Mindscaping

Changming Yuan

Directory of Directions

North: after the storm

all dust hung up

in the crowded air

with his human face

frozen into a dot of dust

and a rising speckle of dust

melted into his face

to avoid this cold climate

of his antarctic dream

he relocated his naked soul

at the dawn of summer

South: like a raindrop

on a small lotus leaf

unable to find the spot

to settle itself down

in an early autumn shower

my little canoe drifts around

near the horizon

beyond the bare bay

Center: deep from the thick forest

a bird’s call echoes

from ring to ring

within each tree

hardly perceivable

before it suddenly

dies off into the closet

of a noisy human mind

West: not unlike a giddy goat

wandering among the ruins

of a long lost civilization

you keep searching

in the central park

a way out of the tall weeds

as nature makes new york

into a mummy blue

East: in her beehive-like room

so small that a yawning stretch

would readily awaken

the whole apartment building

she draws a picture on the wall

of a tremendous tree

that keeps growing

until it shoots up

from the cemented roof

My Crow

As an ancient Chinese saying goes

Crows everywhere are equally black

But this one in the backyard of my heart

Is as white as a summer cloud

I have fed him with fog and frost

Until his feathers, his flesh

His calls and even his spirit

All turned into white like winter washed

My crow’s wings will never melt

Even when flying close to the sun

South China Cicada

no human ear has ever heard of you

cloistering yourself deep in the soil

silently sucking all sounds from roots

for more than thirteen years in a row

until high up on a summer painted twig

you slough off your earthly self

pouring all your being in a single song

before the sun sets for the yellow leaf

Bow and Arrow

For a whole decade of

Delays and detours

You have failed after all

To find the golden bow

Yet you still hold this arrow

Close to your heart

Ready to draw it

As straight as a day dream

At the setting summer sun

Fossil Fish

not every fish can

transform into a fossil

not every fossil

can be found fulfilled

yet unfortunately favored

by the formidable fate

i am a fossil

that used to be a fish

to avoid being drowned

in my own blue dreams

i swam, swum, and swimming

with the weeping wind

against the sweeping waves

until at a hot moment of spot

i became fossilized

my skeleton is my story

simple

My Crow, My Other Life

Every morning, even before I open

My eyes, the little doors of the cage

My crow cannot wait to flutter out

Into the light-washed heavens

Striking its transparent wings into beating

Every night, even after I put

The cage back inside my cozy house

The bird still glides close to the moon

With its wings feathered with spirits

Forgetting to return home

Sometimes I wonder why

Day after day, night after night

It refuses to settle softly in its cage

Like a domesticated parrot

Were I it, would I?

Or you, once the cage broken

Would the bird return

Coo itself into sleep, dreaming

Of celestial freedom?

Name Changing

Confucius once said

If the name is not right

Language will carry no might

So my father created my name

By rearranging the sun and moon

Vertically and horizontally

To equip it with all

The forces of yin and yang

Dispersed in the universe

Since I became subject

To a totally different grammar

All people have complained

Or made fun of my name

So harsh and awkward

They conspire to seduce me

To adopt a familiar one

Like Michael in the powerful speech

But to retain the subtle balances

In the wild wild world I wander

To hold my father’s sunbeam

With my mother’s moonlight

I fiercely refuse to change it

Even though I often feel lost

When the sounds I hear

Do not sound like my name at all

Dancing with Crane

I show her how to move her steps

But she’s much too timid

Worse still, she cannot coordinate with my movements

And

Although she dances with me, to an unheard melody

It’s her own music she’s dancing to

She likes the way I hold her

And

Even lets me kiss her shoulder from time to time

so richly white and velvety

But she always keeps me at bill’s 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

And

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

And

Worse still, she’s much too timid

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 father’s 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 bride’s virgin field on a mid-summer night

