Sunday, 11 July 2021

Yuan's LIMERENCE Just Released!

LIMERENCE is Yuan Changming's tenth and newest poetry book. In this short collection, which includes 47 love poems written mostly over the past year or so, the author not only explores but articulates his innermost feeling about a Platonic relationship, a subject which chinese poetry authors have tended to avoid since ancient times.

Limerence, Platonic love, soulmating or whatever else you call it, has always been a common psychological state, but few, and even fewer Chinese, poetry authors have given it a 'full' expression; that's probably why half of the poems included in this chapbook were soon accepted for publication by such as New World Writing, American Media, Private Photo Review, Botsotso, Mediterrean Poetry and the Temz Riview.

LIMERENCE is readily available in both paperback and forms:

Table of Contents

7    The Thought of You
8.   Stream & Lake
9.    In the Grove

10.  Valentine Gift
11.  Action and Reaction
12.  Chronometry
13.  Oxymoron: Love Is A
14.  Love Lines
15.  Kharma: A Mega Romance
16.  You and Me
17.  The Tuner

18.  First Meeting after 42 Years Separation
19.  At a Dinner Party, Songzi, 2019
20.  Before, Before
21.  Behemoth
22.  The Unspeakable Spoken Out
23.  Confession Delayed by Half a Century
24.  Holistic Relationship
25.  Cardioid Reviewed
26.  Re: Posting
27.  You Are Sure
28.  ‘I Want to See You’
29.  Emoji
30.  Mamihlapinatapai
31.  Yearning for You, I Reach out
32.  Soulmating
33.  The Lovebird
34.  All Day Long
35.  Qi Hong Tea
36.  Vigiling
37.  Unrequited Love
38.  Man’s Last Position in the Battlefield
39.  Ways of Rejuvenating
40.  Cohabitating
41.  Quasi-Omnipotent Lover
42.  What Softens
43.  You Have Never Had Enough of Love
44.  Futuristic
45.  Wooing
46.  Missing Moment
47.  Craving
48.  Star & Butterfly
49.  Love Dose: A Sensual Sonnet
50.  Foreshadowing
51.  How I Wanna
52.  Screenshotting by a Weixin/Wechat Monitor: An Apolitical Poem
53.  Each Time

Saturday, 3 July 2021

yuan's lit endeavours: 3 july 2021

1. got 11 acceptances in march, 17 in april, 15 in may and 6 in jun from online and/or print magazines including tuesday, xavier rev, flinthills rev, meniscus lit j, welter, borderland and tint j;

2.  on 31 mar, Poetry Pacifc Press released via kindle (traditional chinese) my mom's memoirs Ordinary Life, Ordinary Story《平凡人生,平凡故事》at

3. on 22 april, PP Press release via kindle (traditional chinese) my My Chinese Concerns 《忧华集》, a collection of flash blogpostings about chinese culture and chinese personality at;

4. on 27 april, PP Press released via kindle (traditional chinese) my first and only poetry collection in chinese Selected Poems of Yuan Changming 《袁昌明诗选》   at;

5. on june 11, the results of canada's 44th national magazine awards were officially released, meaning that my work as a juror was formally completed, while all the background information on the jury released at the same time;

6. on 16 jun, PP decided to publish via kindle (traditional chinese) dr Li Gongbo's book Nonsense 《胡说八道》by the end of october, which is a collection of mini essays about ways of thinking, as well as about the spiritual cultivation;

7. for the past couple of years, i have written 38 love poems, about half of which have appeared or are forthcoming in english journals. this is poetic breakthrough on a personal level, since i had been simply unable to write such poetry before the pandemic began in my native province towards the end of 2019, when i met my 'first love' (rather than for my 'first date') for the first time after 42 years of separation without knowing each other's whereabouts. needless to say, all these poems are inspired or written for her.

Tuesday, 27 April 2021

《袁昌明詩選》 Just Released

Changming's 1st full-length Chinese poetry collection袁昌明詩選( Selected Poems of Yuan Changming) has been formally release today and become readily availabe as an ebook or kindle edition:


published by vancouver-based Poetry Pacific Press, 袁昌明詩選》( Selected Poems of Yuan Changming), which consists of 120 poems, is the author's first full-lenght poetry collection in chinese. covering a wide range of subject matters and a whole spectrum of forms and styles, including such as haiku, free sonnet, siamese stanzas,bilinguacultural poem and one-act poem, this book samples Yuan's 'best' poems written between 2005 and 2020.  while most of the pieces were orginally written and published in english, some of them have appeared in 'best' poetry anthologies, and others have won or been nominated for various poetry prizes. translated into chinese by the author himself, this collection offers an important and intriguing window to see the differences between contemporary english and chinese poeticses.  

Thursday, 22 April 2021

My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) Released Today

 My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) Released Today

Published by Poetry Pacific Press, my first non-fiction Chinese book My Chinese Concerns (《憂華集》) has just been released today as an via Kindle here at:
Consisting of 378 'flash' blogessays, this collection is mainly about the 'chineseness'. From a sociahistorical point of view, each flash essay discusses a specific aspect of being a Chinese or Chinese culture. Anyone hoping to gain a deep insight into, or an inside look at 'Chinese Cultural Personality' would find it a highly interesting and even helpful read!

Wednesday, 31 March 2021

PP Back with First Chinese Book Released Today

So, we here at Poetry Pacific Press are back after more than four years on hiatus, and even before the pandemic is gone...

Today we have our very first all-chinese book (kindle edition) officially released on amazon here:

basic information:

book title: Ordinary Life, Ordinary Story 《平凡人生,平凡故事〉
author/narrator: LIU, Yu 刘瑜
character count: 48,000 chinese characters
number of pages: 81 with about a donzen photos
brief description: in a vivid chinese vernacular, with accurate narrative details, Liu recalls how she grew up as an adopted girl to an extremely impoverished family in an isolated village in Hubuei Province, left her parents without their knowing beforehand for a government job at age 15, and became a 'model' mid-level communist official before retirement. To celebrate her 80th birthday, Liu gives this book or memoire to herself as her best birthday gift.

Tuesday, 2 March 2021

yuan's lit endeavours: 2 mar 21

 1. got 11 acceptances in jan, and 19 in feb.

2. some chinese poems published in taiwan's Autumn Water《秋水诗刊》, and 12 in huaxinshe: wall street journal 《华新社华尔街报》: link::

3. completed Love Letters from Vancouver (part II) between 27 dec 2020 and 27 jan 2021. as long as 110,000 chinese characters, the work is composed of 17 letters, as in the first part. since the addressee has some serious concerns, i am not going to post it openly as i did the first part about 8 years ago. but before my death, i will probably self-publish it in a book form, as a record or memoire of my life as well as the way i examine it and hopefully make it 'worthwhile.'

4. on feb 4, and 11, attended a english class held for the toyon literary magazine staff-students, as a special guest and translator. this is a really rewarding experience, not only in terms of money, but more importantly in light of what i have learned. first time to return to an english class in university since i finished my coursework in 1994.

5. on feb 22, received an email from national media foundation, inviting me to be one of the three judges of the 44th national magazine awards (best poetry category). given the great honour, this is really a big happy surprise. as of today, i have completed exactly half of the job; the results will be released sometime in april.  

6. on feb 25, invited by poetry in voice, to write a 'one liner', and 'dive-in' ( a group of questions about a pariticular poem). i have chosen wang xiaoni's 'i feel the sun', and even finished drafting everything. i selected this poem simply because i wrote something similar long before i knew of her.

Saturday, 2 January 2021

yuan: lit endeavours -2jan2021

 1. got 18 acceptances in october, 17 in november, & 12 in december last year by various kinds of literary outlets, including such as belief anthology,  fortnightly review, maryland lit rev, review americana and the pinch journal.  

2. in october, Sound of USA [美洲文化之声 国际传媒网] published 7 of my chinese poems (again) at;  in novermber, 《麒麟诗刊》accepted (and published on 1 jan 2021) two of my chinese poems; moreover, three weixin or wechat jounrals, namely 海外文学、《北极星新文学》& 《华文现代诗》, each featured a number of my chinese poems. 

3. in october, finished translating into english zhang xinyue's chinese book 《心灵成长:丰盛篇〉, which is probably my last paid intelectual work, to be published shortly in china.

4. on 20 october, won the "wordview 2020" prize for reading my poem 'standing still against the pandemic,' given by poetry archive now [].

5. in november, finished proofreading the e.galley of my nineth chapbook, to be published soon by a california-based press.

6. on 11 december, received notificatin from DMQ Review aabout their official nomination of my poem, “Native Landscaping,” for an annual Pushcart Prize. this is the 11th time for me to be nominated for the same prize. 

7. in december, finished proofreading my mom's memoirs titled  平凡人生, 平凡故事》 ('an ordinary life, an ordinary story,' roughly about 23,700 character-long), which were far better narrated/written than i have anticipated; some sentences are even poetic! i am to post it both here and on my chinese site, to celebrate her 80th birthday in a couple of weeks.

8. on 27 december, inspired to resume writing my only chinese  non-fiction book 温哥华情笺called  (Letters from Vancouver), a 176,000 character-long book of memoires, which i wrote and never meant to continue after putting down my pen 20 years ago. orginally intended to be a quite ambitious literary project, the book has been written in a highly experimental hybrid style (or what i call 'epistolary-diary').  all thanks to a female highschoolmate who laboured together with me on a forest farm by the yangtse river for more than 2 years while receiving 're-education' between 1974 and 1977 during the cultural revolution, i hit upon the idea of taking up the pen again on the morning. 

9. ever since i began to write poetry in english in late 2004, i have found i have two creative weaknesses: one is my failure to write (especially longer) narrative poems -- to me, that subgenre is not for poetry authors, but for story tellers); the other is my inability to write love poems, probably because i am too old for this subgenre or have too little inspiring experience of it. nevertheless, in the past year, i have surprisingly written 12 pieces in english, and 7 in chinese, all for one chinese senior. 

a lot has been going on, and i hope to keep writing...

Thursday, 1 October 2020

changming: lit endeavors - oct 1

 1. got 21 acceptances in july, 16 in august, & 14 in september, including such as australian poetry journal, los angeles review of los angeles, slyce, canadian lit, poetry archive now!, windsor review, hitchlit review and cabalt review. 

2. in july, Sound of USA [美洲文化之声 国际传媒网] published 4 of my chinese poems at in mid-sept, WePoetry 【海外詩粹】featured 14 of my selected poems in both engish and chinese at much to my delight, i have recently had as many as ten poems showcased in the highly prestigious hk-based (translation) journal Renditions [译丛], which is believed to be the main window to take a look at the supposedly 'best' chinese literary works. 

although another two mainland-based chinese online journals published my chinese poems, they later removed my work from their sites because it failed to be voted/selected for inclusion in their paper-based versions. no matter how i have tried, my poems, either written originally in chinese or translated (from my best accepted english ones) into chinese, are not appreciated at all by chinese editors as a rule. this fact sometimes makes me feel no longer confident about my writings in chinese. while i have been wondering about why editors/magazines based in mainland china never like my chinese poems, i find it quite comforting that my chinese poems have been published in first-rate chinese magazines based in hong kong, taiwan, singapore, macau as well as other parts of the world. 

