[archived]: Poems by Changming Yuan © - 2/2013

To Mars: A Modern Sonnet 

How do we love thee? Let us count the ways:

We love thee to the very limits of high-science

The boundaries of technologies, the frontiers of

The human conscience; in particular we love thy

Art of work on a mother feeding her baby in a

Shelter, a sheep boy driving his little herd to the

Valley, or a crowd of country lads celebrating a

Wedding. More important, we love the way thou

Help us to get rid of all extra food processors

In the human shape: the poor, the sick, the weak

The old, all wanted or unwanted others, above all

We love the way thou have become a real game as

Bloodily vivid as a movie on a vast colored screen

Thousands of miles far, far away in an other world

The Moment My Soul Becomes an Electron

I find myself lost in a space of dark densities, where

The sun wind keeps blowing hard in all directions

Travelling as fast as light with other fellow electrons

I recognize few of them as my former acquaintances

Before swarming into antennas, sensors, end users

We all slough off our clothes made of digital codes

As we fill in every blank with our shapeless bodies

The whole world trespass into a parallel universe

While resurrecting at every switch turned on

Protrusion

Before you change your heart

And throw away the old one

Nothing your new heart is hating

Will depart or can be skinned off

Before your laser-cleaned pupils sprout

In your eyes, all foreign stains returning

Nothing your new eyes are attracted to

Will arrive, forgotten to shed tears on

Thinking for Too Long

You realize you have lost all your directions

Besides a shoe lace

You see, then will reach the spot to break free

From your skinned shape

Meditation is the clothing you have been wearing

As a doer, the practice of Initial Thoughts

Therefore, you keep thinking for seven days

It can be anything that is nothing

But the Initial Thoughts

Whim in, whim out

Penetrate into the wall

Around your selfhood

When Burying Me: for Allen Qing Yuan

First, remove all my clothes and masks

That I have been tired of wearing, skinned off

The tattoos on my chest, my heart, my soul

I have kept as my secrets. Then send me

Into the resomator like an alchemist, with the

Words I have used most often, the images

I have created and collected in my mind

Burn me as the Dao God did the Monkey King

With the purest fire from hell, from heaven

Tongues of blue gas, or red electricity

Sizzling, I will enjoy being kissed first and

Last, by my own words, my own metaphors

Fish

If you could, would you become a fish

That can swim, freely in the water, but without

Being able to touch the horizon?  --I don’t know

If you could, would you become a whale

The king of the ocean, the ocean of words

For instance, the most powerful?  --How powerful?

You wait for all other words to feed you

Like planktons, or swallow other fishes like similes

Metaphors, because you are big. –Yes, very big

If you could, would you become a blue whale

Whose calls and songs can reach afar, far

Beyond a civilization? –Who can hear me then?

Free Sonnet: Cybersburg Address

In the 1950s, our uncles brought forth

A civilization, conceived in electronics

And dedicated to the cause that all

Machines were created to be equally apathetic

To humans when a message was sent

From a lab at some campus, which can

Think logically, but not respond emotionally:

Whether you like it or not

This semi-being would never speed up

A moment even though you are dying

Nor will it slow down when it is to crash

Neither a smallest smile to hear

The great news, nor a smattering of

Sadness over the loss of your dearest

It keeps working at the pre-determined pace

Always indifferent of the people

By the people and for the people

Until we all perish with the earth

Father’s Soliloquy: For YCM

The other night, before the cock crowed, or

The crow cocked out of darkness, a yellowish

Shape stalked in vision, as in blank verse

‘Mark me,’ it says, sounding almost exactly

Like my late father. ‘Lend thy very serious

Hearing to what I shall unfold.’ Suddenly alerted

I got up among figures, between dream and sleep

‘When you were a teenager, I hated you so much

For looking at me always with your eye whites

Giving me an ugly face each time I talked to you

So much so that I cursed you numerous times in

My dream for being such an unworthy son; I often

Doubted if you were my own flesh until you grew

Into a normal loving adult, making me feel guilty

All my life; also, I was suspicious of your mom

Betraying me, not only in heart but also in body

I almost caught her making love with some guy

On our own bed - -You still remember that small

Apartment we used to live in? Among all my dadly

Secrets, these two I want to reveal to you first

Next time, I will tell you more about the limbo

Between hell and heaven, with the lightest word

Which might harrow up thy spirit, burn up thy

Blood…’ now the cock crows, and I must vanish

Where You Were Born

Beside an old thick y-shaped poplar stump

At the foot of Mount Big Wok Top

In a village, on the other side of this world

You were born in a jalopy Ford pickup

Whose driver was a stranger to your clan

Who had had too much of a horse’s urine

Among ashes of an unknown nuclear war

That had destroyed a whole civilization

Based on antimatter, anti-electrons, anti-souls

Actually, you were born in a growing bubble

Rising from the bottom of a lake, like a new idea

Floating on the water, as invisible as your breath 

From under a rock protruding into a vast field

Full of wild poppies, where autumn whistles

Aloud, as if to greet heaven, you were born

Untitled 1

Detour can turn out

A real short cut

To your destiny

With final findings

More refreshing

More fascinating  

Notes from Extraterrestrial Civilizations

1/ God is nobody

But a superman

Who has come among us

From an other civilization

That may have gone astray

In a different space of time

2/ The human face

On the Mars is meant

To tell that we have

Detracted ourselves

To see it crying afar

Beyond our own world

3/ Hollow as is, the moon

Is an alarm clock

Hanged closest to us:

It will never ring

If we fail to set it

At the right time

Inner Harvest

In the little backyard

Of my soul’s residence

Grows a plum-apricot

Tree that bears so much

Fruit every mid-summer

I can treat more than

Passers-by, more

Strangers than I could

Have sold it

Through the neighboring

Market in case it might

Fall and rotten

During a nightly storm

Modern Times

God has long been dead

Hero has also vanished

All supermen and superwomen

Are returning to their own worlds

Except animals that are left alone, lonely

On this shrinking planet, like the hooligans

On the street, like the villains at the corners

Of the office, like the distressed, disabled, dislocated

As presidents, prime ministers, legislators, judges

And, given enough time, we are going to prove that we

Are all no more or no less than earthlings, who will destroy

This little blue ball, or be destroyed here, unless the few lucky

Ones are able to depart from our home world, somehow, sooner than later

‘

Should You Allow

Should you allow us to live, let it not like robots

Running and working around the clock, to give you

All the comfort and convenience available to human

Masters. Should you allow us to live, o let us live

With the kind of freedom you enjoy, the equal rights

And democracy you are talking about so aloud

So that our tears and sweat will become less salty

Than our blood, our eyes less murky than our visions

Then even the food and products we make would warm

Your hearts. Don’t try to make love with us only to fulfil

Your sense of conquest, or beat us mad, containing us

Whistling your dogs of war upon us when you have

A nightmare. True, like robots we may not be entitled

To your human rights, but even a cornered robot rabbit will bite back

Someday, somehow, like a treaded cobra, like your fore fathers

Sunshine

Sunrise or sunsetting

Whenever the sun invades into the vision

Of the human eye, there are always shadows

Moving slowly, like water overflown

From the Styx into all the cracks and

Crevices of the ground, like the darkness of

Last night shredded into myriads of patches

Patches that can be used to wrap dreams

Time

Is an artificial universal wind

That keeps blowing steadily

Towards the abyss of autumn

Where all leaves and branches

Even uprooted stumps and trunks

Will become decomposed

The Origin of the Cosmos

Is nothing but a cell

Of nothingness

That divides into time

And space, the two that began

To produce everything

With or without

Shape, light, or weight

During its initial fission

Meaning

Borderless is dream

Meaningless is life

Neither is worthy

Unless each finds

A solid expression

In a thought process

Under a stroke of

The painting brush

Behind a line of words

Or around a note of music

a modest request: to Gregor Robertson
            (This is an open letter to the Mayor of Vancouver, regarding the City Hall's plan to re-designate Marpole neighborhoods into a high-density zone)

Dear Sir, Your Honor, Mr Mayor, we have been
living in this city and paying property taxes for
the past 17 years (without a single minute of
delay), because we love it as one of the world's
'most liveable' realms, but now you and your
colleagues seem to be committed to downgrading

our environment by changing many districts, our
Marpole in particular, into huge hords of hords
of rowhouses, townhouses, courthouses in an
unfair, unwise, unjustifiable, unpopular fashion
as many of my fellow denizens have called your
heed to; meanwhile, with an almost guaranteed
term in office, you are showing no understanding
of our concerns (though we are all your voters)
let alone sympathize with our loss of quiet enjoyment
of tenancy in the area; most blatantly, you have
remained so arrogant as to turn a deaf heart to our
protests, not even to have enough democratic
courtesy to answer our greetings, our letters
emails, phone calls, as a polite stranger would
readily do to a fellow human in the wild wild world

nevertheless, we give you the benefit of doubt, as we do

god, honoring your good intentions, expressed or hidden
but on behalf of my distressful family, tenants and
neighbors, i am writing this in hope of getting a reply

a simple utterance from you. yours most sincerely
most respectfully, mike yuan, a fellow vancouverite

                                   -- are you listening at all?

Mango

Textured with

Presented in the shape of

All female tenderness

As smooth as sleek

As fantasy, where, and whereby

Let

Man go

Entering Adulthood: To George and Allen

The most important tip for you, Sons

Is to forget all the tips any father

Any book, any computer can give you

About this world, but just remember

This: the moment you step

Out of the boundary of our little home

You will have to remain

On high alert, even while dreaming

What you will cross is a snakeland, where

There is as much sunshine, fresh air

As many blue skies, green leaves

Fragrant flowers, handsome

Human figures, as cobras, mambas

Taipans, adders, kraits and vipers

Y: Yellow Musings

Gold, lemon, butter, rapeseed flowers:

Pre-positioned, you function to lead

A whole column of evils as in the yellow

Peril, bastards, bellies, dogs, fish, guts

Journalism, heels, even men and pups

After words, you will become as noble

As imperial, as royal, or as Chinese

Yellow. That makes all the difference

Between a noun and an adjective

Between Chinese and English

Notice to End a Tenancy: for Steve Mondor

Hi there, I am publishing this short poem

Not because I truly need to bribe you

Into moving out of the house of my heart

(As you proposed – I am not sure if you

Meant what you were saying), but because

I want to voice my tribute to the way

You have served 2 terms for the country

We both love, and kept fighting against

Posttraumatic stress disorder we both hate

Indeed, by becoming part of my poetry

Will you give me more time to focus on

My poems as you on your customers’ cars?

Power of Poetry

Although a little

Shabby shelter

Mostly for myself

Sometimes for

My family or friends

My poetry has become

A public hall of fame, where

Even a total stranger

Even the most

Dangerous snake

Would try to

Find tenancy, just

As would those 

As famous as mayors

Presidents, and hey

How about you

Dear Sir/Ma’am?

Across the Land under the Rule of Law

All rules and laws

Are the stout fence

Around our residence:

It is a great deterrent

To every respectful passer-by

But no more than

A wall made of mid-air

To a blatant trespasser

Snakeland

Probably in one of your dreams

Probably at a relocated zoo

Probably on a less trodden trail

Probably between two words

Probably behind the shadow of an arrow

Probably before making a u-turn

Probably after entering an office

Probably from a moving picture

Probably under the morning glows

Probably beyond the autumn lake

Probably near the melodies of spring birds

You may be bitten by a snake

Poisonous or otherwise, and

Since then, you would be

Strangled to a slow death

Like me or her

Y: the Aptonym of Changming Yuan

            If the name is not right, the speech will carry no might – Confucius

Changing or charming

My given name is so often

Misspelt (as my family name

Which is sometimes mispronounced

Intentionally or otherwise)

That the language has definitely

Failed me in this foreign tongue, just

As Confucius warned me

As early as two thousand years ago

Unlike Fairbank

The tremendously rich banker

Unlike Cherish Hart

The particularly famous cardiologist  

Unlike Jack Armstrong

Probably the greatest baseball player

Unlike Laura, my loyal lawyer

Or Dennis, your dandy dentist

Indeed, we have long

Forgotten the true name of

God, so our language is

Bound to go nowhere

Except a few rare

Cases for or

against aptonym

Small vs Big

Most of the time

I am so small

As a nerve cell

Embedded in my

Self-consciousness

But sometimes

I grow so big

As the whole

Universe, where

Each of my

Self-cell becomes

A star in a

Distant sky

Or otherwise

Mirror vs Water

Both can collect

As much light and

Imagery from beyond

Their frames, while

The mirror stores

Everything in its shiny

But skin-deep surface

The water keeps all

Its reflections murky

Deep in its heart

 Outside the Zoo

A hen party is held

Around a sitting duck

While there is a bull meeting

Where you can see the elephant

Getting the goose when it tries to tell

The difference between the sheep and the goats

Farther away, a black snake falls down

Neither fish, flesh nor fowl

Smelling a rat somewhere

As you are being showed the lions

Ready to take the bull by the horns

Until the cows come home

While learning about birds and bees

I feel ants in my pants

The cat’s got my tongue

Hey, I do not mean to chicken out

Or clam up on these dog days

Rather, I would try to be an eager beaver

Hold my horses

When I have a cow

That’s what a little bird told me

About how they made a beeline for

Pigging out

Before it rains dogs and cats

Sometimes in Life

There are days much longer than months

Weeks as everlasting as forever, and

Months even shorter than hours

When you feel envious of every other

Human being, when you prefer not to

Have been born, or would rather be anyone

But yourself, when you are going through

The kind of hardship only you know how

Unbearable, or the kind of happiness

which you wish to eternalize or

Terminate at this moment

In your life, but still, you have to 

Face, to feel, to flee or fight

Personality Overdrafting

Born with a deformed heart muscle

You are as timid, introvert and cowardly

As a little quiet chick, but all your life

You have been trying to play tough, forcing

Yourself to be tough-minded, tough-bodied

Like an iron fighter rooster in the legend

Until now your worsening ischemia

Drives you into your old premature selfhood

With cardio neurosis, trembling, all

Thanks to a tenant, a sociopath, a rattlesnake

More evil than Satan, whose greatest joy

Is to destroy you as a petty landlord

Of a rental property full of foreign words

Solitude

Just as the moonlight

separated Li Bo

from his drunk shadow,

no other than his other self,

the only human figure

who could understand him,

so the darkness of last night

has compressed all the words

and metaphors in my writing

into a single sheet of paper, which

I can use to wrap my inner being, flying it

into the morning glow

like a folded paper dart

towards the setting sun  

To a Tenant of My Heart

Wondering how all little cherry flowers

Have changed into large hairy leaves

In front of my residence, I felt bitten as if

By a vicious viper in the shape of a

Handsome human, like a tall mountain

Of darkness collapsing, falling upon

My slanting shoulders; no, more like

A true snake never letting off its teeth

On my body and soul, while trying its

Very best to strangle me into a slow

Death, here in the westside of Vancouver

Where neither the 9-1-1 professionals

Nor the tenancy arbitrators can, or

Even will rescue me as a home owner

The Jiujielity of Liknonomics

Together with fengqing

Damas use all

Kinds of guanxi to

Go and look, never

Afraid of chengguan

Or shuanggui as they

Explore every geilivable

Dollar issued by chinemerica, like

People mountain, people sea

Between them: we two who and who?

Yes, no money no talk!

My Fortune Teller Says

According to the eight Chinese pictographs

Set right at the moment of my birth

My original being is actually a huge body

Of water, predetermined to move

Around like a strong stream, with an

Ambitious and transparent heart, I was meant

To find great joy in traveling through woods

Absorbing metal elements along the way

Until I join the western sea, but I should

I would lead my inner selfhood

Out of my small rented room

To the Fraser River Valley Park

To let it play with other dogs

Running and jumping wildly

Catching the ball each time I threw

Into the air, the tree shade, the ditch

The bank, the water, and sometimes

The ridge, where it sometimes stopped and stood

Looking beyond the horizon, as if to join the wild

Becoming one and the same with the little could

Drifting freely around, under the western sky

Genuine Genesis

Created in holy His image

Adam was in fact a gay

Who loved Satan more than himself

While Eve’s sexual partner was also

The handsome serpent, the real

Father of all her children

Equally noteworthy, it was not

Satan who seduced the woman

To taste the apple, but the first man who

Forced her to eat a whole onion

Because he admired its layers

Of layers of skin, so inspiring 

As clothes and masques he would like

Each and all of them three to wear

To explore, even to die with

Jaegaring

Hidden in the backyard of

Every heart is a corner of hell

Walled with human feelings

Once you demolish the building

You will readily find heaven

Right above the ruins, which

You may never hope to see, touch

Hear, smell or taste, but where

You can relocate your inner being

And live happily ever after

As long as you choose to

Y10: Be

You had been before

You were, and since then

You have been, although

You could, you might, you would or

You should have been, now

You are, and shortly

You are going, to be or not to be, of course

You can, you may, you will be, but if

You must be

You are to

Be-come, which is being

Seeing

Through the kaleidoscope of

Your mind, you will find the very most

Beautiful scene, where you will see

Neither brilliant colors, nor changing shapes

Nor graceful lines, nor even bold light

(Of course nor shadow or darkness)

But you can gain a good and solid peep of heaven

In a little cloud between sea and sky, or

Unknown trees beyond the valley, on the hill

Hearing

Here are the semi-finalists

From all groups participating in

The first contest of sounds:

Firing of guns, cannons and missiles made by Lockheed Martin 

Tingling of a stream running from Himalayas

Singing of orchids in an Emei valley

Humming of a female being fucked on the beach

Giggling of black toddlers

Chanting from a Buddhist temple

Chirruping of birds in Yani’s light music

Thundering steps in Beethoven’s number nine

Hark, the world champion of sounds

Is…

Smelling

How would it smell

If we put together in a library

All the essentials of

The French wine made 5 centuries ago

The Maotai from the Tang Dynasty

One hundred perfumes

Ten thousand flowers

As many Chinese as French or Italian gourmet courses

The air from the deepest valley in Tibet

The purest eggs and perms of Nobel prize winners

The tears from the most excited love-makers

Perhaps some freshest paper bills from the Federal Reserve

Then, and there we would feel like throwing out

As if thrown into heaven, or hell

Tasting

Sweeter than honey

Sourer than green apricot

Saltier than tears or blood 

Bitterer than spleen juice of a bear

Hotter than Mexican chilly

Juicier than watermelon

Crisper than newly fried chips

Is, is this love, unfulfilled or unreturned

Something like the left-over from

The feast held in Eden last year

Touching

While hiking in the wild

I picked it up on the trail

Hard like a diamond

Sleek like a mirror

Tender like a cherry bud

Soft like rubber mud

Cool like glacier water

Hot like larva

That I tried to manipulate into a word

Hoping to wedge into the little crack

On the ladder standing high

Against the Babel Tower

The Death of a Poet

Not to emulate Empress Wu Zetian

Who made a unique Chinese character

For herself, an all-powerful name, by juxtaposing

The sun and the moon or, rather

Yin and yang together, right above

The sky, the entire human space

He killed himself just to add

One short line to the English canon

By pumping out a couple of words from

The innermost blood clots

Behind his Chinese chest

Walking with Father: For Yuan Hongqi

One thing I forgot to mention, Dad

Is I intentionally moved either before

Or behind you, each time we happened

To be walking together. That way, you could

Neither pinch my arm not slap my face

So readily; otherwise, you would have to

Embarrass yourself if you ran forward

Or waited to do so, as you tried to

Educate me in anger. Since my departure

From my home town beyond the pacific

How often have I hoped to walk again, just once

Side by side with you, getting or offering support

Whenever either of us needed it

But now I could only follow your footprints behind

Step by step, while you wait to beat me in heaven, smiling

The Kite

When still a village boy

Far beyond the pacific

Often did I run as fast as I could 

Against the southern wind

To keep my kite high in the sky

Now swinging around, ready to fall

Like the paper bird I used to fly

I saw no-one but my own shadow

Trembling non-stop on the ground

The Portrait of an Artist

Unlike the monkey in a zoo

That enjoys picking lice

From his own untidy fur

You prefer to use the short beak

Of your inner being to peck out

Every worm in the old apple tree

Still growing in the front yard 

We Are All Bats

Self-confined in a huge cave

Walled with our own ignorance, and

Blind as we are, we navigate in darkness

Detecting directions with our sonar of shriek

While trying to fly like real birds

Although we are earth-bound mammals

Although there is a whole open sky outside

Life Cycle

We all begin as tiny eggs

As we grow, we slough off our

Tattooed, tabooed selfhoods, and masks one

After another, using our little spike-

Like hairs to deal with our environments

While crawling slowly along the way

Until we become totally self-confined

Within the enclosures of selfhood, where

We pretend to meditate like Buddha

As if to prepare to become a butterfly

Fluttering freely in heaven, like Zhuangzi

Stillness

No, it was

It is not a bird

That has just flown by

But a leaf

A spectre

A whim about a bird

That can actually

Never fly away

From your heart

Flapping like a bird

Womanhood

Just calculate this:

How much blood

She has to shed

Every month

Every year

To retain her femininity

During her lifetime, even

In peace, while all you men

Have to shed

Sweat only

Before the Harvest

All crops

Must

Live in soil

But this little

Plant can

Grow in the air

With

Or without

Even sunlight

Like a dream

Like a god

This Is Not Lovemaking

Keep your eyes closed

Say nothing, baby

Make no sound, yeah

Stay still, honey

That’s more like it

Oh yeah

Oh yeah

Now open your heart

As wide as your legs

And let me in

Does this hardened idea hurt?

