When the Sun is at its brightest
It casts the harshest shadow
Behind each gain, there must be a loss
Each summit, a downhill
So a skilled photographer should know
When to take a rest or take a shot

All is illusion—
At this peripatetic pause
Let's put off the world
And indulge ourselves
In an embellished dream
Of perpetual ignorance

between
beau or foe
fortune or fame
zodiac or horoscope
i picked cats

After the furnace was out
Cold air comes in
I sit here shivering
thinking about Atlantic ocean waves
and a woman who was there riding her water jet
and smiling warmly at me

Standing still over there my young apple tree
          looked prideful in its first winter
                     but its soft murmur
                                I heard

Imagine my pink tulips  
blooming in the snow
perhaps,  this morning
                                 it was real

On Valentine's Day
A girl's olfactory ability
Is thoroughly tested
With or without flowers

Morning—
Each person
is trying to say:
"I'm here."
—in his or her
own unique
impetuous way.
But please remember
to leave your
handprint
on a wall
and check on it
30,000
years later.

I tasted fate in different flavors,
The sourest I held the dearest.
Dripping wounds in tangy shower,
Life is but the sum of memories.

Random
thoughts
dropped in snow
Could they
become fertilizer
after this winter
O those sweet
summer tomatoes
I miss you all
Here I'm standing
in my garden
waiting for you
in this cold
in the snow

This year has just begun
The Year of the Monkey
on Chinese lunar calendar
When monkeys are out
and about, leaping above
and bouncing around
all with that careless smile
Those lucky monkeys
will bring wishes to reality
All the promises we've made
to others and to ourselves
If not then, it must be now
to count and sort things out
Shouldn't wait anymore
Just let all the monkeys out
Let's all smile a monkey's smile
and act like we've never feared
before in paradise, because
at the end, it's about nothing
but how to keep that big
mischievous monkey's smile
when our wishes suddenly
become superfluous

i write
to tuck the old day in bed
after saying goodnight to it
i hit the reset button

A dreamer
Is a wanderer—
Every voyage
Starts from within
From place to place
He is not to see things
But to match dreams
With living reality

If you ask me
where is my destiny
I would say it's where
the Sun leads me to
when its shining lights
take off my guards  
and make me feel safe
so safe, so open, 100%
in its embrace
I become free to love
and express myself
completely
That's where
I should go
That's where
we all should go
By going, we choose
our own destiny

"Call me Ishmael..."
Holy sea, holy sea!
Reading Herman Melville's
"Moby ****" at Caribbean Sea
I'm reliving his ocean reveries—
Those mystical vibrations
This magnetic virtue of the ship
Last night's circumambulation
Today's balmy afternoon
A meditation or dream
Leading us to nowhere  
But the phantom life of the sea
We become free to drown
In our own mesmerizing images
Like Narcissus did
Or like that fellow Ishmael
Abandon all the respectable
Toils, trials, and tribulations
Jump on a sail
To catch white whales

An airplane knows
With roaring confidence
How to hold us in his heart
And raise us up high above

An airplane knows
With daring assurance  
When to take off and not stop
until our destinations reached

Because of all that
Mentioned or not
I put my trust in him
And keep my dreams flying

We travel
In a circle
Going afar
To reach home

'"Cause I'm your lady
And you're my man
Whenever you reach for me
I'll do all that I can"
Just found out—
Celine Dion's man
Her husband, Rene Angelil
Passed away last Thursday
The love between them
Had always been louder
Than a whisper  
And they were never far away
But not this time, I feel sad
According to her
He was her many guiding angels
Her only "boyfriend"
Although he was much older
She doted him like a mother
Figure, and he allowed her
In public, many kisses
Tender touches
Theatric renewed vows
All full of Titanic's fondness
Now I've realized
Only in love, a man owns
A woman, and a woman can
Own a man. Love, and love only
A lot of affections involved

Every desire
reflects a deficiency
Every love, a lonely self
The thing we pursue
Only after possession
We say: what's the fuss?
A limited edition of
Luxury unveils  
Nothing but a deficit
A hungry man's food
A miser's gathering gold
It takes a lot to settle
with a little
Even a philosopher delays
Until the sun has set
In retrospect

Infinite vs. finite
Lasting vs. ephemeral
From ancient history
to the present day
Humankind has been
fighting for one or
two things only:
to permanently stay
or permanently exit

Let my evening's quiver leave
Leave my private chamber of fear
I hold in tremble the darkest mirror
Seeing no more a phantom there

Dwindled, diminished, obliterated
It is, I affirm, after the sun rises
That ghostly shadow of passing
Withstand! the death of paradise

if I die tonight
Could I make another I
From my lifeless sigh
Out of my last breath
And relive this I another
Time, I promise
I'll be more of it
The second round
Now or never

O what
an exhilarating
celebration
for something that meant to
happen but never did
O what
a stimulation
to the mind with blowing
solar wind
Who says that dream has to be
solid like gold with wings
Mercury, Mercury
that planet nearest to the Sun
volatile and sensitive
charged with heat
my messenger to the God
burned
Now my world is cold
full of silent sound
So gone with my opulent  
submarine boat
But someone in California
is whooping it up
and living it large
His sun will always be
favorable
with those balmy breezes
Let me lament then
to my sunken submarine
My titanic pontoon
My Mercury's cavernous
moaning echoes
My love
for only in grievance
and sorrow, we suddenly
grow old and
bold

Our feelings
like stars in the sky
only on clear nights
we see, but aren't they
always there?
Their trajectories
Their orbits we trace
through age
We master not of
their destiny, but
some shared voyages
To peregrinate, even  
on cloudy days
We've learned to
believe in and trust
our feelings—
our celestial guidance

to see or not to see
our eyes take the lead
if the mind is inquisitive
the eyes are prying
sometimes
it's not what we see
but how we observe it
or why we look into the thing
our attention interprets
according to our mind's taste—
our history, our knowledge, etc.
unfortunately, all is relative
in beauty or truth
heaven or earth
I mean
except those universal truths
when magic is real
and no dreams
are too big to achieve
...we all need to be
inspired sometimes
I could be easily won
by those little wonders I see
merry go around  
be glad in the circles
of living
by the way
what did you see
for the day, my friends?

A glimpse
of light
we catch
on solitary night
firefly's serendipity
smell of
near distance
word
exchanged
with one's self
image and sound
touching of
an angel's hand
rhythm
and rhyme
resonant inspect
riddle
and pun  
hovering
over an open land
cull
extract
an ounce of
delight spreads

I cleaned
and sanitized
preened and plumed
according to the
most effective tidying theory
touched every item
threw a lot away
In such a wintry day
what a sparkling new year spirit!
Now my study room
has become obedient
quite submissive
It'll surely be sober for a year
But what to do
What to do
My scattered
drunkard's mind
where to put
in such an organized crime
I feel like being sterilized myself

After awhile  
even Dickinson's
have bored me
After all, I'm still alive
and have my own
riddles and puns

to be or not to be
which to worship, which to relinquish
on new year's eve, i poured them into a cup
and measured: each weighed the same

a youth's first love
begins with narrow subjects
waits—the universe

they gain
then they lose
a festive dance
a butterfly woman
was beckoning a vagabond
pursuing and parting
in twisted romance
we kneel to the
indians

if I'm writing poetry
under daylight
I'm ignoring life
if I'm writing poetry
at night and not sleeping
I'm ruining everything
what if I don't write
but go to the gym all the time
then I would ask
what my good health is for
now i've confused myself
.....
I guess every thinking
starts with a confusion

