The height of summer
days become the hot embracing
during
passionate love making
it's hard to breathe
torso behaves like pancake
tossing and turning on the mattress
body is a fire spitting dragon
roasting every corner of the bed
or the grill if you will
mosquitoes are lions on the savanna
lying in wait by the river
so many spots to start
cravings dragged toward the abyss
to drink in the sweetened coolness
birds in the tree
screaming from the heat
leaves curled up and blinded in fear
the earth is a fresh bun in the steamer
flowers faint left and right
amidst smell of charring
the sun laughs loudly
sending chills down some spines
when i see a lake i wanna dive in
i don't care about the gossip
or the hazard at the deepest
I'm a cheater that's been cheating
beyond the worldly paradigm
tears of rain are swirling in the sky
the winds hide on the other side
everyone in torment
expecting
plenty of sweating and swearing
all kinds of fans waving and spinning.

I don't want to sit
in a party where the dialectic
just don't make sense
I don't want to listen to a meeting with
wall to wall rhetoric
and I fear the swarming
of gossip
at the encounter of such occasion
I am sure to be the first figure to leave
I wouldn't heed or bother
with the blank stares
never really cared
about the frowns the scowls
the looks of revenge
by nature I am afraid
of being caught in the smog of life
wrapped in its layers
I know that the more I get caught up in it
the more chaotic and confusing is the turbulence
the darker it gets.

All trees
dressed in pink
the longings
that were planted here
over the years
I've been faithful
in my visits
approaching gently
quietly leaving
pink and white petals
like devoted butterflies
flapping their wings
to decorate that sky
of memory
beautiful things of the mortal world
finally return
the season of sakura
like my thoughts fluttering about
in the first flush of her romance
the sanctity of this retreat
the pink flames
reflected on lovers' foreheads
fragrances
stored in the depths of time
fly out towards
our love affair.

Under the eaves,
the jangling
clanking raindrops,
asked a slate,
"Listen carefully,
did i break something",
was it a fresh surprising dream,
or a fragmented mood,
the slate wordless,
suspiring.

In the theater
under the indigo curtain
of night
the lovely fruits still have
the wings of leaves
dazzling earrings joggling
shining
in a night
punctiliously built
by you
behind you is
a sodden wall
like the part of the world
that is cold
a song without tears
is the shrill of rocks
on the precipice
there's
too much imagination
trekking.

I never lack an audience
even if it's just one person
i have
the cranium of poetry
humbly poised to be placed high
nirvana in a verse
is not to be flaunted
just like the distant incident of snow
remains far and illusive
only the wind knows
the interstice between the heaven and the ocean
the interstices amidst the words
only time knows
i never lack an audience
even if all the readers
who have come from all bearings
have gone
well, i knew that sooner or later
they will leave too
i just hope that when they do
they don't forget it all like a hangover
that'd be a cinch
i never need an audience
time is always by my side
the one true
underwriter.

Tonight
winds are small
still there is a chill
the warmth of poetry
for me it's always been
here
it's great to be able
to write some tidy
things down
like butterflies in springtime
as always enthusiasm
can set poetry alight
brighter and brighter
tonight
i indulge in warm writing
i take the initiative
to be with poetry.

The lullaby of cicadas
has put the village
to sleep
at this moment
strips of waxen haze
swaying
every household
slowly.

Needless to say
my heart is sometimes a jungle
a wilderness
there are many little
monsters that stalk the landscape
sometimes they behave like a ginger fawn in the headlights
sometimes like a lone wolf with blue stripes
sometimes they wriggle like anthias fish
sometimes sleep like a serpent
i have no way to confine them
nor can i bear to
they too
need care and comfort
when they're hungry they need me to feed them
if i don't see them for days
have they forsaken
left me behind
i just have to ask
as if they never existed
i'm always so focused on the deities and gods
little monsters also need to be nourished by love
when they feel the warmth love thawed and molten
they become more innocuous, pure and lovelier
than humans or immortals
this brought me to a realization
so called monsters or savages is just
a lack of affection
and the harm caused by limitations
the harm which is invisible at the root
it stems from established prejudices, discrimination, contempt
which more often than not
they are unintentional oversights, misunderstandings and ignorance
why do i love so hard
maybe because there are still too many little monsters
in my digital world.

If i had a bottle of magical reagent
I'd take out a third of it
and put it in the sky
and turn the sky as blue
as it should be
if i had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out a third
and put it in the lake
let the lake return
to its rightful clarity
If I had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out one-third
and put it in my heart
let my heart be restored
to its original innocence
if there's such a bottle of reagent
I'd think to myself
i would sit
under the azure welkin
watching fluffy clouds
smooth flowing waters
I'd feel as light as the breeze
and my heart as wild
as a bee.