Protest Unheard

I was born a bird, and

There is no doubt about it

But day and night

They keep me

In a huge crowded cage 

Feeding me

With all kinds of compounds

Full of additives

Making my body far heavier

Than my wings are wide

Until I am butchered

On an assembly line

Never have I seen

What the sky

Looks like

Nor do I ever know

How to fly

Self-Making

As we keep eating

All kinds of gmos, drinking

All kinds of formulas, inhaling

All kinds of pollutants, taking

All kinds of chemical compounds

We are changing, developing ourselves

Into a brand new species

A new generation

Of earthlings

Although we still remain

In this ridiculous human shape

Although we are

No longer nature-developed

But self-made scientific man

Proofreading

Although without either usage problems

Or grammatical errors, your life

Is a long-winded sentence, rambling

Along, with too much redundancy

So, if you keep editing it, you will find

It is actually not a sentence

Not even a phrase, but a singular

Proper noun, which is capitalized

But holds no meaning on its own

Until one day, your death will add an adjective

To this noun, often misspelt, mispronounced

First Touch of Femininity: For Chen Yeqiong

I do not remember how it started

No am I sure about how it ended, but

It was on almost every evening

Of that summer, you would answer

My secret signal by waiting there for me

Beside trembling reeds, on a sandy dune

Wrapping my entire boyhood

With your girlhood, tightly

While I buried all the 13 years

Of my life between your bloated breasts

Although we both held our breaths

In nervousness and tranquility

We had no more urge

Than to take a break

In each other’s teenaged tenderness

Saying not a single word

Not even knowing how to make love

But just letting the breeze flirting with our feeling

Between sleep and wake. That’s as early

As half a century ago, on the other side of

This world, until now you find yourself called

Softly, in a foreign tongue after your death

Wine

Cheers!

How about having another glass

Of wine, which I brew myself

Out of all my pasts?

Bottoms up!

A Modest Request

Give me a thin page

And I can use a metaphor

To lever up

The whole earth (soaked

So deeply

In human tears and sweat)

Still dripping blood

Down towards the depth

Of universe

First Potluck by Robot Families

What a rich and grand dinner party here:

Look, this jug of wine, brewed with the

Human perms and blood, is brought

By the Vines; this huge plate of tongues

Of the sexiest women, is presented 

By the Crows; this is a bowl of fried penises

Of teenage boys, looking like wishbones

Of aging eagles. There are also well-baked 

Nipples of virgins; barbecued buttocks of

Kings and emperors; steamed brains of

Nobel prizewinners; pickled hearts of poets

And painters; prepared respectively by

Mr Hog, Ms Cucumber, Dr Rice, etc.

Yeah, they are all homemade dishes; none

Of them is a GMO, nor cloned or stem-grown

What If…

God is nobody but a little lucky survivor of

The last generation of earthlings, or a lost

Envoy dispatched by another civilization; man

Is actually a chimpanzee in frame, a hog

In tissue, and a frog in heart; the whole

Universe is no larger than a concept being

Formed in the brain of a mouse, whereas money

Is no other than a null number, fame a fading

Name, power a petty tower, and love a lust

In glove; indeed, what if there is a parallel

World where your other self is stalking you like

Your shadow, where you can become a god

In your own right; most important of all

What if you are it; what if now is then?

Looking at Each Other

I enjoy looking into the eyes

Of a dog, which show far more

Friendship than those of a

Fellow human, which I’d look afar

Away from, as they are always

Full of alert against me, against

Any other body, even a spirit 

Exchange of Vision

Jumping into her gaze

Like a naked village boy

Into a local autumn pond

I see her vision full of

Fishes swimming around

Among dangling grasses

Along folded sunlight

Inviting My Father’s Spirit

Rarely did we get along, Dad, before

You gave us all up, and seldom

Did we even talk, so you never

Knew how I really felt about you

As a father, in particular, about your

Grooming habits: each time you

Returned from your office or trips

You skinned us off and washed all

Our clothes, sheets, towels, mops

Cleaning furniture (including

Every foot’s bottom), polishing

Lamp covers and cooking utensils

Though you often forgot to put them

Back in good and tidy order; true

I learned to love your cleanness

But never the way you were so busy

Doing all this like an old woman

Now you are taking a long break

Up there, (where everything is

Supposed to be perfectly clean); do

You enjoy watching me doing

Such things down here to keep

My home and heart both dust-free

Memo to Yuan Hongqi

Another thing I forgot to mention, Dad

Was I always believed you to be an

Extra-ordinary father, but in a highly

Embarrassing way: each time you saw

Me hanging around with my buddies 

You kept saying this like a big broken

Gramophone: “Follow Chairman Mao’s

Teachings; Follow the Party’s great

Lead,” just as you drove me crazy

By trying to convert me into a true

Communist like yourself, even

When we happened to be eating

At the same table. Still remember?

You once forced me to kneel down

On the hard ground until I finished

Reciting Mao Zedong’s “Three Old

Essays.” It was then I began to defy

You blindly, to follow no other than

My own heart, in a boyish rebellion

Against your fatherly dictatorship

Against any other form of tyranny

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Sir/Ma’am, this is just to confirm

That though without a visa, this little paper

Dart bears the authentic signature of

My truer self, and set free according

To the laws of the virtual kingdom. If

It happens to fly through your shared

Space, or above your private site, I hope

You would be so kind as to let it pass

Instead of burning it. Please feel free to

Contact me at your end of the line, should

You have any concerns or questions.

Yours truly, Words Worth Digitalized

Echoing

All waves of water

surge towards the shore, even

    if they are originated

in the heart of the Pacific

Each light wave

is trying to conquer darkness

    at every boundary between here and there

except the waves of my song, which may never

reach any wall to produce

the faintest echo

Private Talk: for Yuan Hongqi

Show yourself, Dad, I know you are around

Always trying like a true angel to protect

Me; let it be like those days when I was still

A teenager, but I will tell you all you wanted

To know about my feeling; for instance, I don’t

Like you to force me to recite Chairman Mao’s

Quotations, and I hope you would put Jin Yong

Rather than Karl Marx under my young pillow

Yes, let it be as if we were both younger, healthier

Suffering from no ischemia, our family curse

But having plenty of blood flowing behind our

Yellowish chests; let it be that we have no secrets

As father and son, and work together to help

Our offspring survive and succeed in this degrading

World, so full of snakes, snares and snobs

Praying: Hallowed Be Your Name

All the gods created already

Or yet to be created soon

Powerful or powerless

I demand you! All the

Spirits and spectres

Drifting around here in both

Yin and yang worlds

Visible or invisible

I demand you – stars so numerous

In the entire universe as

The cells in my whole body

I demand you all, all of you

To join me in this foreign tongue

To pray, if ever praying is meaningful

For my fellow beings as a race

Epitaph

Blese be the man that knows my word’s worth

And curst be he that disturbs your bird’s birth

Shakespeare’s Definition of Man Recalled

Thou subtle, perjur’d, false, disloyal man!
Thou art like a toad; ugly and venemous.
Thou art a flesh-monger, a fool and a coward.
A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.
Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile.

You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian!
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver’d boy.
Thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch!
You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish–O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!

There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
Thou poisonous bunch-back’d toad!
Thou art unfit for any place but hell.
Thou are pigeon-liver’d and lack gall.
Your virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese.
Thine face is not worth sunburning.
Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.
You are as a candle, the better burnt out.
Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade.

A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.

Transpositioning

All my peers prefer to be grown-ups

So that they can smoke cigars, drink

Whisky, stay online as long as they like

Except me, for one, I’d rather remain

Young as I am now, knowing nothing

About reason, law, politics, money, sex

My parents and uncles and aunts are

Talking about all the time, pretending

To be happy, changing their faces like

Their clothes; oh yeah, I wish to continue

Working with these jigsaw puzzles, trying to

Find the missing pieces. Even if i fail to find

The right thing for the right place, nothing

Really matters, nobody really cares. Anyway.

How Old Are You?

While every child yearns to become a grown up

All adults wish to return to their childhoods

Except me; would you be as young

Or as old as you really are?

Getting Newly Old

The other night, we were still imagining

How to grow old together, wondering what

Else to do besides making love in bed

But now, both of us have become really old

Older than our parents when we were young

Younger than our children as they get old

While you feel wind-dried inside out, I find

Myself softened at both ends. Indeed

In a cold night like this, isn’t it nice

To have someone to stay close enough with

And keep each other warm on this bed