I'm reading a book today
by marie kondo, a Japanese girl
"the life-changing
magic of tidying up"
it's that time of the year again
to tidy things up
to clean
and put things in order
according to miss marie  
cluttering——
a failure to return
things to where they belong
hoarding——
an attachment to the past
or a fear for the future
tidying is a dialogue
with
one's self
and there are only
a few simple rules to follow
in revamping:
discard first
store later
sort by category
not by rooms
vertical storage
ultimate simplicity
no change of seasons....
but first
please treat each thing
you own as a living subject
touch it with your hand
and ask
"does it spark joy?"
if it does, keep it
If not, dispose of it
listen to your feeling
keep only those things
that speak to your heart
then take the plunge
discard the rest relentlessly
what you want to own
is how you want to live
letting things go is more
important than adding up
....
I used
half day to read the book
half day to rest and sleep
nothing was done in the house
nothing was done yet
I'll do it tomorrow
before new year comes

I write
because I have eagles
and sea gulls inside my head
flying  
hovering above
falling and ascending
swooping and fluttering
rushing and loitering
darting and circling
At one moment  
they're dipping into the deep
iron red of Grand Canyon
searching for
green and yellow hues
and brown, pink, and gray
At another moment
they're above Pacific Ocean
becoming kings and queens
instantly, of blue skies
and endless space
How free and playful they are
Birds are everywhere
Bright colors
Careless songs
Bursting energy
They're magical
They're electrical
They're whimsical....
I write
because
I have those birds inside
my head to catch

If I can, I would
cut my poem short
or cut it all off like a wood cutter
would do, and stretch my days
long like a balloon without
a pulling string——
wondering over yonder
from planet to planet
But I can't and I wouldn't
The opposite
has more truth in it

In my kitten's dream
No need a December rain
I called her— she came

Do we have free will
You asked me
We do
Absolutely
Even under the dome of
the Almighty, the willpower
still exists, hiding somewhere
in our brain——
Tour de force
The great virtuosity
The strength to envision
The power to make
Our ambitions a reality
Will
So it's called
The property of mind
"The Will to Power"
Nietzsche elaborated on it
"The World as Will and
Representation"
Schopenhauer spent his
Whole life obscuring it more
Than enlightening the world
Unlike Aristotle, who had a saner
View on ethics and personal choices
But wait until Freud was here
Who took half of the gist
In philosophy with him
And made it all psychical
At least
He convinced most people
To maneuver will
We need to wade through
Dark waters
——The maze in
Subconscious, the power within
To reign, we have to know
Our mind by studying it
And practicing
For until it's free
Under consciousness
We can't wield the will still...
I wish I've showed you
My long journey
Of searching

Friday evenings
Pizza and chicken wings
Or other conveniences
Cooking would be silly
Persimmons—
This week's special
Beer or red wine, occasionally
Perhaps
Only reading has never
being changed on the menu
No matter what I've chosen
I think a book is still the best food
For a weekend's picking  
Unless I'm starving

At the end of the day
Like yesterday and today
And many other days
I count my blessings
Knowing that I should be
Grateful and say thank you
What I've received is more
Than what I have given
Gratitude makes the world
Circling around, and dancing
When the holidays are here
Love is in the air, everywhere
How wonderful it is, to love
And to be loved. Thank you!

trees
are so certain
of what they are from
the moment
they give off shoots
that they carry out
their missions without
ever a hesitation
or flinch
steadfast
trustworthy and
having no pretense
trees excel as an individual
or as a forest
they are the first comers
of planet earth
even before dinosaurs
were roaming around
and the most loyal friends
of human races—
trees to build houses
trees to grow food
trees to provide oxygen
trees to prevent erosion
and protect the environment
growing in the greatest
abundance with raw
intelligence
trees witness
trees memorize—
never forget the passage of time
but keep their silence
like a true matriarch
for thousands of years
trees have spurred  
the human imaginations
in mythology, art
or poetry
trees are loving creatures
they compensate our
shortcomings
for when they fall in love
they love deeply—
they wait

Christmas Eve
Santa Claus didn't come
We locked doors and have no chimney
"No presents please
Let's keep what we have
No more, no less"
Christmas Day
Jesus was born again
Not in Bethlehem, Judea  
But this time
in Columbus, Ohio
(Or anywhere you prefer)
He brought rain in December
He wanted to start fresh
"Be the day a perfect one"
So it was
Christmas night
I went to a friend's house
Met a new cousin by name
Christmas party
Holiday spirits
Generous food
Girls' oval table talks
While driving back, I was alone
in the dark night
listening to radio, Dickens'
"A Christmas Carol"
Missed the turn to Cosgray
A sharp digression on Ring Road
But I made it home safe
I made the journey home—by myself
Christmas time is a good time
A sense of renewal in demand  
Life is too brief to get old
or to complain or fret
Only Jesus is capable of
being reborn each year
Life is precious

There stands us—
In between
The grand scheme
Of the Universe
And the infinite small
Of the cell
There stands us—
Our little garden
And our cats

Our struggles
Our labors
And our attachments

Our past
Our future
And our hesitance

There stands us—
One hand holds
The body
Another hand, the soul
And our eyes
Looking at the star

There stands us—
Among 6,000 words
Of descriptions of
Our emotions
We have to make
A decision
Do we choose to be
Joyful or inconsolable
Magnificent or insignificant

There stands us—
Ready to shape the world
Or, at least
Shape ourselves
And nurture the backyard

Could I keep this moment
When the dance floor is full
And an apple martinis is ready
No need to be too serious
to forget having a drink
Go to dance, until you feet hurt
And look at the bride's eyes
That deep set of Indian eyes
Imbibe her happiness deliciously
As if it's yours tonight   
Even without a bridegroom

Yesterday
I worked whole day
and partied at night
Finals come today
Poetry suffered
Poetry lingered still
Poetry is a luxurious thing
definitely
No one
should take luxury lightly
Being rich
isn't just being lucky
or being smart
Rich people get up early
Rich people have a goal
Rich people hustle
Rich people stick
Rich people work the hardest
Rich people work the hardest
I'm not one of them yet
But I will
I will

Light, I hold on to it
My heart's contain
Like a glass prism
A rainbow of colors sifts
through it, undulating
and glowing with radiance
You and I have all colors
Primary and secondary
And a thousand other
tints, dark or bright
We find our positions
and make our decisions
But whatever is shining
It's the sun, not us
Don't make mistakes
From it, we see the truth
Our eyes could be blind
But our hearts are wise
When the day comes
We should appreciate
Let the light be our guide
and show us the way
Even a genius needs it

winter
had been
an indoor
reminiscence
until a black thunder
knocked the door
open and rushed in
with stirring
freshness

A child's game
was interrupted
rather suddenly
To resume the play
it may take up to
fifty or sixty years
or a lifetime most likely

a december rain
introduces no spring
or a summer's cheering
my garden's triumph——
sculpted yellow tomatoes
are fading into a reverie

The Sun & Earth
23.5 tilted degrees
North Pole & South Pole
Equator
Tropic of Cancer
Tropic of Capricorn
and Meridians
North/South/East/West
Hemispheres
Equinoxes
Solstices
Four seasons
Astronomical phenomena

Today at where I live——
On northern hemisphere
The Garden of Eden
A local Home Depot
The Sun will directly hit
The Tropic of Capricorn
giving us the longest night
and abandoning the North Pole
All it has remembered
is the pole on the other end
Where penguins, whale seals,
and albatrosses will bathe
whole day in full brightness
at -15 degrees Fahrenheit
What a chilling exhilaration!

Could I run away from
this so called winter solstice
this unbearable darkness
this senselessness of
obscurity and wickedness
Could I go to the South Pole
and dance with the penguins?

every old age
casts a shadow
on mortal beings
wake up
wake up
christmas is here!
what about it?
after ninety times
even my grizzled hairs
have tired of hearing it
let me snooze
let me doze off
into the eon space
old age is a serious thing
i have to think
thinking, thinking  
in the busiest season
about nothingness  
enjoy it while you may
as far as i fancy
the fanfare of holidays
will cuckoo cuckoo away——
an oblivious slumber
echoing
nothingness
in the eonian space
afterwards