Outside the window
autumn coming
singing the song
of the valley.
The cattle in the countryside
awakened the autumnal breeze
the flowers next to the hill
drinking the autumnal dews
the golden waves of grain
clapping
all are listening
to this.

A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.

The temptation
to belly-flop
on a raked pile of leaves
long-awaited greetings
foreign
yet a familiar city
semi worn-out platform
it's oh so simple
ordinary
to know you
but it has made me
think back
on every autumn day
i contemplate
the happiness that extended
from nothing more than chance acquaintance
i want to hold
onto that sweet corner
of my mind
you came in fall
does it have to be a scene
of fading greenery
why do those red leaves look weirdly
teary
my disheveled state of mind at the present time
can't afford to be challenged or tested
though i love the autumn
recklessly
including its solemn austerity
mahogany melancholy
all in honor of the pretty lady
i met you
and inordinately liked you
in that old part of the school
you came my way
and it sure was
an autumn day.

Days of pots and pans
ladles and bowls
sweet words have been
cut down
during the day
the habitual silence
can only be broken
with stainless steel forks and spoons
at night the bed routine
both tied back to back
snoring and buzzing of mosquitoes
intimate conversation happened
a long long time ago
this double bed
bigger than the endless night
the fatigue and exhaustion
they can only tell you the next morning
with a wry smile.

That year
we met
watching you smile
from afar
i dared not look back
that month
we started getting used to texting
on a daily basis
exchanging stories and banters
encouraging each other to go through
things we had to go through
that day
you said out of the blue
you decided to stop talking to me
cold turkey
i could not
that night
i saw some of ourselves
in some Makoto Shinkai movies
you and i
we could not go back it seemed
that moment
i let it happen
you and i became sudden
strangers.

Chaotic winds
whir and wail all day
skewing clocks and towers
ponderous footsteps
of pumpkin
tainted night
twisted space
scattered light falls
like blades of rain
between the evergreen
a mutual transmission of
unusual potential horror happening
whirl of emptiness
a dead river
bone-eating road
murky sound shimmers
gradually from the strings of mirage
spatial queries galore
skeletal fingers pressing on pain and sores
chaotic winds herald
a slightly terrifying
muddied scene
contorted space
meager light pierces the dark
galloping horse flows into sight
dreams begin
festival and fantasy merge
clamor of dust disappears
silence after the explosion
a sole survivor
quiet gladiator
battle garb cloaked in endless skies
regalia of stars
tamed shadowy beasts of forest
strong sounds of symbols
breaths sink into deep sea
below the bed at midnight hide
a starry dream
swimming fish
drifting silence
translates wandering wraiths
into undecipherable scripts
on stones of grave.

Snowflakes,
peregrinating,
the anonymous sky,
the majestic earth,
embracing,
the glistening crystal,
gift,
hoping the time and space,
could stop,
hoping that,
time could stroll a little,
and linger.
Spotless snow,
muddy roads,
whos messing with,
whose hope.

The silent night
and silent ocean have
the silent moonlight
no wind
no ripples
beneath the silent lamps
are the silent eyes
the ocean knows
a lot of stories of
mermaids
and shipwrecks
and why does it still remain
silent
in the silent night
don't wanna watch the stars
just wanna know
whether the storm has sounded
when will the rain come
where does the wind rest
when will the waves
wake
tonight
wanna leap into the ocean
to shatter the silent surface
and tear the silent
color of night.

The wind lifts you up
the waves are
your angry face
calmness is
your supple beauty
the tide is
your love for the earth
because in your blood
every drop of it comes from
the rivers on the land
the breadth of your mind
makes you immeasurably
wise and sophisticated
your underwater world
nourishing all lives
constituting
a huge natural ecosystem
the world is gorgeous and colorful
because of you
you don't change your character
your passion
your glamor
your vision
never
you believe that life is
always wonderful
and a sincere life is
your feelings that
come from
afar.

A sketch
A cigar burning,
smokes,
loitering indoor,
the acrid smell,
abrading,
the undersize room,
a solitary versifier,
at a table with,
rose motif,
scribbling,
the longings of stars for the clouds,
the pyrotechnics flickering,
the heat of wine,
evanescing.
Sleepless,
in the dead of night,
the fountain pen,
stranded on the paper,
staining,
arbitrarily,
till the break of day,
rendering,
ink wash painting,
a lifelike,
buttonneire of roses,
delivering,
words unspoken,
intricate sentiments.

A girl with a crush
every pure thought in her heart
she buries deep
until she misses
the warmth of spring
the romance in the summer
and the fall season comes
only to realize that love is gone
the days
when she didn't have the courage
to say
the words
bloom in regret
black blue grenade
shrapnel wound
seems an eternity
when she carefully peels back memories
wrapped so tightly in time
she starts to see
a scintilla
pink and odd
a clutch of stars
dark red and blinking
every bit as pellucid
as the teardrop coalesced
in her eyes.

What is lucky
is it
a passerby who fell down
and found a gold coin
is it
travellers who discovered
ancient secrets
when they took shelter in
a cave
is it the impartial
arrow of cupid
a soldier who was
saved in midst of
gunfire
is it
catching the last train
is it
a ragged beggar
who acquired a 5-dollar meal
is it
a ray of breeze that
deviates the bullet from
its trajectory
lucky is
the fullness of the spirit
the attendant of happiness
the inception of laughter
the heir to
the lucky stone.

In a pure world
music and birdsong
spinning
the lingering
melancholy
no more sadness
only memories
and longings
prostrating on the trails
of yellow leaves
counting the rhythms
of loneliness
the handsomeness of the island
the dreaminess of
the susurration of the beach
the elegance of the sails
the water as always
beating the stippled quietness
awaiting the next dawn
a ketch drifting on the ocean
shining a turquoise light
portraying the poetry
of the predawn
or the predawn hilarity of
the fish and shrimps
in the ocean
this is a pure world
and there is music
and running water in it
and the samisen of moods
and the psaltery
of the nature
whats more
the happy pixies shuttling
in the forest
of purity.

Watering the plants
is not a meaningless task
crumbs of green in their pots
growing as they please
random yet adamant
i'm a little tired in this
early summer evening
on this 18th floor balcony
they have become my scenery
perhaps not willingly
but i feel natural and fulfilled
the goldenrod
the boat orchids
the spearmint
periwinkle and lantana
i fill a plastic container with water
slowly i imbue it into the
gradually darkening dusk
earlier i was reading some blogs
with lofi music playing on my phone
fresh and fluent
the mood is like opening a door
then another door
the plants enjoy the melody now in stillness
they make no further comments.

Night
guzzled the day
drawing creative grafitti
his way
veiling gray hazy silhouettes
mining the hourglass of time
groping for the stream
of life.

A touch of the setting sun
clouds redly stained
the wind skims through jungles
and mountains
then stops
at the entrance to the valley
solitary whispers of birds
awaits
wandering alone
in the wilderness of time
sun gradually drops
a few big trees
hold up the sky
in this valley i'm reaching
as if trying to catch yesterday's sun.

Pulling the bow
musical notes catapulted
from the deck of the aircraft carrier
fly far into the distance
a roc flapping its wings
on the crest of a wave
a group of horses
galloping on the grassland
the strings are rigid
the bow is flexible
in between
there's smoke rising
there's the vastness of field
when the sound is just right
the sky calms down
to listen
to the jade
ancient tide.

What is happiness
some say it's a bowl of rice
to allay hunger
some say it's a glass of water
to quench thirst
what is happiness
some say it's a piece of clothing
to cover
our bodies
some say it's a pair of shoes
so that we walk without hurting
our feet
what is happiness
some say it's when you
help others
and you hear
a thank you
and your heart
is touched
some say happiness is family love
that can melt the coldest ice in the world
some say happiness is having a good job
doing the things you like to do
some say happiness is a warm home
with that someone who cares
who makes it feel summery
when you're in winter dreaming
some say happiness is having some close friends
with whom your joy and worry can be shared
what is happiness
some say happiness is being wealthy
enjoying a luxurious life
some say it means having a healthy body
having your true love
what is happiness
everyone has their own answer
happiness is probably
the companionship
of peace.

I can't help but text her
pretend to be casual
asking how she is doing
i put down my phone
and found out suddenly
that one person
just walked into my heart
just like that
it turns out love is so simple
i started to miss her
couldn't help but care
about every day
in another city
every time i receive a soft greeting
i feel fine
love is just simple
every night
i can't help but recall
her smile
over and over again
i always want to
bury it deep in my heart
but can't help to want to
see it resurface
in front of my eyes
love is just a limbo
it's that simple.

If there's a rock
facing the sun
for me to sit on
a warm bright sun
that shines upon me
a clear stream
flowing tinkling
in front of me
and some free time
for me to spend
freely
i'm a happy man.

Standing keen deep in the river
of time
feeling the water
flowing slowly
slowly through
my fingers
watching the stars in the sky
listening to the deafening
croaks of frogs
breathing in
the dense wet
water vapor
smelling the grasses
on the shore
the distant wheat
watching the fish
chasing each other
at my feet
listening to the nightingale
singing on a high branch
this is just so
relaxing.

Life is
like a painting
in it
there’s always
a quest for the moon
hung aloft
and the sempiternal secret
of the sun
there’s always
unchained serenity
the axiom of
the harmony of nature
there are always
lofty mountains
close to heavens
not so far away
a twisty river
peregrinating
not a mirage
a boat carrying
dreams of a millenium
leisurely smokes curling
atop a chalet
birds flying
into the sky of liberty
fish swimming
toward the horizon
of ecstasy
the baby wind
asleep amidst a copse of trees
alive in this
simple peaceful
idyllic painting.

I want to climb this mountain

I fear not its height

the mountain becomes tiny

when there is a belief in victory in me

i want to climb this mountain

i fear not the dense brambles and thorns

so be it if i had to leave behind

a trail of my own blood

i will still break through the spiked army in the end

i want to climb the mountain

i am not afraid of tigers nor leopards

as long as there is a shotgun in my hand

the beasts will run off

with tails between their legs

i will climb this mountain

i am not afraid of bumpy roads

as long as i treat it like staircase

the mountain is nothing but a lotus

at my feet.

If today

I never wrote

I would have disappointed

this spring

I can't remember

last year

or even springs before it

I can't remember how many split

seconds surrounded me tenderly

like water

I hide in the house

can't see the crimson of a certain flower

can't hear the sound

of a delicate bud jumping for joy

I can only

hold a cup of aged green tea

fantasy or speculation

glistening verdant details

of all things

when I look back at so many springs

many years later

I remember this

every breath I breathed

I had waited.

Yesteday
some memory's been lost
like clouds
like rain
like moon
like the path beneath the moonlight
like the shadows on the path
today
a trace of sound's picked up
its the sea
its the boat on the sea
its the paddles on the boat
the sail on the ship
memory drew a route
while the sound's
in
another harbor.

Picking up,
the moon,
from a creek,
watery shadow,
silvery tears,
esconced in,
the the waterlilies.
the sleepless koi,
the gliding joy,
in my dream,
a widening net,
spread,
everyday,
over a gurgling rivulet,
salvaging,
your smile.

Specks of stars,
crushed in the jam-packed sky,
thus powdery light,
spilled down,
on earth.

The night,
the beach,
the jungle,
the footsteps,
moon rising,
sea tempting,
the addiction,
the undulating waves,
her breath,
in the water,
fish who know not sadness,
corals,
a surprise,
seabed,
moist and warm,
raging,
surging,
emotional waves,
secrets about life,
wind plucking the strings,
murmurings of a song,
ebb tide,
the beach,
moribund.

Don't you feel tired
moving back and forth
pulled by the sun and moon
the pattern of mechanism
the weariness of the waves
the sorrows and joys
become
the umpteen
stories.

Traversing,

a snowfield,

walking,

into the woods,

shadows of leaves,

disappeared,

winter wind overhead,

can't blow away,

the only figure,

here,

reeds flickering,

along the trace of dream,

searching,

a sound like magnet,

tenderness like water,

warmth like fire,

through the transient,

sunshine.

That day
I put her name
within a eulogy
I won't remember her
anymore
that day
I got her name
engraved on a headstone
buried with the years
long gone
that day
no flowers and hope
her name
i won't think about it
ever again
then
her name
disappeared in the sea
of my mind
farewell the one
who crushed my soul
silently.

Northern lights
The breath of wind,
blowing open the door,
of the heart,
letting the petals of dream in,
a kind of feeling,
falling in love with the screen of heaven,
playing a video of,
pictures of memories,
the lost season,
the northern lights,
hot boiling dream lost,
in the direction of the,
lights,
a touch of coolness,
awakened,
shimmering silks of light,
of dawn,
awating.

Did you hear a golden star perish in the forest
it's the acacia manumited from the branches
did you feel a greenish pressure
it's the breeze sliding down from the leaves.

Where there is water
there is greenness
where there is greenness
there must be elegant
shadows of butterflies
feel life
with your heart
and you'll find
beauty is all around
a wandering journey is hard work
but the distant landscape
the trees the flowers
the colors
it's so poetic
intoxicating
it's picturesque
happiness.

Night

is a soft and comfy cradle

slowly rocking

homing birds stop singing

cattle and sheep slumbering

people are snoring

in sweet dream.

Wind
plucking the strings of
the bare branches
coldness filling
a goblet
a story unguessable's
had its ending
love collides in the time and space
becomes incomplete
a heart
intoxicating
a universe.-

Night
sitting on the edge of a river bleak
searching for the broken voices of a gentleman
the winds bring blue colored fatigue
the box must be loaded with unbearable things
she opens it in the garden
then
she is smeared with shadows
of painters
of the century
past.