I am now sowing, with my pen

Ischemia

In my line of people, especially on my father’s side

There never seems to have been ample blood

Running within the arteries behind our Chinese chests

No matter how warm-hearted we actually are

As in the case of my father, who used to

Accuse me of being an ill-hearted teenager

My heart muscle is imbalanced

As one side is less infused with blood

Than the other, thus causing palpitation

Short breath, and a strong sense of

Tightness, heaviness or tiredness about life

To diagnose my cardiovascular defection

Neither an echo nor a stress test is needed

For I am keenly aware of my own doomed

Arteries that have been clotted

With too many syllables

Voiced or voiceless

And to make all these sounds flow out of my heart

Is already stressful enough

Nevertheless, I will keep pumping out these words

All so blood-soaked

Me & Them

First, they looked but without seeing

So, I began to yell in a yellow voice

Then, they listened but without hearing

So, I cooked according to a Chinese recipe

Still, they smelt but without tasting

So, I melt myself into spring water

Finally, they touched but without feeling

So, I began to tattoo words on my own heart

Single Last Sale

You’ve long since sold out

Both your sweat and blood

Now you try to sell your heart

Though nobody wants it

Some say the blood is not red enough

Others find the chambers too narrow

Still others think the coronary arteries

Stained with too many feelings

You peddle around, chanting aloud

From street to street

With your heart still fresh

Beating like a frog in your hands

You hope to sell it for a glass of water

Just to cool down your burning voice

So you do not have to sell your soul

Like all other hawkers in the market

Well satiated, but hardly heart-felt

Day & Night

The day has no ears

The heart but a myriad

The noises glare

Where life’s grievance begins

The night has no eyes

The mind but a myriad

The shadows collide

When your spirit bites at the light

Uncertainty

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?

Light vs Shadow

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.

Butterfly Being: Zhuangzi Revisited

Neither a human

Dreaming of being a butterfly

Nor a butterfly

Dreaming of being a human

But simply a moth egg

Attached firmly

To a yellowish leave

Within the human mind

Or perhaps the other way around

Am I?

Replacing
Running short of bulbs
I planted some root words instead
Along the fence
In the backyard of my mind
All winter
They seemed dreaming under the frozen soil
When the last dews fly away
You will see certain three-colored tulips
Blooming aloud
Towards the early summer sun

White Calls

How many times

Have you lain in thick darkness

Imagining a white crow

That you wish to see

Or rather to be

Not until the other morning

Did you hear a wild bird crying

Like a persistent knock

At the door of your heart

Beyond your curtained window

Beyond your curtained dream

It was a crow hammering all its white yaws

Right into your soul

Resonating with your truer selfhood

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 heart’s 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

Chronometry

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

Wintry Vision

Two little crows

Popping up

From nowhere

Try to

Establish themselves:

Two truths

On the skeletal tree top

Yawing fiercely

Towards the sky, the wind, the buildings

The fields and the entire afternoon

All so fluffy white

In jade-toned snow

The Crow and the Butterfly

you like the crows in your backyard

other birds are much less plain

but they fly too high

or too far for your heart

stranded here

you envy the butterfly in your frontyard

The most beautiful

thought also most lonely

As the spring sets

under her floral wings

Chameleon

-- when it looks in a mirror, what color does it have?

constantly

changing your skin color

with light

temperature

or emotion

they know it for sure

but isn’t it

their eyes

changing

with their minds

their hearts

their tongues

longer even than yours

we are actually colorless

aren’t we?

