"chou" poems
Profile:
Yuwen Chengdu is the son of Yuwen Huaji, who was a general of the Sui dynasty. He is a warrior of Sui, only secondary to Li Yuanba, who is naturally super powerful. As recorded, he was as tall as ten feet with strong waist and body. In the appearance of golden face, long beard and thick eyebrow, he often hold a weapon as heavy as 350 pounds.
Introduction of ****** makeup:
****** makeup, or Lian Pu, refers to ****** designs for Jing and Chou roles. It originated from daily life experience, describing such changes of expression as white for fear, red for shyness, dark for suntan, and sallow for illness. Most ****** designs attach great importance to the eyes. The ****** designs for the Jing roles are made by painting, powdering and coloring in the basic forms of Zheng Lian (keeping the basic face pattern), San Kuai Wa Lian (three-section face) and Sui Lian (fragmentary face). These types are widely used to represent generals, officials, heroes, gods and ghosts. The Chou actors can be recognized by the patch of white in various shapes painted around the eyes and nose. Sometimes these patches are outlined in black, hence the term Xiao Hua Lian (partly painted face). The Chou roles fall into the following two categories: Wen Chou and Wu Chou.
Features:
****** makeup bears three main characteristics. Firstly, it is the unity and contradiction of beauty and ugliness. Secondly, it is closely related to the personality of the characters. Lastly, the patterns are stylized.
Beijing opera is one of the most popular drama widely welcomed and loved, no matter home and abroad. It is now acknowledged as a sign of Chinese traditional culture. The photos of ****** mask can be found on large buildings, product packages, various porcelains and clothes. It has gone beyond the stage, from which we can see the deep influence of ****** makeup. More and more foreigners have interest in it and begin to explore the secret of ****** makeup.
http://www.toywill.com
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
i've been building sentences
for you, because there are
too many words to keep them
stagnant and docile.
oh, words on melancholy smiles,
chipped porcelain and
sunlight dappled through your hair
like the sun herself had
kissed the crown of your head.
i've been writing you letters
inside of my head. little golden
pinpricks of love
seeping through my cells
because my body cannot hold
the very idea of loving you.
in those moments, i am liminal,
held tight by the arch of your spine,
the pads of your fingers,
the way that you held my name
in your mouth before
it rolled off of your tongue and
the smell of your skin
in a dark room, with only
the moon watching us
woefully, sweetly.
words like saccharine and
your name, slow like honey,
taste sweet enough
to make me cry.
i've been stuck on the idea
of loving you, loving me
and wringing my hands
over bad luck, mon petite chou.
and still, you close your eyes,
clasp your hands over your ears
and brush off my words like
dust or snowflakes or
unrequited love.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
_I used to be your little cream puff;
But these days I just feel like a medium-sized cabbage._
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 3:29 AM UTC
Bonjour, mon Cheri, mon petit Chou!
The doorbell rings with a solemn telegram:
- this just in -
I am exactly like most girls - in civilizations lost, or civilizations in other civilizations, Italy hiding in Toronto and a government hiding in a shameful self-promotion, and 20 seconds later I'm a poly-sci major (incorrigible!)
- 911! 911! 911! 911!
What's my emergency? What's YOUR emergency? But really, what is my emergency? And when it comes to that, What's in an emergency - an aristocracy in high-waisted shorts, an ice cream social (media) scream - lets back the car out and park and loop and inevitably end up in a straight line caterpillars away from
(The truth) - (but more of that later)
Cross-continental cigarette and now I'm running out of material to trade it for. I am lonely, can't you see? A fair trade, for a night with me-
**** me so hard I can't walk, **** me over so bad I can't detour a one-track mind)
I am not the one Hemingway prepared you for, I will not blow smoke rings in Spain or wander the streets of Paris, I will sit right here lounging in a plaid vinyl sinkhole and carry myself with delusions of grandeur
(Beyond novels unread - yet sadly written - by the unwashed and falsely educated masses)
Life as an existential film, life as woe is me in backwards bus terminals. Life as when you marry someone you hate and life as cold tempura on a booze-stained tablecloth. Pass the peas, please.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
. . . . .s s s s s s s s s s s s s s . . . .
Choo . . . s s s s s s s s s s s s . . . .
Choo Choo s s s s s s s s s s . . . .
Choo s s s Choo s s s
Choo s s Choo s Choo Choo
Choo Choo Choo Choo
My tain is moving . . .
My freight train now of love
Chu , Chu , Chu , Chu , Chu
My momentum is gaining
Must make the grade above
Chou-a-Chou , a-Chu
Keep your eyes looking up ahead
On the rail and where's it lead
My train has many cars
Hauling loads so very far
Boxcar loads of lumber sure
For building house of love so pure
Tank cars full of liquid love
Higher and higher I do shove
Flatbeds strapped under cover too
Leaves you guessing what will I do
Load after load of dump cars full
All these I bring to you to tool
The way is curved and rail runs straight
As I pass through your open gate
The boiler is hot the fire is stoked
There's no way now this motion choke
There's miles and miles of shiny rail
Laid down by your smiles , can tell
Following up here comes the caboose
As my train is cut and loose
Pressing hard must be on time
To here you say it's so fine
So there goes my Loco train of love
Delivering loads of love I flood
Whoo - whoo
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
Un hydrolat lacrymal lave
Les cieux vert-chou
Sous l'arbre tendronnier qui bave,
Vos caoutchoucs
Blancs de lunes particulières
Aux pialats ronds,
Entrechoquez vos genouillères,
Mes laiderons !
Nous nous aimions à cette époque,
Bleu laideron !
On mangeait des oeufs à la coque
Et du mouron !
Un soir, tu me sacras poète,
Blond laideron :
Descends ici, que je te fouette
En mon giron ;
J'ai dégueulé ta bandoline,
Noir laideron ;
Tu couperais ma mandoline
Au fil du front.
Pouah ! mes salives desséchées,
Roux laideron,
Infectent encor les tranchées
De ton sein rond !
Ô mes petites amoureuses,
Que je vous hais !
Plaquez de fouffes douloureuses
Vos tétons laids !
Piétinez mes vieilles terrines
De sentiment ;
- Hop donc ! soyez-moi ballerines
Pour un moment !...
Vos omoplates se déboîtent,
Ô mes amours !
Une étoile à vos reins qui boitent
Tournez vos tours !
Et c'est pourtant pour ces éclanches
Que j'ai rimé !
Je voudrais vous casser les hanches
D'avoir aimé !
Fade amas d'étoiles ratées,
Comblez les coins !
- Vous crèverez en Dieu, bâtées
D'ignobles soins !
Sous les lunes particulières
Aux pialats ronds,
Entrechoquez vos genouillères,
Mes laiderons !
1.1k
They told me to wait,
So wait I did,
Until weeks turned into months turned into years.
Then she came along
And I said, 'fuck it.'
Worst time to be so flippant.
The result was a three year roller coaster ride
That ended like the Hindenburg.
Nice.
Next, I turned to the nocturnal comforts,
Selecting hour-long companionship
With a click of the mouse
That ends with the closing of the window
Tossing of the damp tissues in the bin
And stepping out for a smoke,
With Jay Chou crooning in my ear
Singing of love new and lost.
Closing my eyes
My memory summons my gramps.
Those Japanese devils
My grandfather would tell me,
Lighting up another Marlboro
Before launching into another rambling tirade
About the misery of post-war China.
*I'll ******* **** you if you get with one--
Disown you, even.*
Rest his soul.
Does Maria Ozawa count, gramps?
Would you **** me
Or give me a high-five?
(I'd get smacked for being insolent.)
Bamboo switch in hand
Grandma would sit me down
And tell me how they used to fight over sewer rats
With other refugees for dinner.
Grandma, you'd shake your head
If I tell you about the rats
I have to work with
On a daily basis.
Your move.
(Oh wait, you're dead.)
The wisdom of my forefathers
Fossilized in ancient Chinese tomes
Extolling the virtues of patience
There are gem fragments to be found in the waiting.
One perfects oneself as one waits
For the time to ripen.
Life passing you by
Is naught but an illusion.
In the meantime
I've resigned myself
To wherever the mercurial turns of life
Take me.
I'm happy with the status quo.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
when i'm scared you are my rough place to land,
you boast of critique though i see no wrong.
a simple spot to fall when one can't stand,
you are the home in which i could belong.
a fierce competitor one cannot beat,
she is the fire from which eden was made;
for you, oceans are given a heartbeat,
yet--your doubt overwhelms you im afraid!
but her aggression, formed in vaguest word,
she stomps upon eggshells others ignore.
i can hear the way her love is slurred,
you see her smile-behind the locked door?
in all that i know of heaven, she's there,
arms around the one she loves without care.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
Here, little one
Come and follow me;
The roads may be scary
And the oceans deep.
Walk with me and keep me company,
I'll see you safe and through
Listen to my mediocre teachings
Mon petit chou chou
The demons in your head,
May command your feet;
But there's plenty of terrible ones
Waiting for you to meet.
So follow, little stargazer
And when these things ring true,
Just remember, my darling:
They're not stronger than you.
Your mind commands a thousand seas,
You're smarter than you know,
Have confidence, adventure, belief;
There's a long way left to go.
And trust me, little stargazer
With this you'll get through.
It's hard, I know, but you can fight,
For I was once like you.
> a.t.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
Which is better
To feel nothing
But a halcyon calm
Like a fine summer morning,
Or to be ****** to and fro
By the ice, spray, and lightning
Of the tempest?
To stroll the meadow,
Or to climb the mountain?
I've gone through both
Yet the answer still eludes me
I remain as ignorant as I was
In the days of my youth
But what I do know
Is how my chest tightened
How my breath caught
When you sent me a message
(Your very first)
And how my lips impulsively purse
As I peek at yours
And at the speck of a mole
Resting right below
What I do know
Is how I couldn't keep my eyes
From straying towards your corner
(Still can't)
And how my hand trembled
Just as I squeezed your shoulder
Bidding you farewell
Or how I've worn out my iPod
Replaying Jay Chou's ballads
As I sang my heart out to my steering wheel
Numbly crawling through
The maddening, seething traffic
And how the breeze eats my cigarette
Down to its filter
As I stare up
Dumbfounded
Mapping out
Tracing your face among the stars
How my neurotransmitters **** me
Closer and closer to a heart attack
And how my soul weeps and bemoans
The yawning chasm betwixt us
While you sit there infuriatingly oblivious
Chattering away about Warcraft and barley tea
All these things are
The few of what I do know
The last of which
Is how I'll never have you.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
Darling, baby, corazon
Dear, sweetheart, sugar,
Honestly, never your name.
Honey, pet, cinnamon
Carino, mon chou, bunny.
For the day I call you by your name,
Cuddlebear, goddess, pearl
Star, treasure, microbe
Is the day I'm on one knee, love.
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
Akasaka, from
A moment of cautious hope,
Thirty minutes late.
Miyashita Park,
We held hands in Shibuya,
We kissed on the stairs
Aoyama, a
Day of Paris and queueing,
Opalescent nails.
Ginza after dark,
Octopus and old-fashioned,
A black dress, my suit
Ni-chou-me, lemon
Sours, Italian jokes,
Stumble home with me
Ebisu, in blue
After weddings and babies,
Pizza and a film
Shinjuku, a shirt
For warmer days, a night of
Sunsets and pasta
Meguro, two bowls
With dumplings and rice, a walk
Back home through the rain
Shinagawa, to
A place far away; promise
You’ll come back to me
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC
And my uncle says charmingly - as always:
_‘It seems like only yesterday, mon petit chou.’_
And - for the umpteenth time - my brother-in-law shakes my hand off:
_‘Wow, congrats on the DOF position!’_
And - like clockwork - my best friend puts a pissed-happy arm around my shoulders:
_‘To be perfectly honest, y’know like, you don’t look a day over thirteen, cross my heart.’_
And I think to myself (fucked-offedly but politely, as you never know who’s telepathic around here):
_’I could sit here fixed to this very patch of fading upholstery for the next 365 days with a flute of champers in my hand and still travel as far as you all believe I have, achieve as much as you unfailingly give me credit for, and look as fresh-faced as my oldest nephew...apparently.’_
And then it occurs to me:
_’Beneath the ill-contrived compliments and the misplaced confidence; despite their infallible ability to misconstrue my every word and complete disinterest in what and why I read out aloud for a living. They turned up. As they do every year. And we annoy each other. But we wouldn’t have it any other way. Santé!’_
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC