"chang" poems
The already preset disposition of being Asian.
I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket,
because they tell me I'm white-washed.
Born with foreign looks but a native tongue
my birth certificate calls me *****
I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world
but here,
I'm still considered an immigrant
in my own home.
When you are Asian-American,
you are also the stereotypes that trail your title.
You are sushi
You are jackie-chan
You are karate
You are good grades
You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE
WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED!
BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL!
Excuse me straight misogynist white male,
your Godzilla type of Asian,
or my culture?
When have I
as an individual
played a character in these quote on quote American movies?
Hmm oh yeah, that's right!
I was in Fast and Furious!
Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent
Cho Chang?
If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph
because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie
I've ever seen.
Or at least your people, right?
Don't try to tone down the damage
I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish
that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime,
nothing more, nothing less.
And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor,
I'd be considered as a social unnorm
a disgrace
but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world
I have lost touch of my heritage,
my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be
I wear a mask.
My friends speak to my mom in their native language.
Sitting there,
disoriented,
lost in pronunciation
I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue.
She says,
"because you are American."
And I still do not believe her.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
“The greater the doubt, the greater the awakening; the smaller the doubt, the smaller the awakening. No doubt, no awakening.”
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
People say blood is thicker than water
Yet your thunderous voice screams at me
Does daddy cherish his daughter?
So why can’t your eyes open and see
You’ve become a Mein Kampf tyrant?
You want my obedience and silence!
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
As it leaves a residue of disgust
Must this be our memory?
Though silent my heart feels unjust-
Must you **** all my energy;
Leave me to feel lost and astray
As mental state starts to decay
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
Will your anger subside and be quiet?
Fear suffocates vulnerable heart;
Wrathful words ready for a riot;
Confidence crushed as it’s torn apart.
Verbal abuse moves like a torrent flood,
Affecting those who share the same blood!
(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
The darkness of secrets had kept me in shadows
The pain of the past had caused my family to weep
For they experienced life full of unjust woes!
Yet the Heavenly Lord has awakened me from sleep.
I hear the echoes of my forefathers’ voices,
They tell me to rise like the Mighty Sun,
It is time for me to wake and rejoice
On their legacy of what they have done.
The wise wind of fate pushes me to my destiny,
My blood burns with a new determination
As I am resurrected with a new identity
For my forefathers have impacted the entire nation
For many years I thought I was ordinary
Yet the cries of my ancestors beat like a drum-
Telling me to soar like a golden dragon.
In love and hate we have all endured and succumb
I give thanks to the heavenly divine sky
As he has given me a gift of armor made of courage.
“Awake my dear daughter”, the mighty Lord cry,
“Do not let the army of fear make you feel discourage.”
So the wind of destiny has revealed its plan
That I am to inherit their legacy,
Reclaim the throne and be the Princess of Han
For this is my destiny!
(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Her name is Chang Champoo,
translated as ‘Elephant Pink.’
Met on the street in tourist Thailand.
9 years old.
6 months pregnant.
A beggar in an urban landscape.
Hungry,
grabbing sugar cane from my fingers.
Desperate for food.
Destined for an early grave.
“Where are you from?”
A question to her mahout,
in Thai hauled from fragments of memory.
“The border.”
Seemingly obtuse but not really.
Only one nearby.
Burma.
Elephants,
born in captivity,
used in logging,
now unemployed.
Teak forests of old but a distant memory.
Did I only fuel her belly
buying over-priced sugar cane?
Or did I also fuel
rampant exploitation
of disadvantaged animals?
Not everything in life
Is black and white.
Sometimes it is grey,
This night it was Pink.
How could I refuse her sustenance
when confronted by those
mournful pachyderm eyes.
The question lingers…
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 1:55 AM UTC
I sit with my face to the sun trying to catch it's warmth
But the winds quickly snatches that away
I'm quite content right here
Under the baby blue sky
Sitting in a sea of yellow flowers
They almost glow reflecting the joy of the day
But nothing breaks the chilly winds of change
The flowers scream to the sky
As the Sun's rays reach down
Like a mother for a child
The wind drags in the clouds
To blind each other's view
Mother Nature starts to cry
The flowers bowed thier heads
The sun just hides her face
For everything knew the winds of Chang where neigh
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The darkness of the night engulfs my spirit
Like the soddy soils covering the rock’s
Brilliant colour of ruby, red passion.
The daring dreams for the future
Has caused my soulful eyes to ashen-
Blinded by the present reality-
The dreams begin to fade.
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The mind has lost its mentality
And strength to wade
Through the current bleakness of life.
The midnight shadows of the street
Have caused me to lose sight.
Can the faith of the heart bring light?
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The cicadas buzz bitterly in the quiet street,
Stirring memories of mundane voices
That has caused me to cheat
Myself from making personal choices.