The Unseen

Most ignore such things

As dirt, rock or trees

That make up the collective pronoun

The pronoun is all

Before you open your eyes

All is there

And there you may perceive

Your whole world in them

Out of their shapes

Their colors, their textures

Their statues

You construct an open garden

To concentrate upon

That patch of nature

Never confined to the human mind

Secret Spirit

for years I sought light in darkness
with my eyes open wide as my mouth
I called, I sang, I prayed, I pleaded
for rays that might come down from above

now I seek darkness in light instead
with my ears closed tight as my eyes
yet I cannot find a shred of my soul's

shadow, even in a midnight dream

If U Can’t See Me, I Can’t See U

(sign at the back of a truck)

Outside the picture, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you

Under a pile of words, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you

Behind a big truck, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you

That is, since I drive in front of you

If you want to pass but can’t see me in

My driver’s seat, or in my front rear mirror, you are

In my blind spot, so don’t follow me too closely, don’t

Try to pass me, but stay calm behind my shadow

Otherwise you would kiss my big ass in a bloody way

And so, when you communicate

Wait and make sure you see the right person first –

That’s for your own safety, pal

When you are cursing, singing, dancing, playing or fighting

It’s best to have the real person in view:

If she can’t kiss you, you can’t kiss her

If you can’t put up with me, I can’t put up with you

If fame can’t grow out of you, you can’t grow out of fame

If money can’t find you, you can’t find money

If the politician can’t trust you really, you really can’t trust the politician

Look, what I point out is, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you

Whether it is in a book, at a cemetery, on a plane, or behind a truck

Drive safe, you asshole.

Drawing the Dragon

There was a contest

Once

For the most faithful representation

Of loong

(Or the Chinese dragon)

In England

An inflated Satan

Or was it Sua proper

Came to squat among

The letters

Then stroke by stroke, again

It rose right

Upon

Each slate of white

Mind

The Mouse, A Mouse

if the little mouse became

as boundless as the sky as it wishes

the sky would become

as free as a cloud

the cloud

as powerful as a wind

and if the wind became

as unshakable as a wall

the wall would become

as penetrating as a mouse

and the little mouse

a mouse

Like Birds, Like Humans

All doors are man-made

Even those in hell and heaven

Behind every door

Is either a home

Or a prison cell

More often both

Than neither

The only living space without a door

Is a nest or the sky

Both for birds

Neither for man

Within This Open Bottle

Every bee dies

While charging towards light

All flies survive

And even thrive

By fleeing into darkness

What, what if the bottle rotates?