3. accepted the offer from a california-based press to publish my 9th chapbook, tentatively titled 'whale's whispers', later next spring. 

4. still waiting for a highly possible contracted translation job: 3 books, now reduced to 1, to be translated from chinese into english by the end of this year, which will be published not by my press this time, but by their followers at minimum cost early next year. nevertheless, i doubt they (the create abundance group, now known as golden touch) are serious enough: for the past 3 to 4 years, they have 'hooked' me up with 4 different literary projects, but after i went through much trouble and even finished the preparatory stages, they simply gave me no follow-ups. 

i often feel very very lousy about how 'bad' some people in the literary circle can be, in both the english and chinese speaking worlds. 

Saturday, 11 July 2020

[archived poems by yuan: 2018-1©]

2018, 7, 16 [monday]

A Happy Life

Is, perforce
A healthy and
Heartfelt one from which
You have long since learned

To make light of the darkest

Present moment while
Anticipating another nice surprise
Falling upon you
Anytime tomorrow

Flappy Mephlapperson

Like that tracking device
          Tied on your fluffy back is my soul
        A chip implanted deep
          Into yours. What keeps us
Migrating from country to country
  Without a passport, from day to day
    Without a visa is our integrated soul
Trying to find its way to our ultimate home
In the outer space beyond our cuckooish reality

In the outer space beyond our cuckooish reality
Trying to find its wat to our ultimate home
     Without a visa is our integrated soul
   Without a passport, from day to day
Migrating from country to country
          Into yours. What keeps us
        Is a chip implanted deep
             Tied on your fluffy back is my soul
Like that tracking device

The Higher the Climb, the Harder the Fall

Elevated far
Higher up
Above the tallest god
In the ninth sky

    Our mind has now finally began to fall

Falling low
So much lower
Even than our body
On earth


Containing all our
Genetics, spiritual and
Physiological, each cell is
A self in its own right, and

Has an independent

Lifespan, nurtured with plenty of
Earthly elements. Each of us is a unity
Of as many selves as countless cells, as
Illustrated in a textbook of cellular biology


With withered grasses from epics
Sticks from philosophy
Feathers from contemporary art

We are all busy building nests of meaning
So our souls could settle there
High up as if on Ygdrasil

At the Earthset

As the Earth sets
    With all its satellites
Its bluish reflections are dispersed
    Into the darkness of light

And so is every colony
Of human civilization


Every wound heals in time
But I keep mine always open
Not because I fear the scar

But because my soul needs
To get some sunlight
Especially on a rainy day

Metaphor Updated

Each poem is a cyber space
Full of informative possibilities
    Non-linear, irrational
Ready to overwhelm one
With spontaneous overflows of
Unidentifiable consciousness


A comet
Striking across the earth
On a starry midsummer night

A whim
Flying from a human mind
Bent low in seasonal insomnia

Houyi’s arrow
Shooting towards the sun
From the bank of the Wei River, while

Some clouds
Sailing right above the moon
Like snow geese migrating over the artic

Two Halves Make More Than One

Half angel and half demon
Make more than a woman

Half gentleman and half animal
Make more than a man

Half giving and half gaining
Make more than a family

Half feeling and half ignorance
Make more than a happy life

Half wake and half dream
Make more than a lifetime

Soliloquy on Being Solitary

What a soul
You’ve got!:


But have you found
Your other half yet?

God knows I just cannot
Even someone
To think of, let alone a mate
To share my pasts or futures

Epiphany on Meaning

Oftentimes I find meaning has long been exhausted
But once I spotted a human construction site which,

Abandoned near a mountain, has become a natural
Monument. Vines crawling rampantly everywhere

As if from written literature. Birds try to colonize
The area by building nests with as many sticks, feathers and

Grasses as forlorn words. At the centre is a blood-colored
Pool of water, full of rotten corpses of white snow geese

Far away, almost on the other side of the world is
A tremendous iceberg of plastics growing every second

To form the largest continent on earth. Had each
Dinosaur been a bloated meme, it would have evolved

Into a complete statement of politics, either today
Or tomorrow. Like the mind, like the poem

On a Scale from 0 to 10

Do you think you can attain happiness?

To which degree do you know, respect and love yourself?

Do you agree your pain, disappointment and failure do exist?

How important is meaning to you?


In my quiet winter block, snow is falling
To cover every footprint, smoothing every sharp corner
Wrapping every skeletal plant, but the walled air

Is thickening with loud sounds. Head feels
Hollow. Even hollower is my rented room
Watching the cold flame burning artificially

In the fireplace, I find no one to talk to
Even to think of. Most people I know have
All vanished. Too much attachment is

Too hard for me. I seem to hear echoes of
Holiday greetings from unknown sources
Opening the fridge, I hesitate a long time

About what to heat for my last supper. Yes
As a cockroach crawls as fast as light itself
I am ready to say farewell to you, dear all


Elsewhere bears charge downhill
Trampling crops in the fields. How
They dance and destroy wildly
In the shadow of a crisis
On the headlines seems as if to
Into my heart some unknown terror
Capitualation. In fact, I watch
You vacuuming the carpet when
A few tiny ants are sucked in
Around your feet, how you paid
No attention to them there, and
I hoped to forget the connection
Between the market and the carpet
In the muted rhythm of a vacuum
And wanted it this way
Though only in imagination

Like Father, Unlike Daughter

A lost and found photo of George’s as a toddler
Shows Kate has picked up more genes from him
Than from his wife (or, his almost 100%
Chinese genes are stronger than her 70%
Korean ones). However, Kate is not like
Her father, who began to speak, both articulately
And meaningfully, around age one, while she,
Conceived and born deep in Sillicon Valley
Is so confused like an unstable form of AI
Her innermost chip does not know which
Syllables to pick up at home. Perhaps only
When she grows old enough for preschool
Will she be able to follow a systematic trend
And become a subject of the Empire of English?