I cry silently in despair
For fear has swept my sense of direction.
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
A distant street lamp lit up the solemn street
Providing me with a sense of protection
The heart burns with a passionate heat
Providing strength for my body to move with affection
Towards the mystery of the shadowy, silent street.
(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th’ unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene’s a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar’d her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang’d the place of declaration.
In Italy, I’ve no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
‘There’, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness’d rural loves;
‘Then’, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I’ll be content to freeze;
No more I’ll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.
1.6k
The intense heat of summer begins to relax
Damp sticky air gradually changes to dry, comfortable breeze
In the dark clear sky there hangs the bright full moon
All these remind the Mid Autumn Festival is around
If not the story of Chang'e, the Moon Gooddess of Immortality
The Mid Autumn Festival will have lost its charm
Family gatherings, festive meals, gifts giving and greetings
Are all important and popular in this joyful season
Autumn is also a significant moment for the students
College students will prepare for their new learning programmes
New friends, new lecturers, new courses and new objectives
Seem like a beautiful and exciting world ahead of them to fulfill
On the night of Mid Autumn Festival
Crowds of people go out together to the parks
Children play with lanterns and people share the food they bring
The beautiful moon brings lovers together, pledging their love to each other
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
In the fields of fragrant flowers,
I see Mother’s supple silhouette
shimmering with the soft sunlight.
Her hair tied with peony barrette;
Sweet smiles radiate at sight.
The sentimental scents of myrrh
Wafts from her body; my eyes gleam;
I run towards and embrace her.
Is this a dream? Is this a dream?
In the fields of fragrant flowers,
This time and space is of great blest-
I wish there was no tomorrow.
For months I have been left bereft.
I tell mother of my sorrow;
I wish to be with her and roam
Away from life’s chaos and gloom.
Return to the land of our home,
And see orchid blossoms bloom.
I ask mother if I could stay;
Thousand tears cloud her gentle eyes;
She kisses me like rainy day;
It is time to awake and part!
My heart weeps with the wintry wind.
Her spirit; many miles apart.
I am alone and left behind
To face this world’s reality.
Must this be my sad destiny?
All that is left
Is scents of fragrant flowers.
(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
The simple fact of the world is that we don't need anyone
We are built to be self sufficient
We don't need others to breath
We don't need others to think
We don't need others to prosper, dominate,
You don't need school
You don't need pears
You don't need your parents
No mater your age
We are made so we don't need others to live,
But we are not made to change
In our own heads we can never sift our minds
Chang our ways manipulate the world
All we can be with out others is a neutral being
Not good or bad just is, not ever making an imprint
When you are maid to not need any one to live
And so you never try to connect to others
You failed your self
Yea you was self sufficient but at what cost
The world will be the same from your birth
To your death
And no one will know you ever lived
I was like that once never trusting in anyone
never wishing to confined in anyone
Just survive what evils the gods at be throws at me
I was not happy nor sad
But I did lose something quite important
That we are not born with
But gain from others love
A reason to live
That's what you lose when you chose to be
Independent
So yea we don't need any one to live
But We need some one to live for
So we can live forever
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Heart burdened, the river turns.
The bed is unmoving, curtain remains closed.
Autumn leaf dance, sun hidden, moon peek;
What is it that heaven seeks?
Tomorrow, I head to Chang’an,
Tonight, I take a sip of wine.
Sun rested, cold wind echoes;
My wine cup has shattered…
Tonight, I can’t take a sip of wine.
My mind drift far between rivers;
Dazzling among the night sky;
I find my heart unable to rest.
Sun has now dawn, my body is feeble;
Withered like ashen embers;
Today, I can’t head to Chang’an.
In the end, Man proposes and Heaven disposes.
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 5:36 PM UTC
!BEWARE BIGAMIST BEWARE!
In China
cheating Chang Yin
a Beijing businessman
(& bigamist)
suffered a severe
Facebook shock
when 'wife' Tsing
added'wife' Tseung
to her friend's
list
& found
they uncommonly
had quite a lot
in common.
Cheating Chang
now faces fininacial ruin.
'They each want
half of what
I got! '
he sobs.
Poor slob
didn't realise
it's oh so hard to be
a Beijing bigamist
in these oh so
technical times.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
Dearest Douglas,
Is it strange, we meet in a moment of chaos?
The mystic forces of fate pull us together,
In a time where our life path is full of woes
Fate calls us to fight against the stormy weather
So this encounter, is it what heaven has bestowed?
For years my heart hid behind the gates of darkness
As memories of the past burned with resentment
I felt the sinister shadows of life’s bleakness,
Where the affection of my father had been absent,
The stains of sin had taught me to become heartless.