Clairvoyance

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

To Seek Bright Light I Close My Eyes Tight

(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

Don’t 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

Self-Meditating: A Puti Poem

Imagine

Sitting under a tall pipal

On a vast stretch of prairies

Where you transform your entire selfhood

Into the little marigold in front of you

Then, the running stream water

The gliding bird

The drifting cloud

The morning light

The summer sky

Where you are

The universe

Where the universe

Is you

Puti Poems (1): Mind-Clearing Mudra

Stand straight

Stand still

Eye to eye

To a pipal or oak tree

Communicate with it

In the mother tongue of love

And imagine

Opening every door and window of your heart

Irrigating every cell of your liver with dewdrops

Bringing your vision from the horizon afar

Slowly and progressively

Back to your inner being

Above a lotus flower

Pure, fresh, crystal

Puti Poems (2): Dewdrop Mudra

On the open stage of her mind

She finds herself standing alone

High above a crystal lotus flower

Where she bends down gracefully

To collect a dewdrop

From its most tender petal

Like a drop of elixir from heaven

Which she can use

To soothe, to purify

Every part of her body

Every corner of her heart

Only if she likes

Puti Poems (3): Flower-Picking Mudra

With all your tenderness

Bend down gradually

And reach out your left arm

To pick up your favorite flower

From the inner garden

Behind the fence of your thought

And bring up the flower

Close up to your face

Where you can see its bold brilliance

Melting into a pool of fragrance

Where you and the flower

Become one and the same

Puti Poems (4): Infinity Mudra

Stretching my hands

Along the horizon

And beyond all boundaries

I try to hold the entire universe

In my two arms

Slowly rising

Like the ocean

And gather all the energy

The spirit

The light

And the inspirations

From the very infinite

Puti Poems (5): Sky-Reaching Mudra

Like a universal dam broken

Vast bodies of heavenly light

Burst, bursting out

Pouring right onto my body

Splashing into myriads of inspirations

Falling, penetrating my inflated selfhood

Cleansing each cell of my brain

My chest, my belly

every corner of my inner being

filling in my whole body

as it gets thicker and thicker

Until all my cells and senses

Dissolve into nothingness

Under the lightfall

Puti Poems (6): Round-Reaching Mudra

As her arms keep moving

Around an invisible sun

In front of her belly

From the smallest circle to the biggest

From the biggest circle to the smallest

In alternative directions

She finds her body of celestial light

Breaking into ever thinner and smaller pieces

Like cloud shreds

Flowing, drifting around

Vanishing into the sky

Vanishing into heaven

Puti Poems (7): Authentic Fire Mudra

Purest energy

Purest spirit

Keeps burning

Inside her womb

Like a bold and brilliant ball

Like an inner sun

Its light evaporating her entire body

Into a thin mist of light

Slowly vanishing into the heavens

Although its shape still remains

Around her tiny spot of consciousness

With her palms put together against her naval

She witnesses her own soul

Spiraling, dancing

Between the fire and the light

Puti Poems (8): A-Mi-Te Mudra

Palms against each other

Fingers pointing to your central forehead

Keep yourself upright

And from under your lowest vertebrae

Drive out of a gourd-shaped mouth

These heavily voiced syllables:

A-

Mi-

Te-

As well as all the negativity

Within your body

And every evil spirit

Trying to possess your fate

As a wide curtain of light

Reddish and yellowish

Shoot up high to the sky

From behind your lower back

Rebirth: Another Puti Poem

Let the seed of fire rise

Above your inner horizon

Like the most glaring summer sun

Let the ball burn brilliantly

Burning out every cell within your body

And shooting its light through your skin

Then, let the light from heaven fall

Filling in each blank within your shape

Until all the energy starts melting together

To rebuild your entire selfhood

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

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 Calm Clam

with a bow-wow mouth

as big as my bald body

both lips thin and hard

carved in full eloquence

with my tongue grown right

out of my heart and soul

i am surely meant

to be a voice empowered

for all around me

either silt or sediments

shining dull and dark

with soiled secrets

i often imagine myself

like a free seagull

singing at the top tip

of a tall coral tree

as myriads of grains

of yellowish sand

are panned or sifted out

from the wild waves

galloping ahead

yet color-blind and tone-deaf

i am deeply oppressed

under the heavy water

where sharks and squids

keep yelling towards the sky

above my blue musings

as i withhold my tongue

waiting for a sunny spell

to translate my loud pain

into a muted pearl

Icarus, I

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?

Truncated Truths (1): My Crow

Each crow you have seen

Has a quasi white soul

That used to dwell in the body

Of one of your closest ancestors

He comes down all the way just to tell you

His little secret, the way he has flown out

Of darkness, the fact both his body and heart

Are filled with shadows, the truth about

Being a dissident, that unwanted color

Hidden in your own heart is there also a crow

As black as his spirits and feathers

Truncated Truths (2): Butterfly

From the dullest corner of his heart

Flapping out a giant butterfly

Three-legged, tailless

Flying straight toward the rising sun

Its shadow slowly measuring

Every inch of the ground route

The highway of human souls

Like a cadaver dog trying hard

To find the decomposed body

Of a murdered history

Murky

How anyone

Is seen

So murky--

A pond of water

In a storm

Only sunlight might

Polish into a mirror

A light’s long line

Or one fellow light

From Longfellow

Inner Drought*

In this lower mainland, rain is the order

Of the day: while the drizzle moisturizes

Dreams and drama alike, storms have filled

Every crack and crevice with seasonal juice

But deep in your body has been a drought

Persisting ever since your birth, no plant

Grows green enough, no bird comes to perch

On a bough, all pipes and rivulets dry

Oh, for a rich rain to moisten and irrigate your

Inner fields, your cells, your nerves, your hopes

I would sacrifice my fatherhood, provided you

Could take a shower in the open, with your spine

Stemming straight like a strong young tree

*My 15- year-old son Allen has had a disc problem since 2008, which has resulted, according to traditional Chinese medicine, from the internal ‘dryness’ he was born with.