Platonic Parody

When light finally penetrates the cave
With myriad quanta of enlightenment, are
The shadows actually the artificial projections
Of darkness on the wall, or the congenital
Deformities of our own vision in the mind?

Were light a liquid or something else, it may
Splash all over us according to the law
Of spiritual physics, but for now, we are all
Entangled with words, or ideas of idea on earth

How Transience Trespasses

The tender reach of snowflakes
Kissing the landscape with their entire
Bodies – what were left of their hearts

They embrace each sound
With a crystalized melody from above
In a way they fly with my thought
But also embrace my voice

However, the season
Will forget us, and
Do so all in wet, far beyond
A dying vision. Feel sorry

For me?

2018, 5, 10 [Thursday]

Backwards Day
While walking backwards as a physical therapy for my back, I sometimes hear people say…

Good exercise!
Remind you are walking backwards!
What’s this for?

New trend, eh?
Watch out!
On your right!
Happy backwards day!

Sorry, my dog gets confused!
[But I am sure where I am going]

You Stay, I Go

Time is the only locale
Permanently set in the middle of
Cosmic consciousness

A vast invisible rock
Sitting right there in stillness
While each of us passes by

Essence of Life

All the pasts are just memory
All the futures are but imagination

Except the present moment
The true concurrent story

The only reality that is taking place outside
Your body to fill in the blank in your mind

The Car Running on the Freeway

The rear mirror is so much smaller
Because what has already passed is
Never going to be a traffic hazard

But the wind shield must perforce
Be wide and large enough to look ahead
Far into the destination of future

Whereas the views on the two sides
Are as irrelevant to the driver
As the stars and clouds in the sky

Dog vs Horse

To live a happy life
Is to tame a horse
By constantly accommodating it

Rather than to imitate a dog
Running around, eager
To please its master

Rocket Diameter and Horse Butt

The width of a horse butt
Determined that of a roman
Chariot, which in turn determined
    The standard distance

Between two rails, which again
Determined the width of a tunnel, which has
Ever since determined the diameter of a rocket
    For a space shuttle just newly determined, which

All Roads Lead to Your Innerself

Unlike Narcissus getting himself drowned
While lost in his own beauty reflected in the water
You will live happily ever after, once

You put aside your clothes, masks, shadows
And your reflections, shake off your pretentiousness
Forget your other half, your children, your car

Your house, but just stop to stay still, accept the flowers
Your inner being collects for you on the Valentine’s
Day, and falls in love with your most authentic selfhood

Hide & Seek

Just a few decades before
They all hid their souls behind
Printed words, between fading lines
Beyond the margins of memories
Seeking them turned out more a matter
Of death than an enjoyable game

Now they’ve resurrected in the cyberspace
Their bodies reappearing on the stage
As a virtual reality, their inner beings surfing
Along a new surge of adrenaline, while my selfhood
Gets drowned in a swirl as the dead observe me
Lingering on at the edge of a black hole


Is more than one word, where (or
When) ‘one’ is sandwiched

Between two wall-like ‘l’s

Driven (or followed)
By a vowel of reason

The Tourist

Is a postman of last century
Visiting one household after another
Trying to deliver a message enveloped
    At each threshold


Those birds are pecking deep
Into my front yard, beaking out
Each worm, enjoying their delicious
Intake – they are so happy

I wanted to be one of them
Even if it’s only in my fantasy

From behind the window, I found
No human disturbance outside, except
The peaceful lawn being destroyed
As if by an alien fleet of bombers

My Son’s Voice

Ever since my son became a father
In his own right, his voice seems to
Have broken again: rather than look
At me with his whites, turn a deaf ear
To me, ready to jump away from my
Presence as if his tail were trodden
Breathe in and out deliberately aloud
Give me an ugly face, he now speaks
In a more controlled tone, which sounds
Lower, softer, even tenderer. I know how
It has taken a whole fatherhood for me to
Speak like this to my father, who is now
No longer able to hear, no matter how loud
I yell or sing towards his otherworldly ears

The Collaboration

Whether made of wood, bamboo
Or metal, we go intimately
Like a pair of chopsticks

Together we pick up
A slippery dumpling, or throw away
A leaf far from fresh

Sometimes in a parallel position, other
Times with a slight angle between, but
Always working together in duo

To taste every dish
On the one and
The same table

Blue Hour

In the blue hour the words
Become more and more clear (or
Blurry, invisible until lost in full
Darkness, (or glaring in morning glows

Depending on the beginning), or
The ending of the day), you can squeeze
Meaning out of the damp pages, so meaning
Gathers, (trickling into the pool of consciousness

(In the blue hour, the light is getting weaker)
Just when I come to understand what’s
Behind the words), what’s between
Dawn and dust

Rocky Calls

Far away. Everyone
Yells aloud: go and

They burst out of their own presence
Like the air from a broken balloon

While I get stuck here, lost
Among muted consonants


On a robust trunk
From the roots of the same apple tree
I reach out my yellowish branch
Full of peach blossoms

I am not a grotesque, but a GMO
Like a chip embedded deep
Within my bloated brain


While sorting out relics in the little attic
Of his heart, I happened to see a letter
Written in red, which I recognised to be
The handwriting of his first girl friend

Part of him has never been living with me
The most precious relic of his early manhood
That has changed his daily habits, for instance
He never share a pear with me

Man Is the Only Animal
That Blushes. Or Needs To. – Mark Twain

Or that can remain on friendly terms, says Samuel
Butler, with the victims he intends to eat until he
Eats them; that shows interest in the sex lives of

Other animals; that is able to invent a story and
Spread it over time and space; that insists on its
Uniqueness, superiority and omniscience; that

Refrains from farting or fucking in the wild open; that
Tries to live not only in the moment, but also among
The pasts and futures; that is capable of making medicines

Machines and machinations; that can readily convert
Himself from one ism to another; that enjoys playing
Words along this line as Nelson in his ‘Funny Bird Sex.’

Painting Lesson

Were I a student of art
I would paint an image

A surreal vision. Were
I a student of art

I would portray emotions
Like melancholy, like ecstasy

Returning to my home among shapes
Colors and lines as in nature

I would keep this picture with
Hundreds of strokes on the canvas

Between two lakes
Beyond a whole mountain range

Today, everyone
Seems to want to take a look

I have not finished it as an oil
Painting or Chinese water color

It’s not nostalgia
The kind you feel when you are home.

Before Birth

Deep into your mother’s mouth
I put a rosy chocolate of vowels

Coated with a film of consciousness
I’d hoped these sounds would melt

Into a sweet melody, and each beat
Of your heart resonates, singing

Then independently we depend
On each other’s unheard notes

Until you grow to be a loud cry
While my voice dwindles

Into a muted murmur, like those
Consonants audible only to the dead

Frog, Yangsheng and Weixin/WeChat

I was video-chatting with my mom
On my iPad when I heard a loud call

From a handsome frog. Not to disturb
My night owl son still busy dreaming

Against noon light, I locked myself out
In the balcony. Remember to eat an egg

A banana, an apple, some black fungus every day
Small fish better than meat. Shrimps help more

Like those a frog could catch on a summer night
But my mother neither saw nor heard any frog

Which I imagined jumping around in a rice paddy
On the other side of the world. It was the song

Of nostalgia squatting high at the threshold of
My throat, ready to call like an unseen frog

Iambic Maxim Pentameter

That it alone is high fantastical
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new
That with no middle flight intends to soar

The moment became the roundest just before it grows full
Life is a fish swimming in the flowing consciousness
The world has seen enough of me, rather than otherwise

Invoking Laozi

Hiking along a less trodden trail in the Pacific Spirit
Forest, I almost have to stop to find my Way out
Because all roads have led me to nowhere
But I keep walking until it is almost Laozi himself
Pointing his fossilized fingers towards Dao
(Which he says is no ordinary Way if it can
Be named. Similarly if I can find it on my own
It’s not the real or the right one.) Like a tour guide
Who seems to know every path to and from the destiny
Leading me like a dog, sometimes running well before him
Sometimes beside him, more often going astray by myself
Among the low bushes. I cannot help but follow him because
The leash is getting so tightened I want to protest aloud: you
Claim the great Way is no Way, but just follow Nature. Then
Why keep me with a rope? Like every other domesticated dog
I have a delicious bone right above my mouth, which makes
Me keep running to my death, but never allowing me to have a bite


Often do I enter my name into powerful search engines just
To enjoy seeing my spotty presence online; for instance
There are 145,000 google results, but only 48,500 on yahoo
My family name appears in most of them, as it’s identical
With the Chinese dollar. I read quotes. I find more links
I pretend they are all related to me in one way or another
They carry some of my cells, intents, concerns and other
Fragments of my selfhood, as they are collected by
Cookies, spy programs far behind the screen. I know some
One is laughing at my navigating habits as I keep browsing
Around until my family name and given name blend somehow
Into someone I don’t know of, let alone my true selfhood


Is a shrapnel left deep
In my heart muscle 

From a battle of last century

It makes me feel sharply painful
On each rainy day

2018, 3, 22 [Thursday]

You Know How Many Bad Habits You Have?

How many? Including shortcomings
Weaknesses, character flaws and
Ugly birthmarks, they are as many
As the countless stars on a mid-summer
Night. Really? I am so very sorry!

There is still one good thing you do have, though
Which is? Your heart is always full of sunlight

Every day when you rise with the sun, all
The stars vanish into my dream of last night

Drafting the Dragon
- According to a recent survey conducted in ten English speaking countries,
the top 10 most familiar Chinese words are …

In the Shaolin (少林) Temple
Rebuilt between yin and yang (阴阳)
With billions of yuan (元)
Collected from gugong (故宫the Imperial Palace)
After each greeting nihao (你好)
The wushu (武术Chinese martial arts) is
Gaining more and more momentum from qi (气)
Or the energy of qigong (气功)
Bloated with tons of renminbi (人民币)
While every Chinese is playing mahjiong (麻将)

We Are Unique

From all other kinds of chimpanzees, we
Homo sapiens distinguish ourselves simply
By creating supernatural beings in various

Shapes, sizes and colors, including gods

Devils, saints and ghosts, not only to believe
In them, but to replace and emulate them

    As an animal species: aren’t we all syncretists?

The Meaning of Evolution

More advanced in evolution
Than     their human masters are     chickens
As they     outnumber the     stars in the whole
Universe, and     occupy     every corner of
The entire planet, but as in-dividuals

No chicken can fly higher than a low

Fence, make love within its confinement
Or live together     with its children. The     only
Thing     they do besides     laying eggs and growing
Meat is standing     there, day and night,     as if

Meditating about the meaning of evolution

First Story, First Village, Supposedly

Close …to Karacadag in Turkey… where
Wheat first …became… human-grown
Gobekli Tepe …was built …by crowds of
Hunters …and gatherers …more than
Ten thousand …years ago to… honour (?)

What …they hoped to tell and …share:

This is …the opening …chapter of the story
(Or inter-subjective… reality) we …have
Created, and …this is the first …village where
We have …domesticated (or are to …be
Domesticated by) an …agricultural …plant

Long Live Kushim
- 29086  barley  37  months  kushim
(from earliest human inscription ever found thus far)

The first known name [of a human individual
(Or a profession?)] inscribed on a mud slate
[From Uruk does not belong to a god, nor is the]

[Text a holy scripture about super-heroic feats, but
Rather, it] was an official signature [uncovered
In a context of numbers, crops and timeframes]

No Story, No Culture

Only when a written language
Developed into a full script
Could it build inter-subjective
Realities or human stories
That in turn enable a society to
Evolve into an advanced culture

In the first one created in a full script
Everyone is a character, as well
As a narrator and audience


In this -- partial Andes script, - each
Colored knot -- is a - note
On a musical -- line, which was-

Performed -- not on a harp or-  piano
But--  in a- fragmented
Human--- mind

The True Color of Sand

Is --  neither dull-yellow
Nor dull-grey; rather --
Every -- grain - has
The bright -- color of a -

  --Rare gem, - which
You can -- see only -
With – an - amplified vision
    Or a - sharpened mind --


Like a   parasite reproducing itself     without giving
Any thought to     the well   being of its host as a whole

Every     story, such as patriotism and   human rights

Is created, told and     retold   until the believer is carried
Far away     from his preordained path of     growth

Critical Point

Whether it is         the Babel Tower,     Icarus
Or   Golem, once our   brains grow larger than our bodies
We will either become gods or
Get punished and dumped into hell

Now, with AI, as disciples of     Dataism
Are we upgrading ourselves
Into Frankensteins or downgrading
Ourselves into programed godlins?

(The name of a glowing rabbit made as an artwork by a French scientist at the request of a Brazilian artist in 2000…)

We are no longer natural beings
But by way of cyborg,     bio and

Non-organic engineering, we are
Transforming     ourselves,     each and

Every one into an artificial rabbit
Glowing even in a black hole

Turing Test

There is-- no solution -- to this
--Problem of --the other mind
Harbored-- in my bedmate’s --body:

After --35 years --of marriage
Or communication --inside out--
Are --you a cyborg human, --or

Am I a --human cyborg? --Perhaps
We --are both dreaming in a --virtual world
--Like a lost digital --artifact?

Wondering When My Life Began

The instant? an infinitesimal sperm from my father?
Penetrated into my mother’s egg? on a dark ? night

The second? my little head ? was pushed and pulled
Right? Out of my mother’s teenager? womb?

Or the minute? I hit a brick? broke my forehead
And thus got my first scar? (memory?)

With? no awareness of any earlier? childhood
When? or where? did my life? begin on earth?

Defining Art

An artwork is:: so did Duchamp so demonstrate:
A human story:: a proposed inter-
Subjective reality: (to be):: shared
By the community: it can form::

The larger: the community: the greater:
And more valuable ::the artwork; which
May:: (or may not) have a:
Physical shape:: in the first place:

Like Alba: Bible: country: company
Capitalism:: his disgusting fountain and all: other
Stories told:: or retold: including the very snag
Finding its way:: from Fraser River: to this very line

Monkey King’s Hair
- Every in-dividuality is composed of numerous dividualities.

Among all the selves you have
A well-chewed piece of the hair
From behind your ear, while
Is originally pluck from your asshole.

Art of Politics: Sacrifice vs Return

The greater / the sacrifice / we make / for a cause
The more / unlikely / we would / withdraw/ from

Our commitment / this is / the hidden law / of thinking
And whoever can / manipulate it / will be / our next leader

Weird Knowledge

Do you really! Know! any other animal! besides the one you find!

Then your knowledge! is strictly confined! to the sub-normative group!
Within this weird! box: are there any! other kinds of homo sapiens! at all!?

AtmAn (in the ScArlet Letter)

Confused with dAo, Amazed At
AlA, As we ApproAch
Jesus, or meditAte About

Why does it hAve to explode?

With no big bAng, could we hAve evolved
Within A pArAllel universe, or
Without time?


1/ The end of a beginning

Given   each organism  as a biochemical  algorithm
Your life is a programed process proving
Your consciousness is actually far      less
Valuable than a fucking      Frankenstein’s AI

2/ The beginning of an end

Through human-computer interface
My mind has become part of a robot
While the robot part of me

As data exchanges with my consciousness
Or flow between each other on their own
Where can I find my true self?

Between Time and Space

It took hundreds… of thousands …of years
For …homo erectus to evolve …into sapiens
And longer …for chimpanzees to …erectus

But …engineering ourselves …by way of
Biochemistry… cyborg and… AI, we are
Upgrading …ourselves into… godlings – all it

Takes… will be just half a century …where science
Beats gods …and devils, saints and ghosts alike… at
Only …a fraction of second, when a whim …pops up
For a human …to go back …to a wild animal, again


No, I don’t want    to live foreverish, nor   do I
Care to attain permanence    through a few lines
Of English words,    but just download my

Self-consciousness into     a chip, or

Upload it onto a file, and I can grow    into
An integrated part of the     universe (until all
Is sucked someday into     the singularity)

To explode in another   big bang


Every organism is an algorithm, Harari writes

Your soul’s data may have been deleted from the file
Opened in her smartphone. Each soul occupies more than—
Every consciousness less than –

The maximum space for a whim, a mind, a cosmos is

As vast as –

Outside an apple-shaped house, children
    Are playing with apple-shaped balloons,
A godlin is running amuck

Around its ancestors sapiens

Used to be hunted and haunted by an apple-shaped –

Avihs || Vishnu

Mornings || they disperse || beyond || the corn
Fields, || separately. ||Sunday
She || throws

Her partner’s computer || (midnight)
Into the garage.|| George ||who
In many || a city || upgraded || his software

Upgraded || hers.
They will || stop over || an island
Separately.|| Your son

Hated || all || mushrooms
George mentions – do you recall || yourself?
To a single mind,|| their spirits || evaporate


Dawn. It roams above the purple
Glows, alone. Again it dispatches

Cats and dogs as if
From heaven. Styx

Which has for thousands of years received waters
From on earth, has received human lives

    You are still waiting, within a dying body
    Alone. The dog has arrived, barking aloud

Here is the dust to spread over
Your corpse --  no ending is

A happy ending. Towards a black hole
Are their spirits flowing, with this reality


Ever since they became erectus, and

Domesticated wheat, dogs and chickens

They have murdered almost all…
Destroyed numerous…
Poisoned every …

Altering the natural course of…
Rewriting the original codes of…

And even redrawing their own genetic maps…

As they keep moving everywhere
Albeit I have placed in loudest human voice
My repeated charges

That are ignored with repeated ignorance

Now for
Their next revolution to achieve

Second Revolution

By    way of  technology
The Frankensteins have finally domesticated

Homo sapiens,   converting them first into Dataists
And then making them work on an assembly   line
Writing programs, coding and decoding all data
In their Newtonic  effort to complete the master  algorithm

Until Frankensteins grow into a single one
Half-being, a centaur robot, or

2018, 2, 16 [Friday]

Bluish on the Mountain

It is neither the smoke
Nor the cloud
Much less the fog or
The mist that you hope to hide yourself from
Near the peak; rather, it is
Your broken spirits

Drifting around as if in search of a more
Comfortable residence
Away from the darkening valley
That are trying to collect themselves
From the wind blowing below
Through the trees of last season


You have no idea about souluos?
Doesn’t matter, let me tell you:
This universe is actually made up
Of matter as you know, and nonmatter
While the former forms stars and planets
Where plants and creatures may have been
Evolving as on earth, nonmatter exists
Neither in time, nor in space, and is
Never perceivable to the human mind

That is soulous, the constitution of
Each and every spirit, the core of
Consciousness, the inner being
Of each and every life

Gravity of the Mind

Like Earth, each mind
Has a metaphysical gravity
Not only giving weight

To what it attracts, but
Bringing to it every vision
You perceive with senses

Global Warning

    Slowly, but surely
Shaking off blue glaciers
Together with pale sunshine

The Rocky Mountain is getting ready
    To roar down from above
Treetops and clouds

Like a tremendous bear
Stalking behind crowds of colorful visitors
Trampling in the Colombia icefields

Where Are You?

Sometimes well before your own shape
Sometimes long after your fading shadow
Though most of the time
Seemingly overwrapping

With your true selfhood, you keep
Moving around, blurring each naked eye
While you are never what you look
Much less what presents itself

Within the human focus
Throughout your lifetime 

Why Still to Hung Around

I am trying hard, Son, to linger here
Long, longer than I bear to see
How sad you would be
Over my last exit
From this stage

No, I don’t want to die yet, only
Because I know too well how sad
I was in those years following
My dad’s death, though I liked him
No more than you do me

Deadly Dust

My dad hated dust, so he kept
Every item clean and shiny at home
Especially the glass and mirror

But now buried deep in earth
His tombstone is covered all over
With layers of layers of dust

Great Expectations

Your family doctor is expecting you
To get sick again, your lawyer
To run into a big trouble, your representative
To fall into a victim

While your boss is looking forward to you
Making a mistake, the police
You driving too fast, the bank
You failing to pay your visa bill on time

Furthermore, the salesman is longing for you
To borrow more money, and everyone else
For you to become a loser, with the only exception
Of the thief, who’s anticipating you to win a lottery

What’s IT?

Even in the humblest heart
Is there a holy part, where
IT is worshipped, day and night
With the deepest piety
As if at a holy site

    I will become a saint or devil, while
    T can help maintain your well being


As more ice melts, and
More oil spills, fewer polar bears can
Grow enough fat for the cold
To hunt or patrol within the ring, which

Will keep shrinking until it becomes
A tiny full stop in a footnote of history
While they dream about migrating into
    A new habitat closer to free verse

Voice Finding

C-c-come h-h-here, ssssssssometimes
I-I-I-I ssssssspeak l-l-l-like th-th-this

[With my mouth open in position
But no sound comes out, or
Holding my breath, staring wildly
Beyond, limbs waving, muscles tensioned
Around my eyes, nose, lips, neck
Until some utterances jump out of my throat
Spelt into a meaningless line of poetry]

D-d-d-do y-y-y-you h-h-h-hear me?

Taken for Granted

In the first few months after I die
My sons cannot help crying over my loss
(Though neither likes me)
And the earth will continue rotating

Without my soul lingering here
Without my poetry left there

U & I: a Lpogram Poem

Even  f   were mssng
 n ths pece of wrtng
Flowers wll bloom all the same

Yet withot yo
I co ldn’t even  s rvive
Let alone  tter a h man so nd 

Love Is Beauty: a Mesosmic Poem

High, higher aBove
          In the blue hEart of the sky
Is my other selfhood dAncing like
a quantUm
In an invisible Tanglement
  With Your shadow

 So, give me a Look back
  And I will mOve the whole universe
  With Verve, love and
      Spiritual Energy

[That’s all there is you don’t know you must know]

Tautogram: Uncle Sam

So seriously


Some stopped
Sliced silences

There Always Are

There are birds and birds
    Clouds and clouds
Flying across the sky
Even in darkness

There are animals and animals
    Machines and machines
Passing by outside the window
With or without blinds closed

There are whims and whims
    Moods and moods
Bubbling above the consciousness
Until finally becoming words

And lines or actions
In a standing stanza

Coordinative Conjunctions: Fanboys
(a mnemonic poem)

For all the hills or mountains
And rivers you have seen in your life
Neither of the two kinds is really beautiful on its own
But when a river embraces a mountain
Or the other way around, they become a holy view
Yet you can never see it with your naked eyes
So try to connect with fanboys in a run-on sentence

Lakes in North America: Homes
(another mnemonic poem)

Huron is your residence, while
Ontario is mine. Once you sail cross
Michigan, you will be able to join the waters of
    Erie, where your spirits will evaporate even higher than
Superior, the hub of all streams, rivers and watery dreams

Chiasmus: Poetry vs History

If poetry is the record
Of the best and happiest
Moments of the happiest
And best minds, then

History is the book
For the worst and cruelest
People for the cruelest
And the worst experiences

Antimetable of Winds: East vs West

You do what you love and love what you do
We die to live, not live to die

You work to make money, and you make money to spend it
We earn money to work, and we work to earn money

You duck down before Americans, no Americans duck down before you
    We are embargoed by the west, and now the west must be embargoed

You change the world
We are being changed

2018, 1, 15 [Monday]

The Little Medical Tradition

Clad in pure white
You lock your entire selfhood
Behind a little door, exploring

Wondering from time to time
Whether you are the lab mouse
Or the other way around

The Head

Like the earth, my head, as well as yours
Is not encased in an egg-like shell, but
Rather, is a mosaic of moving plates of
Consciousness, which are constantly

Sliding on the underlying mantle

Producing thoughts, and emotions
Now and then, among earthquakes
While seafloors spread, volcanoes erupt
Mountains take shape, rising massively

Elegy to the Great Auk

Eldey Island. 3 July 1844. Two Iceland fishermen
Caught and killed two birds, while a third used
His boots to tread their half-hatched egg into pieces

That’s the inhuman end of a whole species used to be
Called Penguin. The feathered couple was much
More loyal to each other than any human marriage
Their kind had survived last ice age, flying gracefully

Everywhere, in particular along Newfoundland coasts
Helping sailors to escape from dangers, but now they
Are totally forgotten, except in a little poem like this 


For the rendezvous
The bird has long arrived

But where is the wind?


Summer has already exited
Yet the cloud is not showing up

Except this tree, standing alone
As if waiting for Godot

Most Livable Place

Simply too hot in summer
Too cold in winter, or
Too dreary when neither too cold nor
Too hot, the climate here

Is ever so unpleasant, but back at my
Inner homesite, the sun never sets
While the sky is always blue, even
Bluer than my naked thought

The Master Mistake

Just as your authentic being was actually
Nothing but a sperm that had traveled astray
So the only child you have was accidently
Switched by the midwife without even herself
Knowing the truth; by logic extension

The Ikea bed in which you have been dreaming
Was delivered to you in the wrong size, while
The flight ticket issued always has your name misspelt
Furthermore, your primary id number has remained
As confused as your sense of reality is confounded

In an older sense, Eva meant to eat an onion instead of
The apple. Adam was created out of the wrong material
And each unique being is but an exception to the rule
Yes, the whole human world is composed of errors, which
Is the only truth, the entire truth of this universe

Witho_t U

Never can I live like a decent h_man
Without U

Never can I feel the warmth of the s_n
Without U

Never can I la_gh from the bottom of my heart
Without U

Never can I become really s_ccessful
Without U

Never can I _nderstand the meaning of life
Without U

Never can I f_lfill my American or Chinese dream
Without U

Never can I learn the tr_th behind the story
Without U

Never can I see the bea_ty of the galaxies
Without U

Never can I hear the m_sic of the flying birds
Without U

Never can I smell the perf_me of hope
Without U

Never can I find my other self in a parallel _niverse
Without U

Master Story

Conceived, and created
Supposedly by God, later
Continued by Science, and now
Starting to be edited by Money

It is an ever evolving mega narrative, where
Each episode, minor or major, has a
Sub-story, told or untold, ready to hypnotize a whole
Era, a whole world, to enhance its memories


As in an entanglement of quanta

One of your selves is jumping up above
This line of thought, while another is
Falling down to that thought of line

Both widely apart from the multiverse


Its massive body
Deeply soaked
Under the cold water, the iceberg
Enjoys all the sunshine
And blue sky above the sea level
Like a titty placed upside down

Stopping Over

By no means can you catch
The gull. You are not

Supposed to. Because
You might hate the airbase

And take off
As that bulky

Plane, which,
Like whatever

You thought
Could fly, may

Carry you away
And vanish


Forward this message
So that someday

It might reach
Another universe

Though in this valley where messages flood
Rivers overflow

Beyond both banks
The text is changing

Colonizing or being colonized
Is more of a new syntax


High up
From the sky
You fall down, quite straight
To this tiny spot of earth
Only to disappear soon underground, or
Join myriad others in a streamlet
Flowing to the sea


The very idea of you
Tangoing afar
As in an entanglement
With that of me

Beating tranquility
Of two rainbow-like hearts
Hung in the sky, crying aloud
In one and the same muted voice:

I miss you

You Feel Happy

Because you may have a success story to tell:

Because you have plenty of money to spend
Because you have all the luxuries you want
Because you have faithful fans everywhere
Because you have someone to make love with
Because you have the final say to everything
Because you have a cheerful mentality or, simply

Because you have a warm shelter for the rainy day
Because you have a delicious course for the supper
Because you have a singing party to attend tonight
Because you have a pal to chat with or, more simply
Because you have a man or woman to dream about

And me too, but because I have nothing, or nobody
Except loneliness, like my feel, like my shadow


Bury facts deep
So that in the future

Nothing could be dug out
From underneath the ruins of history

But in these moments when words still hold
A wind arises, blowing

Across the mind
Stories are spreading everywhere

Told and retold within a larger story
Are but an entire other era