Bluestone
speeding like wind
laughter
frozen in time
episodes of warmth
aftertaste like north
it's the very simple
and elegant steps
of bluestone.

Waves hitting rocks
line struggling to escape the plane
broken-shaped brightness
breaking the jump of the line
like the fish of time
two dark blue seas
one still life
one billow
bright waves sparkling
shining
flowing into quiet meditation
of the sea
the musing sea
quietly listening to the light
on the ladder of eyelash
a white fish leaps out of the fissure
it's the broken waves
a chaotic weave of still life and animal
a flower of introspection blooms
in a collection of green
then the blues of rain
the petals of snow
the bone of ice
the white of frost within the wood wind
crashed the light
floating on paper
it's past midnight.

Ah, Mediocrity, you pernicious and insidious killer!
You live through the Good Enough, the So-and-So.
You make dull the genius; a philistine of the sinner!
You slow the clock to maintain the status quo!
No matter what I do or how I try, you are always there,
Conniving in the dark, outside my imagination.
A villain of the artist indeed! A true nightmare!
The perpetual source of my mind's sedation.
Perhaps it is not you that is the real culprit?
Perhaps it is the ones that love you, that adore you?
I have indulged you before, ashamed I am to admit,
Your raison d'etre is profitable, surely tried and true.
But I have greater aims than you! It is Heaven I strive for!
The mountain that I climb has no place for a *****.

In a boring afternoon
intrigued by a few songs of birds
clear and bright sound
telling of
the gift of nature
the subtlety of the world
in such a weather
the appealing sound is just
the cure
for dullness.

If the clock
of time
is still in me
i will walk
into the distance
interpret its light
and luster
construe its ordinary
parcels
find an ordinary pastille
of word
sit on the tip of the hour hand
thinking
string a rosary with its thread
of time
write to the mountains
and rivers
of the four seasons
to happy days and happy people
to the ordinariness
of time.

Gray hair is the scalar of the fleeting time
eyes
are the representation
of all things
the mind
is the heavenly body that
visits the universe
everyday
thought is
the direction
shining
bright.

Venus de Milo
is,
a myth
who'd lost her arms,
Pushkin,
the 19th century's fall
of the sun,
the nights engulfing
the stars,
while the stars,
illuminating
the night,
the sounds of piano,
of Beethoven,
piercing the sky,
they are,
stars
that never fall.

The soft wind blows
quietens a thin
layer of grass
there's two parallel lines of footsteps
in the sand
the soft wind blows
long hair, a transparent kite line
and a blue sky
the soft wind blows
healing the chaos of branches
leveling the water ripples
leaving a trace of bright
moonlight.

A log cabin
decorated with jasmine
emitting subtle fragrance
bonsai on the windowsill
feeling the greenness of life
it's wonderful
to close the flashy door of the world
collect morning dew
garden everyday
bathe in nature
to wash away the dirt of body and mind
to enjoy an eyeful of beautiful
solitude
at sunset.

The color green greets the eye
green overspreading the vast land
climbing up spirited mountain
stincturing thousands of miles of river
uniting the sky
the wind dancing in green dress
green shadows squirming on the forest floor 
birds on branches singing green-colored songs
the air emitting green odors
green is a group of girls
in the meadow
a band of boys in the prairie
running laughing
green is the quiddity of youth
the most precious treasure of life.