I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation

in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars

on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune

of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life

In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me

every marble column stands *****
reaching to heaven

day after day tourists
gather in front of the temple
to hear young guides
give the oracle

you slow feet that walk step by step

be quiet and move aside



make way for the wheels in fast approach

blowing horns and puffing black smoke

suffering from homesickness
he returns to his homeland
returning to his homeland
he suffers from homesickness

there’s nothing he can do about it
there’s nothing he can do about it

Ambitious politicians
will mass reproduce themselves
to gather votes

And once in power
they will without doubt eliminate
their blood replicas
knowing full well
that they are every cell
as power-hungry
as themselves

Built at the border of our hearts
this wall of the 21st century will grow  
drawing nourishment from all dark corners
of human nature
to become the Great Wall
of America

Hold it!
are you trying to come in
or get out

A block of marble
and twenty six letters of the alphabet
etch so many young names
onto history

Wandering alone
amid the mass grave
an old woman has at last found
her only child
and with her eyes tightly shut
her trembling fingers now feel
for the mortal wound
on his ice-cold forehead

the horizon knows
embracing the sky and sea
is the only way
to broaden itself

the sole reason
for being

From every angle
I tried to capture your bright smiles
for a colorful dream

Overexposed
the images overlapped
and I had a sweet dark sleep
till dawn

a heavy blow
the whole earth shook violently once again

isn't he suffering from Parkinson's disease?
how could he be back in the ring?

it was the dying man
throwing all his weight
at human conflict and social injustice

his last punch

outside is cold
while the tears rising
from the bottom of his heart
are boiling hot

so the softhearted man
keeps them rolling and rolling
inside his eye sockets

at an unknown tavern
the drunken hobo
claiming to be the blood relation
of the sun
murmurs
while vomiting violently

O mother this is my heart
the love I could never deliver

noticing the sky has raised its eyebrows
and darkened its face
the shadows stop
their singing and dancing
and vanish
without a trace

leaving the dark ***** business
to poets and fools
to explore
and expose

knowing
those who can’t go home tonight
will all stare at her
with sleepless eyes

she fancies herself up
plump
and brilliant

competing with the sunny world for glory
you prop up a flowery umbrella
a little sky of your own

then you turn your head around
and with a sweet smile
scorch a pair of eyes
hidden behind
a sunglasses

A wolf
howling at the sky

smells
the bait
inside his fence

drops his tail
and becomes
a dog

Last line of defense
against nakedness

Retreat !

Many would take it
as the midway station to heaven
nineteen hundred miles up
can heaven be far away?

Some would even think
that sixty three million years
is eternal enough
especially for those hopeless potbellied souls
knowing that it’s impossible for them to pass through
the tiny eye of a needle
here, God is not
the Final Judge

Of course there are details to be worked out
for instance, should there be racial segregation
like that in the old South Africa
so as to preserve the purity of the ashes?
Or, as long as they can afford to pay
should even dogs and cats be allowed?


* Many years ago a Houston space service company had a plan to send human ashes into space.  According to the plan, ten thousand human remains would orbit the earth at a distance of nineteen hundred miles for a minimum of sixty-three million years.

1.

leaping upward
it finds plenty of room
in the world above

smothering lush green
suddenly lightens

the irrepressible joy of life
springs
up
and down
up
and down

2.

leaping upward
it is pleasantly surprised
to find

the sky is still so immense
the earth is still so vast
the summer is still so green

life is still undefined

at the very beginning
a bass horn hummed from the left ear
merging with the shrieking violin from the right
climbed to the mountaintop
then howling and roaring
together they rushed down and swept across the wilderness
soon they were scooped up and held in midair
waiting for the conducting baton
to drop

he won
yet he is not satisfied
all the cheering and hailing came from the living
but few, if any,  from the dead

so he vows to investigate
how many dead people are really dead
and how many living people pretend to be living

Now that she is middle-aged, my wife
likes to stand before the window
and comb her hair

Her only makeup a trace of cloud
the landscape of a graceful
poised maturity

With a soft moist tongue
you set up a sensuous trap
waiting for careless little me
to drop in

and be shocked
at the discovery
that I am such
a tasty prey

looking silently into each other’s eyes
we find the entrance
to a gallery’s deep corridor

on display are portraits
of our souls
transcendent, beyond desire

after struggling with the thunderstorm all afternoon
alone
losing many leaves and suffering several broken limbs
the young tree finds itself still
standing *****

calm and serene
it declares
I am now grown up

then it melts into the woods
and becomes
part of the scenery

Soap operas
of real people and real events
every day
from every corner of the earth
fight ferociously
for a ******
Hollywood
shot

One answer
to each call

Happy and content
though the faint voice I hear
is from my worldly self

not from God

after thinking the matter over
the apple gracefully let itself
go

bang
it landed right on the head
of Mr. Newton
dozing under the tree

Chewing the cud
can turn a long-lost spring
green

The older a cow gets
the more it foams
at its mouth

no room for doubt
God makes ears
just for listening
to this hot argument
about life

seventeen years of desolate incubation in the dark earth
a few days of endless joy under the sun and the stars

lonely lonely lonely
joy joy joy

lonely joy lonely joy
lonely

joy.....................

buzzing
in a sweltering
evening marsh
a swarm of mosquitoes
vexed and unsettled
waits
for a cool swoosh
from a toad

the scientists keep warning about

GLOBAL WARMING

the skeptics keep declaring

FAKE NEWS



now I understand why my body

feels warmer and warmer

while my heart

is getting colder and colder

At Arlington, someone
Unknown goes down

The thousands, the thousands
Who have gone down in faraway fields
But who won’t die in the heart—
How do we bury
The thousands

Vastness belongs to the oceans
emptiness, the sky
chill, the bones
hunger, the stomach

and the bodies
stretched out or bent
face up or face down
belong to the streets

unmasked
big eyes
of glass windows

staring
at a sea
of emptiness

off the view
a tree stands in mute amazement
watching beside him
another group of tourists
devour the scenery
with flashy teeth

The fish
which jumped out of the water
struggled
and returned to the water

said to

the poet
who jumped in the water
struggled
but failed to return

Your world is indeed not livable

once again

I heard bang bang

bullets shooting out of an assault rifle

rip through innocent young bodies

setting off a series of wailing cries



once again

I heard clink clank of gold coins

dropping into the golden bowls

held by weapon manufacturers, NRA,

politicians and dealers

setting off a series of hearty chuckles

After frittering away the remaining afternoon
I walk up to the window many times
to see if the sky holds any last surprise

As it hangs over my neighbor’s roof
the sun seems almost
immortal.  Picasso died this morning
I wonder what tunes the three musicians
are going to play
which way the dove
is going to fly

Having shown us the world is still
soft and kneadable
the master hands are now withdrawing
I reach out unconsciously
but realizing how childish it must be
I turn my grasping hands to clapping

bloated by famine in Ethiopia
the stomach must now digest
a TV commercial
of delicious cat food
cholesterol free

now that autumn is here
it's hard to avoid
biting insects and pecking birds

but he finds it impossible to moan
no sooner has a wound opened up
than it's filled with sweet juice

Bitter cold
no flames of war
can warm

Shielding an old man
from the streaming bullets
the dying tree
watches with pity
a dying man
chop down
one of its blackened limbs
stagger
and drag it
into another ash dark night

Evening
a desolate street

A car with its windows tightly rolled up
stops for the red lights

Suddenly
in the rear-view mirror
a dark figure
looming
          
Sir, buy ...

The ashen driver
steps in fright on the pedal
and rushes through the red lights
like a rabbit running for its life
          
... buy some flowers
today’s Valentine’s Day

Buying

unwrapping
the package
layer
after
layer

he finds
he has bought himself
a life
of
emptiness


*Selling

he dives
into the sea
of money

when he finds
he can't sell himself
dry
on land

Lying back to back on a plate
an orange
and a banana
each dream
its own dream

Cézanne comes over
gives the banana
a half turn
Its graceful inner curve now
embraces the orange’s plumpness

Instantly the air softens
the color fluid
and rich

the public square is scattered
with traces of wild excitements

hats thrown into the sky are trampled on the ground
shoes danced so fast that their feet couldn't keep up
a brown bear is held tightly in a little girl's hand
her other hand holding the string of a balloon now plucks
at her father's intestines
motionless eyeballs still flicker with last night's fireworks
blood streams out from open mouthes like a passionate song

and the roaring message from a distant festival
can no longer excite any heart to beat again

it does not know
which direction to point
so many mouths
so many opinions

the whole afternoon
sitting on my neighbor's roof
it just keeps vacillating
and whining

the whole afternoon
I have been waiting
for it to find a foothold
and to point its spearhead of anger
directly at the heart
of the storm

it turns out the moon is just like us
flesh and blood
all coming from Mother's womb
full of pain
and joy

what makes her different
is that every few years
she goes back to the womb
of the Cosmic Mother
to be reborn

after the baptism of blood
billions of years later
she is as bright
as new

here
everything seems so natural
so straightforward
as if there were no oppression
bending or twisting
in this world

innocent hands
all joyously stretching
to reach the sky