Tag Archives: Poetry

Lost in Thought, a Poem

On trying and finally accepting, the inevitable: DEATH, translated…

On the Day I Dreamt of My Mother

I’d Not Checked the Albums on My Phone to See

If the Buddha Had His Eyes Lowered

If the Background was the Mountains or the Cliffside

Don’t Lie to Me, Just, Come All Out

The Lenses, Too Worldly

Can’t Switch to that Boundary

The Mothers of Others Kept Aging

Becoming Those, Old Yams, Old Taros with the Bearded Roots

Walking Slower, No Need to Rush

Take Your Children & Grandchildren, Dragging Yourself Along that Stroller

In the Early Evenings, the Swallows Returned Back to Springtime

That Stumbling Shadow with the Back Turned Had Always Been Mistaken by Me

That It Shall Be, Returned, to that Familiar Address

The Storyline Shattered, and Crumbled Multiple Times

Slowly I Knew to Hide, so I Can Accompany This One Dream

No Need to Argue, No Need to Tell the News

God Shall Come by, the Eggshell Broken

It’s Best that You’re, Taken Hostage

And Get Hatched and Become Anything Else

What’s Meant to Come in Eventuality, the Crowds Appeared in Black-and-White, Silent in the Freeze Frames

There’s Too Much Logic Underneath the Sun

Circling Oneself, Enveloping Oneself

Using a Lock, to Escape

I am, Out

Walked in a Straight Line with My Own Mother

Don’t Clench My Hands Too Tight, Don’t Rest

And, Don’t Blink

So this is, a man’s, coping with his own mother’s, death, because, of how his mother is, almost dead, and he is finally, allowing the fact of what’s, inevitable, sink into his mind…coping with this, loss that simply can’t be, avoided.

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Filed under Awareness, Because of Love, On Death & Dying, Philosophies of Life, Poetry, Properties of Life, the Finality of Life

Meeting My Daughter Who Ran Away, a Poem

On accepting death, finally, translated…

She is My Daughter

But She, Ran Away

Perhaps, it’s the Wind, the Night Skies

The Stars, the Clouds, the Sunsets Tempting Her on

The River Flowed, the Grasses Grew

I Don’t Know How to, Call Her Back

She was My Daughter of the Past

Born, into the Night, Forgotten, by Sunrise

She was, Never, Returned to My Side

Only Left a Letter, at that High Tower of the Ancient Times

Under the Mulberry Tree, with One Solitary Leaf Fallen Beneath it

Before, the Hooves of, a Fatigued, Steed

Maybe Time had, Never, Left

But, I’d Not Seen Her at Chang-An, Nor Taipei

The Galaxies on the Posters, in the, Nighttime Skies

My Dreams, Premeditated, an Everlasting Dance

My Daughter Who’d, Left, Did She, Venture from the Life Before, to the Next Life Already

What is She Doing Now

As the Rain Falls, the Pond Pretending to be Asleep

That White-Feathered Bird with Its Wings, Damp, Flew Across the Skies

Those Pieces of Driftwood Stood, on the Distant Mountains

Walking Down the, Unknown Paths, Did She, Hear My Calls Out to Her

From Afar

And so, this, is on death, the narrator had lost his child, and, perhaps, she’d died, just a few days after birth, but, no matter how brief the time the man had with her, he’d, already, loved her very much, and, this poem, is his process of, letting her go.

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Filed under Cost of Living, Lessons, Letting Go, Life, Loss, On Death & Dying, Parenting/Parenthood, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, the Finality of Life

The Deceased

Translated…

The Wind and Rain Suddenly Came in the Middle of the Nights

Hacked Hard, at the Boards in the Backyard.  As Dawn Breaks, the Sun, Seeped Through, the Cracks of the Windows

First, it was, Cohen, with His, Lower Voice, Gone, then, Wanda and Her Smiles Too.  I Was, Once Like, Their Child, Growing in Their, Happiness.  They’d, Left Some of Whom They Loved Behind, on the Vinyl Players, Some, Oxidized with the DVDs, Some, Can’t Even Remember Themselves, Slowly, Dissipated, into the Air, Touching Those Strangers they Meet on Occasions.

As My Son Lay on Me Before He Drifts to Sleep, He’d Wanted Me to be a Boat.  To Rock, to Sway Singing on, How Much Longer, Can I, Carry You?  The Small Boat Has its Own Paths, to Sail, to Vanish.  But, I Shall, Return, I Shall, Keep on, Rocking You, Be it Rain or Wind, or that, Soundless, Sunshine Through Your Windows.

And this, is on death, on how we can, keep those we’d lost in our minds, and they’re not, really gone away, after all, NOBODY can, escape, death, because you were, born once!

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Filed under Awareness, Because of Love, Coping Mechanisms, Letting Go, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, the Finality of Life, Values

Passing Through, on a Bamboo Raft, a Poem

On burying one’s own, offspring, translated…

A Bamboo Raft, Like a Red Lotus Passed Through

Vanished, into the Fog

“Affinities of Children, Thin Like the Foams on the Waterfront”

So True These Words

Watching the Sunset Light Withering in the West

Time Has No Place Here

Memories Can’t Hide

The Awareness, Electric Shocked

Who isn’t, Like that Small Raft

Drifting in-Between Life & Death

Listening to the Heaviness of the Repentance of Love & Lust

With the Broken Bridges, Severed Off Streams, the Dying Smokes

And so, this, is finally, coming to one’s senses about the finality of life, because you’d lost the ones you loved when they were too young, and you are, still living, you’d, needed to, cope with losing the ones you cared for, loved, your, own young…

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Filed under Awareness, Because of Love, Coping Mechanisms, Cost of Living, Despair, Lessons, Letting Go, Life, Loss, On Death & Dying, Story-Telling, the Finality of Life, Translated Work, Values

Child, a Poem

And no, this is still NOT my picture, found it online…

Translated…

The winter’s sun managed to

Dry up the dampened verses taped on my back

And, all those who are behind me

All looked upon my back curiously

But, there was just, one child who’d just

Learned to read

Who’d started, reciting the verses on my back

This just shows how pure children are, because, as an adult, we’d been taught, not to do things, that it would be impolite, but, sometimes, it takes a child, to point out to us, the oddities of what’s happening, like that kid in The Emperor’s New Clothes, that pointed out that the emperor wasn’t wearing anything. 

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Filed under Awareness, Childhood, Creative Writing, Life, Observations, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life

The Allegro of the Spring Breeze

A poem, translated…

Knowing You’re Coming

And Gone in a Jiffy, without Sitting Down, for a Cup of Coffee with Me

Just Tapped My Skirt, and You’re Gone

Not Allowing Me to Get a Clear Look at the Chinese Francolin You Rode on

This just shows, how the breezes of spring come and go so quickly, one minute it’s here, and the next, it’s gone, reminds you that you need to take advantage of the N-O-W, doesn’t it???

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Filed under Awareness, Expectations, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life

I Came to Shenzhen the Winter After You Died

Written in memoriam of the poet who committed suicide, along with all the younger generations who left home, to come to the bigger cities to work, translated…

I’d read your poems on the papers, it wasn’t until you were dead, did you get discovered

As if, a huge inheritance, that no one came to claim

Simple, but deeply touching, like your short-lived twenty-four years of life

In just three months after your death

I came to this place of work you’d dreamed of, the Book Town in Shenzhen, to read poetry.  This still quite young town

Like a young man, still absorbing everything that he is intrigued by

Including poetry, but not including, any of your works.  I’d traveled from afar

The car passed through those glowing streets and the tall buildings

I completely understand the desires of the city like the beauties he’d dreamed of beholding too:

Money and dignity, hope and justice—oh yes

And, happiness too, happiness!

It was all too hard, to define happiness when one is still quite young

Because it’s ever-changing, and now

As I reached midlife, I’d worked hard, to avoid

Topics such as these, just like the subject of death.

I’d come to a distant, strange town to read poetry

“What could offer more bliss than this?”

Sitting among a group of strangers who are also intrigued by your poetry

I’d hoped, that you were among us

Standing up, read aloud your poem, “An Ironclad Moon”

And so, I’d sat myself down

And found something, something that offered me

More happiness than poetry………

So, I guess, that this poet found that he was blessed to be alive, and how he’d not lost hope, like that poet that committed suicde in China before, and, the narrator had taken the life of Hsu and used it as a reminder for himself, and, the poet’s life was not wasted, because he managed, to touch someone, even in death…

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Filed under Life, Lives Lost, Loss, Observations, On Death & Dying