Convection

Relax your body inside out

Stand in front of the tree

And pour out all your love

From the pool of your heart

Through your energy-focused eyes

To each and every leaf of it

As it pumps all its green spirits

Into your entire inner being

Through its strong but unseen roots

Like a passionate couple

Making love wildly

Under a broad rainbow

Time the Present Time

you are indefinitely vaster

than all the oceans converged together

where i can never hope to hold

even a single drop in my hand

except happening to have a touch

of the tailtip of a unknown fish

swimming swiftly by

The Confucian Knowledge

Only you know, you only know, you know only

When you know that you know

When you know that you know not

You need to know when you know not that you know

You know that you know not when you know not

Or you know not that you know not when you know not

Outer Spaces

the landscape is wildly wide

is thin-colored

conceptions loom above the skyline

impulses swirl near the hills

no wind of feeling is blowing
as the spirit sails on the sea

in the limbo

the whole outside is held

right at the tip of my mind’s tongue

Senses Subscribed

Eyes

we seldom see what we look at

when we look at what we see

Ears

do you always hear what you listen to

as you try to listen to what you hear?

Nose

were I to live under water again

i would only smell of fish forever

Mouth

most tasty would be worthy words

even more so are juicy conceptions

Hands

master god is snapping a rest

his apprentices are busy today

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

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

There Are No Delicacies

There are no hard delicacies in me

Like the chips in a computer

Though I have numerous nerves

All integrated like the circuits

In a cpu or gpu

Don’t hook me up just yet

There are too many emotional data in me

To be digitalized into your software

Though there are plenty of spaces

For processing or programming

Three Trees

Into the backyard

Of my humble heart

I transplanted three nameless trees

One blossoms in spring

And bears fruit in summer

One wrestles with winds and rains

On each less bright day

But the third does nothing

Except standing idly there

Up towards a distant star

Outset

today, let me suspend

all my senses

in the warm and cozy

glow of the morning

huddling up my whole being

just as I used to

in my mother’s womb

The Clay Tripod

Close to the bank of the Yangtze River

Sits an unearthed tripod

That has embraced

Spring water

Burning incense

Sesame oil

Rice wine

Perfume

And opium

The tripod is none other than you

But what is the tripod?

Universe Netting

How the nets of this universe

Mend themselves

It is impossible to say

Or if you say to see

That this is what you have

Said. Few crevices in the closet

Of an open mind

Where you rarely see what you say to look at

Though broken

There are nets

Above all

Out of Memoriam

in a quiet corner

a squirrel jumped up

onto the thickest tree in the backyard

of my heart

it’s up there no more, but its movements

remain visible among the leaves

the tenderly broken branches

still holding its weight

Immaturity vs Immortality

If you know there is no air

Thus no wind, no weathering effect

On the moon, you would probably

Also want to take a walk

And leave your footprints there

Forever undisturbed

But as an earthy creature you can

Never untie the chains of gravity

Unless you find

How much more desirable to shout

To yell, to sing, to curse here on earth

Where sound waves can eventually

Reach the shore and beat the ear drums

A voice to be heard

An immature life under the moon

Much Ado about a Painting

He meant to hung the painting on the wall

But the wall refused to hold the nails firm

So he began to look for some wood pieces

Only to find them all too big as wedges

Then he tried to search for his axe

Which turned out simply too blunt

Desperate, he comb-sought the whole garage

Until he located his long-lost sharpening stone

By the time he gathered all he needed

He had completely forgotten

What he wanted to do at the outset

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

Snowflakes

summer-scorched

scraps of confetti

unread like poems

now dyed with silences

wet and white

falling softly

on frozen facets

trying to find places

in the noisy cyberspace

to perch among the twigs

of mtv, soaps

or rock 'n' roll

but you are wiped aside

as people drive nonstop

forward or backward

White Spirits

under a winter sky

someone asks high:

Why not deliver a colorful snowfall?

And a trillion butterflies dance nearby

As if not in a fairy tale

Introspective

What kind

Of mirror

Do I have

In my mind

That has

A reflection

Looking in

At a shadow

That has a mirror

Looking in

At the reflection

That shows

Anyone but myself

When I look in

At it

Chasing Something Absent

beyond the shadow

you are the presence

of a shadow

that is

rarely the reality

whenever you are

you are not what is present

where you stand

you join the light

and never

the light disperses

to fill in the moments

when your spirit is absent

few others have the impulses

for standing

but you stand

to chase something absent

Lens

You have lost the

Lens

That has no

Frame without it

And that frame

Has come off from

The lens right

In front of

Your eyes which

Will have a

Frame within it

Inner Tides

In the daily modification of

The alternate rise and fall

Of my inner tide, the sun has

Much less impact on the waters

Than the moon, though

It is so much greater in mass

Unlike those high celestial bodies

You can never cause a flood or ebb tide

But sometimes like onshore winds

Other times like offshore storms

You push the waters up and up

Against the rocky coast of my soul

Harsh Harmony

The night is tender

The moonlight more tender

And the water the most tender

But the mind is tough

The wall is hard

The nail harder

And the hammer hardest

But the hand is soft

The Portrait of a Young Mountain

when I first see you

you are nothing more or less

than a muted mountain

massive, mighty and monumental

a solid thesis statement

made by mother nature

then you seem to grow

slimmer or slenderer

than your true shape

as I try to translate

both your body and spirit

into an antithesis of artwork

with my brushes and palette

to authenticate your whole being

i look at you once again

and find you no darker or brighter

than what you exactly were:

a muted mountain

a simple synthesis

of you and me

At Dusk in Dundarave Park, West Van

Strolling along

The overly trodden seaside walk

I find myself lost amidst human shapes

Constantly shifting

Into and out of one another

As they appear and disappear

Larger or smaller in size

Striving to linger one day, one month

Or even one year longer

Here and now

Within one of the bodies

A poem is taking shape, so is

A vision within another, so is

An evil plan within a third, so is

A bitter memory

A yearning

A bubble of consciousness

While I stop to stand still

Watching the vast sea view

Which is nothing but a view of the sea

Mindlessly

To the Homeless

neither the first fallen

from the overcrowded tree

as spring's sole prophet

nor the last against night

hanging on like a soldier

bayoneting with the whole winter

you are nothing more or less

than an introvert leaf

stalking in summer's shadow

face faded, body forlorn

you are a lonely being, being alone

wandering around in a whirlwind

rolling over the bumpy roof

passing by the wet threshold

or sleeping beside the road sign

you never care when to disappear

or where you have come from

except your dreams frosted

in a forged fog

before the unseeing eyes

betwixt the city's pitiful noises

you seem a sad withered soul

dyed with heavy dusk

waiting to witness

the ever hardening of autumn

but right now who knows

deep in you unwalled heart

you are flirting with the freedom

found only in a permanent house?

The Cherry Flower

Finally, on this Marpole street

She manages to fall

Exactly on his shoulder

After a prolonged season

But a sudden gust of summer wind

Blows her away from him

Onto the spring-carpeted sidewalk

Only to be trodden there

By a stranger’s foot

Like a dejected flower

To Dear Michael

beyond this bold and cold beach

i desire to design a sunshine island

where we will no longer be sandwiched

by yesterday’s fashionable dream

and tomorrow’s virtual reality

rather, we can walk freely around

with all our leisure and pleasure

gathering our fragmented childhoods

raising a dozen geese or ducklings

growing several rows of cabbage

and watching the little curious cloud

drifting close to the distant borderline

between the sea and sky both bluish

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.

Bonsai

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

The Wild Goose’s 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

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

No More Hanging On

so long have I longe

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?

Thanksgiving

(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

Reminding

when I am scheduled to die I shall stop dreaming and play

with a brown bear that lolls and wallows in a stream

and I shall climb onto a tall pine tree in the zoo

and roar loudly like the lion king towards the rolling autumn sky

I shall sit and help myself to a pile of fatty foods

With my mouth wide open and make all the eating noises I can

Jaywalking, trespassing and even running a little red light

You can give up your names and masks

And throw away all your clothes and manners

And stop caring about whatever others say or do to you

But we worry about our bills and savings

And concern ourselves with what is going on

Within sight or beyond our living rooms

Perhaps you can put a bit of everything on rehearsal now

And refuse to do whatever you would rather not want to

Since you are scheduled to die shortly, anyway

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.

In the Hall

I danced an hour with Discontent

She turned around me a hundred times

But made me none the happier

For all the sweet smiles on her face

I danced a minute with Content

And ne’er a single move made she

But oh, all the blessings I can gain

Even when she looks sullen

Like a Lamp

in Vancouver west

from time to time

you just cannot help yelling, yearning

for your father’s humming

you fumble into musical halls

in pursuit of tunes

soft/hard utterances

you need this feeling

you need this contact

with origin

guiding your heart

like a lamp

along a forlorn road

Mindsetting

On the beach of your mind

You have been using

Every grain of sand

To build a castle

Or even a whole city

While you could have kept it as is

Where gulls stalk and stroll

Leaving their footprints there

Before the waves erase them again

Progressing

Within an unseen cavern

Flies around his own mind

Blindly as a bat

All by itself

Flittering through the dark air

It dropped when hitting against a wall

Its left wing melted long before

As it flew towards the light

The other wing big and wide

It keeps gliding in one direction

So is he also turning round

As if in a broken circle

And flies, flying, day and night

Up and down in an unseen world

Until a new wing grows out

Leading him to the open sky

Within the Rain Zone

On the local screens, one beside another

It shows low clouds drifting like fog

That can be seen on the walls of highrises

Here the rain downpours as if all the tabs

In the heavens have been turned on

Curtains of beads, giving us more privacy

More freedom, more serenity

And what can we do? Let us remain indoors

Listening to the raindrops beating together with our hearts

Watching our entire neighborhood cleansed, taking on

A fresh look, while just five streets east, to us

Is never far enough, a place of sound and fury

A vanity fair all too familiar to our old selves

Here our children playing with us, innocent and full of joy

A new surrounding where we are still strangers

A corner where there are neither friends nor frenzy

Where we can always sit at a distance, observing

Every I Have a Triple Me

There is one me

As I am

A second

As I see myself

And a third

As I am seen

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,

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,

Is a blank space only

Me & Sand

On the beach of life

I am a grain of sand

Too light to build a castle

On my tiny senses

Too heavy to fly high

With the west wind

Too stubborn to flow afar

Along the currents

Yet how I long to be

Solid in body

Liquid in heart

And gaseous in spirit

Like a true grain of sand

Inner Lake

In the valley of her heart

Lies a walleyes–filled lake

Its waters folded with murmurs

From every stream

Flowing afar or nearby

Only on a windless midnight

When the water becomes still enough

Can she look inwards

And see the reflections of

Trees, bushes, grasses, rocks

Hills loom in the moon light

All surrounding her soul

Antimatter

In the heart of every selfhood

Is there a tiny seed of antiself

That keeps growing unnoticeably

Until it is big, big enough

To become one and the same

With your entire being inside out

Like a drop of condensed color

Dyeing all the water

In a diaphanous jug

Each time an antiself gains a growth

Your previous selfhood gets thinner

Lighter, larger, yet more colorful

Like yin seeking to become

Totally mixed up with yang

In an ever renewed balance

Dialectic Dialogue (1)

the bell rings aloud

though no wind is blowing

the bird flies afar

though it remains still

the sky is filled up

though there are no stars or clouds

the sound is heard

though it lacks a voice

no human is coming

though roads are everywhere

nothing is disappearing

into this present absence

Changming Yuan

8033 Osler Street

Vancouver, BC

Canada V6P 4E3 yuans@shaw.ca

Dialectical Dialogue (2)

the intensity of the night

grows into a dream

that rises like a cloud

drifting above the skyline

the emptiness of the day

shrinks into a tiny mouth

that blows like a whistle

forgotten in a drawer

isn’t that morning glow

all made from such bright paradoxes

hatched in the dark?

Unsure

When a deer was born

The sunlight thrilled the whole forest

When the idea looms

What view? A volcanic island

Will be the newly-formed

Mirage. With a morning glow

Trying to land

beyond the mindscape

Table of Contents

1. Directory of Directions

2. My Crow

3. South China Cicada

4. Bow and Arrow

5. Fossil Fish

6. My Crow, My Other Life

7. Name Changing

8. Dancing with Crane

9. Sowing after ‘Digging’

10. Ischemia

11. Me and Them

12. Single Last Sale

13. Day & Night

14. Uncertainty

15. Light vs Shadow

16. Butterfly Being: Zhuangzi Revisited

17. Replacing

18. White Calls

19. The Worn Worm

20. Chronometry

21. Wintry Vision

22. The Crow and the Butterfly

23. Chameleon

24. The Unseen

25. Secret Spirit

26. If U Can’t See Me, I Can’t See U

27. Drawing the Dragon

28. The Mouse, A Mouse

29. Like Birds, Like Humans

30. Within This Open Bottle

31. Clairvoyance

32. To Seek Bright Light I Close My Eyes Tight

33. Self Meditating: A Puti Poem

34. Puti Poems (1): Mind-Clearing Mudra

35. Puti Poems (2): Dewdrop Mudra

36. Puti Poems (3): Flower-Picking Mudra

37. Puti Poems (4): Infinity Mudra

38. Puti Poems (5): Sky-Reaching Mudra

39. Puti Poems (6): Round-Reaching Mudra

40. Puti Poems (7): Authentic Fire Mudra

41. Puti Poems (8): A-Mi-Te Mudra

42. Rebirth: Another Puti Poem

43. Temporarily Floating

44. Being a Balloon

45. The Calm Clam

46. Icarus, I

47. Truncated Truths (1): Crow

48. Truncated Truths (2): Butterfly

49. Murky

50. Inner Drought

51. Convection

52. Time Present Time

53. The Confucian Knowledge

54. Outer Spaces

55. Senses Subscribed

56. Deep in the Mountain

57. On a Rainy Sunday

58. There Are No Delicacies

59. Three Trees

60. Outset

61. The Clay Tripod

62. Universe Netting

63. Out of Memoriam

64. Immaturity vs Immortality

65. Much Ado about a Paiting

66. The Story of a Sycamore

67. Snowflakes

68. White Spirits

69. Introspective

70. Chasing Something Absent

71. Lens

72. Inner Tides

73. Harsh Harmony

74. The Portrait of a Young Mountain

75. At Dust in Dundarave Park, West Vancouver

76. To the Homeless

77. The Cherry Flower

78. To Dear Michael

79. The Clothes from Heaven

80. Bonsai

81. The Wild Goose’s Will

82. After the Bulb Burned Out

83. No More Hanging On

84. Thanksgiving

85. Reminding

86. Relief and Belief

87. In the Hall

88. Like a Lamp

89. Mindsetting

90. Progressing

91. Within the Rain Zone

92. Every I Have a Triple Me

93. Between Me and the Mirror

94. Me and Sand

95. Inner Lake

96. Antimatter

97. Dialectic Dialogue (1)

98. Dialectic Dialogue (2)

99. Unsure

yuanspoetry©

Thursday, 4 December 2014

updates: literary endeavors -yuan changming

[archived]: Reflective Poems by Yuan Changming ©

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