You know, you might become
Much less fortunate somehow

But you will not, because you believe
you have always been lucky

(For David R. Slavitt)

Who does not love Hamlet,
If they show or perform it again tomorrow night,
Who would not go to watch him?

To be or not to be…we all have this question, mostly
In mind. But with audiences young or old,
The answer is all too clear, at the tongue, ah!

And the world will well remember,
Admire, study, discuss and argue
In every dialect for centuries and centuries.

Not so bad, after all, the poisoned
Wine, the poisoned sword is fatal.
The cries on all sides must be a warm comfort.

We all fall: only a few on a classic stage,
In front of so many

-A-New-Recipe-She-Invents after
Thirty years of Marriage
(for Leo Dangle)

yummy, it tastes so good! he exclaimed.

really? she asked.

where did you learn the recipe?
These steamed fish chips are really delicious
With all this shredded green onion and fresh ginger.

well, this is the third time I cooked
it this way. Do you really mean
you like the dish?

of cuz! Why would I want to lie
about the food YOU cook?

well, this is the only thing
i am never sure about you.

are you?!
How Long Have I Been Living?

Today is exactly like yesterday
This year like last one
And this whole decade like the last as well
If only I lived differently each tomorrow
How many more years would I
Have lived before I stop counting my days?


The moment he wrote down the word crow,
It beat its wings and flapped up from the paper

The moment he punched the word rose,
Bees began to bump against the screen

The moment he spells the word fire,
His soul no longer trembles in cold

So to preserve the power of writing
He has frozen his heart fresh
The Fish in the Glass Jug

You keep jumping above the water
Just to escape from this doorless prison

You do not know there is everything
But water outside this transparent wall


I often deplore my sons and nephews never felt
The pleasure of scything
There is no telling
Just how many hearts have been uplifted by this simple exercise

The warm wheat like golden flowers cut down, carpeting
The sunlight-framed fields
A plump land of ears listening to the songs of autumn

How neatly the ripeness lies around
The blade cut all the harvest right into the heart
Ignorant the wise e boys who
Have no idea of this stupid but sensational movement

(for Edward Field)

Everywhere else in the new world, when people meet
They would greet one anther saying
Isnt it a nice day today! Sure it is!

Only in Vancouver will you say, another rainy day, or even
Foul or gloomy, and launch into your complaints and frustrations
Then yawn and become bored as they begin
To pour out their own similar resentments in more detail

Echoing like a parrot, you try to keep yourself less wet
Look, pal, its downpouring again, we got to run…uh…
So you start to flee in opposite directions
Each trying to hide yourself somewhere in a dry corner

As both of you leave the scene in haste
You know you can never remain dry on a rainy day

-East-Idioms (continued)

the moment a bold pupil is dotted
inside each of its handsome eyes
the painted dragon jumps alive
and flies high above the sky

when the lofty fir begins to dwarf
all other trees in the same forest
it will be knocked down flat
by the first storm at night

deeply buried under the dirty silt
the lotus root is pure and clean inside
you break it into pieces widely apart
yet they still remain connected by the silk

three days after the nightingale flew away
its calls are still circling around every tree
with its songs squatting at each leaf tip
like a dewdrop refusing to fall onto the ground

on the bare ground, with a broken twig
she drew a picture of the serpent
as lively as her own tongue
except for some feet added, though pretty

(for Dylan Thomas)

Looking around, I only see darkness in sight
All is thick shadow beyond thick shadow
To seek bright light I close my eyes tight

In each dream I have dreamed at midnight
I follow my heart, and closely my heart I follow
The darkest nightmare contains rays of light

Striving, I strive forward with all my might
Against the high flow, the flow that I well know
Looking around, I only see darkness in sight

Right at this site where the time is right
I let go my dream drifting away like a morning glow
Looking around, I only see darkness in sight

Inside, more inside is a door shining bright
I fumble my way slow as if a rough raft to row
To seek bright light I close my eyes tight

Men and women, come down from heated height
Dont you hear the song from soul to soul echo
Looking around, I only see darkness in sight
To seek bright light I close my eyes tight

-East-Idioms (4)

Mr Ye/
Instead of God, Money, Computer, Sex or Art, he believes in Dragon only
He loves the legendary animal so much so that he paints it on every surface he can find
Deeply moved by his devoted passion, a real dragon comes down to visit him
But no sooner has he seen its face than he jumps to flee, with his pants all wet with fright

Ms Dongsi/
Every time she walks in public, she tries hard to press her belly and frown her brows
Exactly in the same way as does Xisi the most beautiful woman in the whole country
For her, this is the trendiest thing to do to win herself some lovers or admirers
For Xisi, this is a gesture she cannot help making while suffering from a physical pain

Mr Fool/
To remove the two big mountains blocking the way to or from his home
The old man uses a spade to dig away the dirt and gravel day by day
Isnt it much simpler just to relocate you own family house, says Mr Smart
But so long as we persist, the mountains will be gone some day, he replies


There was a contest
For the most faithful representation
Of yellow
(Or the Chinese dragon)

In England

An inflated Satan
Or was it Sua proper
Came to squat among

Then stroke by stroke, again
It rose right
Each slate of white


-East-Idioms-(cont. 3)

In Handan/
In their fondest hope to walk as gracefully as handsomely as the residents of Handan
People swarm in from every part of the country to learn and practice the capital steps
But many have failed to learn the new steps while others forgot their old ways
So they all have to crawl back on their fours to where they originally came from

Bell Stealing/
To prevent the sound from being heard
As he tries to steal the only bell in the village
The thief stops his own ears with thick cotton
Believing that no one would find him out

Loss of the horse/
On a snowy evening a poor old frontier tribesman
Lost his horse, the only means of living he had
While everybody still felt sorry for him a week later
The horse returned home with another one wild

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