Yet in this fleeting moment of life, our paths meet,
My heart burns passionately by your gentle grace
The ravenous linger thoughts of you taste so sweet
As I felt sense of peace when I glance at your face-
I am lost by your eyes that glow with gracious heat.
In an autumn’s day where solemn truths were revealed,
Your dad’s poor health had left you to feel dejected.
Tears of pain touched my soul so that it can be healed-
To release grudges that had been infected
By the violent past - a new hope has been sealed-
Three different people’s lives have been affected!
Though our life paths moved in opposite direction,
Forces of fate push us to an uncertain life!
In a distant sky there is a strange connection,
An alliance formed when the world is full of strife,
We enter into journey of introspection!
In this moment of personal revelation,
You haunt me in my thoughts; you haunt me in my sleep.
I think I am a fool to have such affection
Yet this fate left a lasting impact that runs deep
My heart smiles to see your caring complexion!
Time wafts like Mother Nature changing its season,
Yet in this uncertain world we reunite again.
This fate is strange but there is a divine reason
We are to meet as there is a lot we have gained
At least for me I can feel the love of the Son.
I know these tender feelings you can’t reciprocate
I look at the sky and thank him for his full bless
To have met you in my frail vulnerable state.
I feel the moonlight embrace me with full caress,
Maybe it is time for us to depart on this date.
Do not feel these feelings I have is of sorrow
As one day I will meet a General of great might.
This strange fate has allowed my soul to heal and grow.
Wherever you may be, I wish you to shine so bright!
I don’t know what destiny beholds tomorrow,
But fond thoughts of you will drift my soul with delight!
(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
Ask me what kind of **** I am into
And I will take you on a magical journey
To fanfiction dot com backslash Harry Potter backslash NC17
What turns me on is Ginny Weasely in the restricted section
With her skirt hiked up;
Sirius Black in a secret passage way,
Solemnly swearing that he is up to no good;
And Draco Malfoy in the room of requirement slithering in to my Chamber of Secrets;
I am an unapologetic consumer of all things Potterotica,
And the sexiest part
Is not the way Cho Chang rides that broomstick
Or the sounds of Myrtle moaning,
The sexiest part is knowing
That they are part of a bigger story;
That they exist beyond eight minutes in ***** ***** Gang Bang,
That their kegels are not the strongest thing about them,
And still I am told
That my **** is ‘unrealistic’.
Not quite as ****** as flashing ads saying 'just turned 18’
So you can fantasize about ******* the youngest girl you won’t go to jail for.
I’m told that my **** isn’t quite as lifelike
As a room full of lesbians begging for ****
Told that this is what is supposed to turn me on.
Don’t you give me raw meat
And tell me it is nourishment,
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.
It looks like 24/7 live streaming
Reminding me that men are going to **** me whether I like it or not,
That there is one use for my mouth and it is not speaking,
That a man is at his most powerful when he’s got a woman by the hair.
The first time a man I loved held me by the wrists
And called me a *****
I did not think 'run’,
I thought 'this is just like the movies’
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.
It looks like websites and seminars teaching you how to **** more *******
Looks like fifteen-year-old boys bullied for being virgins,
It looks like the man who did not flinch
When I said stop and he heard 'try harder’.
If you play-act at butchery long enough
You grow used to the sounds of screaming,
It is just a side effect of industry;
Everything gets cut into small, marketable pieces.
I will not practice ****** hands
I will not make believe dissected women,
My *** cannot be packaged
My *** is magic
It is part of a bigger story
I am whole
I exist when you are not ******* me
And I will not be cut into pieces any more.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
LESBIA! since far from you I’ve rang’d,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say, ’tis I, not you, have chang’d,
I’d tell you why,—but yet I know not.
Your polish’d brow no cares have crost;
And Lesbia! we are not much older,
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.
Sixteen was then our utmost age,
Two years have lingering pass’d away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least, I feel disposed to stray, love!
“Tis I that am alone to blame,
I, that am guilty of love’s treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.
I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my ***** heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.
No, no, my flame was not pretended;
For, oh! I lov’d you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended
My ***** still esteems you dearly.
No more we meet in yonder bowers;
Absence has made me prone to roving;
But older, firmer hearts than ours
Have found monotony in loving.
Your cheek’s soft bloom is unimpair’d,
New beauties, still, are daily bright’ning,
Your eye, for conquest beams prepar’d,
The forge of love’s resistless lightning.
Arm’d thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng, to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne’er can be, love!
1.2k
there is
!spontaneity!
in my chest, ready
to be plucked like
an apple from it's branch,
I just need a boost and the
reaching
hand--
(and there
the film clicks in
defiant
pause)
in a frame with the apple perched,
the moon patiently waiting
it's big reveal - signalling to the
silent observer a
subtle but over-
whelming
change:
I
am
drifting
in my
skin,
I am
sitting
on my
hands,
I am
doing
anything but
chang-
ing.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
there was a little panda her name was ching chang lu
she lived round the corner in the local zoo
with her furry coat of colors black and white
the children they all loved her it filled them with delight
she just love to dine on a bamboo shoot
and always wore a smile that made her look so cute
people would take photos she just loved to pose
standing in the air then back down to her toes
every bodies favourite at the local zoo
this lovely little panda by the name of ching chang lu
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
I sit with my face to the sun trying to catch it's warmth
But the winds quickly snatches that away
I'm quite content right here
Under the baby blue sky
Sitting in a sea of yellow flowers
They almost glow reflecting the joy of the day
But nothing breaks the chilly winds of change
The flowers scream to the sky
As the Sun's rays reach down
Like a mother for a child
The wind drags in the clouds
To blind each other's view
Mother Nature starts to cry
The flowers bowed thier heads
The sun just hides her face
For everything knew the winds of Chang where neigh
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Whiz-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.
Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;
Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.
Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
When I was younger, I used to stare into my mirror
and see not the yellow of my skin
nor the slant of my eyes.
I used to see a cop
a robber
sometimes a Power Ranger or Pokemon trainer.
When I grew older, I was still blind to me
but they were not. They saw the yellow of my skin
and the slant of my eyes
the black of my hair
And for the first time.
So did I.
I heard the ching chang chongs
and wondered what it meant
and if it meant anything at all.
I learned years later that it meant nothing.
It held no translational meaning to those whom it may have applied
but to me
to them
it meant that I did not belong.
I would not belong.
When I was younger, but somehow older,
I was taught that I was different.
I was taught that I would never be the same
and to keep my head from being crushed by the
waves of their learned behaviors that I had to be the same
as everyone around me but I was taught that I was different.
And that it wasn't only skin deep.
-trj
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
there was a little panda her name was ching chang lu
she lived round the corner in the local zoo.
with her furry coat of colors black and white
the children they all loved her it filled them with delight.
she just love to dine on a bamboo shoot
and always wore a smile that made her look so cute.
people would take photos she just loved to pose
standing in the air then back down to her toes.
every bodies favourite at the local zoo
this lovely little panda by the name of ching chang lu
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
I sat on Facebook in the forest,
birds tweet and retweet.
I check my email again,
birds tweet and retweet.
there's an empty to-go cup
lying in the ditch next to the trail
DOI CHANG emblazoned across
its tubular length, ethically traded
subtitled below.
I whip out my camera, the world around me
solipsist phantasmagoria; the shutter closes
and I don't believe I exist until I see the
photo
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
You are just a girl
Using text to rule the world
Acidic hurt, that you hurl
At all the other girls
Times have changed
Facebook aids
Using means to be mean
Knifes and swords’
Not enough
It’s a show, you seeming tuff
Hiding behind typed words
It’s just a bluff
Would you be so cruel?
If she were in your space
If you were next to her,
Face to face
Chang of pace
Say what you mean
Mean what you say
This is a game, I will not play
Don’t spread around your hurt
With a word, you change the world
Change it for the good.
You understand mis misunderstood.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
enunciating, conversationally
the opposite of yelling at a foreigner
only wishing to be heard
while maintaining my distance from the herd
self-assured closet nerd
flipping the bird yelling
word
to all my muthafukkas
the late night ruckus causes my focus to shift
drifting aimless I try to digress
but elementary recess memories
have me needing to confess long held secret rendezvous
the south bleacher blues
and clues to what this all means…
obscenely, I expect you to follow
and wallow a while here with me
only wishing to be heard
while maintaining my distance from the herd
late model Panel, three channels
aftermarket handle, scandal with Randel
and the move that opened the world
girls and shotgun squirrels, two lucky pearls
and the swirly, I’m sorry…
one black eye. the year of fry. crystal **** high
flying over Wah-Chang sludge ponds
drawing power from the universal force and a
pretty smile
only wishing to be herd
while maintaining my distance from the herd
meeting resistance with distance running
cunningly shunning become a man
planning on dying junked up
canned heat, Sterno and Dante’s Inferno
stomach churning when lacking the black
west coast ****** flunking straight life
lost little girl, I’m sorry…
burnt up rhymer scheming miner
trying to unwind, blindly, but kindly
only wishing to be herd
while maintaining my distance from the heard
flash fire, perspiring liar in dire need of a sign
crime pile out of style ball sack wilding
free range beguiler husting that 20 dollar
wellness balloon
buffoonery…. T’was June, you see, when it spoke to me
the year before two thousand and three
granting thee
needle freedom
preachy?
Peach Tea?
just like every other fish in the god **** sea………
………………………
…….
only wishing to be heard
while maintain my distance from the herd
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC