beneath the green and glinted city sea, sits a small and white coffee shop (a shell-shaped hourglass), time being distilled
outside (oh) the little glass time box, colorful fishes (big buses, small cars) are obliviously swimming around
above, long golden sun’s legs stride across the singing surface of sea (giant& billowing waves of summer foliage), marching westwards
This poem was created to sing for the city I reside— Hangzhou, China, and my favorite coffee shop there called 35mm. If any of you have a chance to visit Hangzhou in a future day, do let me know and I will be happy to be your tour guide😊
If -- this is a war without gunfire you and I -- are not even soldiers we are just laid away as those non-action verbs stripped off time tenses suspended from use and are told-- You！ are not entitled to fight
So sad for the world that I quitted writing poems for a long while... people are dying, crying, fighting, suffering, while for most of us, all that we can do is waiting for it to pass.
Time grows wildly here It creeps over me and crawls on the floor It clings to the furniture as vines intertwine It climbs around the wall like moss covers the stone My room is now a secret garden that is hidden from the world You see— Nothing happens here only time runs wild A life like a plant
To contain the spread of coronavirus, 1.3 billion people stay at home and wait for it to pass. I have been confined to my apartment for more than two weeks, and living a life like a plant..Things are getting much better now, there are many people who have just returned to their work. Hopefully I will only have to stay at home for another one or two weeks.
oh, my Lady Wind were you thinking of someone when you wiped Sky's windscreen today? your scattered thoughts were carelessly left across his clear and clean window a slash here, a sweep there like fresh heartaches slowly and softly throbbing...
My soul is imprisoned in this cold & dense core that stops emitting light Sorrow and pain have consumed all i once had Now i am nothing but a process of contraction & a floating dead star Don't come near me i can't offer but swallow the light
I never travel afar as a little stone lying alone at the bottom of the bottom of waterflow the current of life carves my bone year after year, day by day stripes ripen and lines grow I became me, and no other stone
I never travel afar but the world finds her way to me she writes me poems on floating leaves she sends breezes to ripple my dreams year after year, day by day a window opens, an epiphany dawns I am an acorn, and not a stone
A little sunlight, a little soil rise up and grow to the sky befriend the bird, kiss the wind my journey starts and I have no fear wherever it takes me to, that-- shall be my promised land
Strange We love each other but We never need to fall in love We talk to each other but We never have to use the words We travel in our separate ways but Different routes bring us together We have been prepared for this moment when we see each other and say Hi, you are here...
There is no beginning and there is no end Our love is about: A missing half found A hidden purpose discovered Your molecules, my molecules Your soul, my soul Intertwined and entangled to the rhythm of Universe We are as whole as an atom
It would have been a usual night If I hadn't raised my eyes and glanced at the sky. It was as though surprisingly that this was my first intimate encounter with the moon
She had just passed her prime of maturity and her fullness has just began to wane, like a luminous bun of an ancient beauty, rounded and heavy, gently nestling on the impeccable nape of the neck of the lady whose face is always hidden
I paused transfixed at the sight of her so close, as if one step forward would make me an intruder into the secluded boudoir of her solitude. My world is a battlefield, burned and smoky while hers is quiet, clean and immutable as though one day of hers is a thousand years of mine
Why do you never turn around and disclose the truth of your beauty to the earth? The whole silence of the night sky speaks to the mystery of your silhouette Oh, my lady, you are too far for my reach, yet so close at the same time that you can shine into the deepest layer of my mortality
They were once an innocent green like seeds of other plants small in size but big enough to contain the wholeness of nature tropical sunshine fragrant soil high-land breezes but as the chosen ones they are picked, washed, roasted reborn in human civilization In the hands of coffee makers they complete a magic transformation by bringing the chaotic unconscious of nature into the human world ---- bright acidity sun-dried aromas fruit flavors undertones of wine as if the infinite wholeness of nature falls into our coffee cups trapped in the wondrous dark liquid pressed into the narrowness of human consciousness and explodes in us an elixir almost too strong for human bodies unleashing a flood of energy that tells us that…
It must have been long since I was stranded here for the dusk too dense to hold and the coffee too cold to drink
A book at hand, pages turned as if I am an intruder into reading of another me by waking up, in this empty cafe
A feeling of deja vu I've been here before, yes it's the sidewalk I pass by every day but in that world, I never see a cafe there
Dusk lapses into night a streetlamp lits up overhead little flying bugs drop on my lap Time to go, I rise to leave
Startled, I pause halfway fallen leaves pile up at the corner just as I saw them in the day someone swept them into a lovely cone
but with a closer look, I find instead of autumn leaves they are red lobsters stacked high into a small hill
as red, as flaming flames
A friend of mine told me of Dali's Lobster telephone and I searched for the picture online but there are differences between his lobster and those in my dream, In my dream they are as small as fallen leaves and as red as flames. A conical hill of Red lobsters, as I would interpret, is a very surrealistic symbol of artistic creativity. That's why I love this dream
The city is strangely grey as though seen through color filter that adds apocalyptic tone to everything --- stern architectures on sides of the street vehicles that make road silently busy I walk a while and then pause at a taxi stop People slowly gather around me like a flock of black crows huddling on withered winter branches Anxiety begins to pile up while I wait hopelessly for a cab to pull over and take me back to my own reality A block away next to the street bistro a misty harbor stretches in the face of an ocean where vast expanse of nihility takes the place of fathomable water
Sitting in the back of a black Honda Accord, we were taking a ride across my city. We saw jungles of skyscrapers passing by; We saw a red flyover illuminant ahead, like a real artery filled with blood. A civilized city! You marveled. and I smiled a smile you couldn't see, cause we were sitting side by side. Side by side, soul by soul, Across the city we were taking a ride
Can you be quiet? World (I beg you...) when I'm writing a poem (or reading, or thinking...) can you just hold a minute before knocking at my door? Because I am waiting for a beautiful voice from Heaven to drop into my earthly bowl She is vigilant and shy (like a wild creature in jungle ) so talented at evading me but, Shh... (I promise) once I capture her I will turn back to you and serve your needs As I always do
Sylvia Plath wrote this sentence when she was 15 years old: I write because there is a voice within me that will not be still." I believe each one of us on HP has the problem with this voice, that's why we cannot help but keep writing...
We consume excitement too easily as if it is a carbon-free elixir or a solo ****** or a firework too jubilant too short not to fill a hunger but to leave- a hangover a vertigo a fall that makes the rest of our life an itching and long wait
When you said you loved me you looked upward your pale blue eyes anchored at a quiet corner like a ship from across the glittering ocean that lay at my harbor I willingly boarded your ship and together we sailed to the distant horizon
Wheels spinning Highway unfurls Time is climbing On the golden tail of Summer Not as fragments of moments One after another But the smooth curve of waves Gliding with tunes on the radio The road extends on and on As vehicles chase one another— Large and small, tens of thousands A migration of wildlife Racing to the horizon A river is running aside Out of the window, in a distance Flowing high to my waist Sky hangs low ahead Sun is shepherding A grazing herd of lazy clouds At the end of the endless road A terminal we can never reach
On a summer day, when I was riding on the highway, suddenly I felt a surprising emotional touch ---the human-built world is in such a harmony with the natural world...We are like migrating wildlife, rushing to an unreachable terminal...and the river is just flowing on the side, peacefully.
Sink Sink Sink my soul is ****** down to the bottom of a bottomless dream but lifted up by a hard black sofa floating oh~ a little boat floating on the surface of people's low whispers while music --- a brisk piece of piano solo dances across my face like a Hawaiian breeze
I spend a lot of time at Starbucks. My friends joked that Starbucks is my office. I work there, meet people there, read and write there, and take a nap there sometimes...
Once I encountered a white cat in a dream I was back in high school--a shy, unconfident girl. I was sitting at a desk against the wall. That enchanting creature just appeared from nowhere. It appeared on my lap, incredibly beautiful and alluring. In a sluggish manner she stretched out her purely white body. I was mesmerized by her. I began to stroke her back the length of her body. The arch of her back continued through her slender tail. I could feel her elegant curve under my touch--- An inner pliability wrapped in a boneless softness.
She slowly turned around and looked back at me, Her soul-to-soul gaze stunned me into a state of awareness, I must have known her for all time, I thought.
That day, when we were in that hotel room, I was opening my body to you, and I stretched out my body to the greatest extent. I crossed my hands under my head, I lay on my back and looked at you Your eyes and hands touring my body I felt a boundless freedom between us I never felt so shameless I only wanted to open myself wider to you, I only wanted to merge into one with you. I held your head tightly with my arms. That was the moment when I felt we were almost one--- To rub my burning face against yours, To exhale my heavy breath near to your ear, To deeply breathe in your masculine smell, To dance with you to the most instinctual rhythm...
And suddenly I knew the white cat I encountered in my dream The white cat Was my own soul, And it was you Who set her free….
Dream is a language in which we get connected with our soul...
Silent music Fizzy sparkles buds of kisses ready to burst I could feel my body as bent as a bow and as stretched as a string melodies flew out as natural as milk and honey To an unstoppable rhythm we slowly rocked... the rhythm of love.
When I am in love, my body feels a natural and compelling rhythm(sweet and slow) to which I can't help rocking... Have you ever had that feeling?
A man is waiting at the entrance of a metro station. He holds an umbrella in his hand like a knight holding a sword. Every few minutes the ground vibrates beneath his feet faint subterranean rumblings as if the whole station is breathing. Its blood vessels are deeply buried. With every contraction of a strong heart the black blood is pumped out and diffused to the expanse of a giant body like a dark flower slowly spreading its petals. The man counts the breaths of the metro station. He holds his umbrella as if a sword of glory a knight ready to fight for his queen. Then another tide of faces floats out against thousands of ravaged petals. A fresh smile blooms for him like a morning daisy a svelte flame dances closer in his eyes. The man waits for his love to walk into his arms. He holds his umbrella in hand like a knight clutching a bouquet of red roses.
love can transform a mundane place into a fairy tale setting
Twilight and rains followed us here Daylight and city were left behind The ancient temple lies in its lonely solemnity Intruders, we had met the end of our world Here the opposites meet The day was meeting the night The summer was meeting the autumn The civilized was meeting the primitive The man was meeting the woman No one can truly understand happiness Without having reached here When opposites finally meet When two realities mingle one with another Boundaries give way to freedom The present flows into the future While the old temple remains timeless.
A little loneliness that is all I want But the world is an old TV it can't be turned off pictures fuzzing sounds humming emotions being tossed about Just now I was hit by a huge yellow ball of anxiety followed by a yell: "Come on, throw it back! Be a part!" But I didn't want to be a part so I did nothing but let it go... A little loneliness That is all I need before I jump into the next moment
conflicts between outside and inside. Sometimes I hope the outer life is a TV set and there is a button to shut it off.