"nanjing" poems
I wanna be your cold stone girl,
The one you not only flirt but order a banana flavor for.
The thought of you going to other cold stone
without me there frowning upon your choice
could **** me even in the city I love the most.
While we're both chasing our own dreams
I'll always remember you said
"Who knows what will happen,it's a small world"
I wanna be your cold stone girl,
The one that always greets you with a smile.
If you cannot find any cold stone you like
in Nanjing, don't worry
I'm always up for ice cream in the cold
In February, you are off to my city
I secretly wish you won't for fall any cold stone girls
that giggle at your corny jokes
I wanna be your cold stone girl,
and keep you company
While we both sail around the world.
10 months sounds like a long period of time,but
it's a small world after all.
When we fulfill that unknown dreams of our own
Meet me again in the cold stone,
for I will always be, your cold stone girl.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
i have felt hanzi in my blood
fireworks in my skin
dragons in my bones
i have looked at a cloudy sky
and thought of guangzhou
of shenzen
of nanjing
walls and death and power are my legacy
i was born the descendant of a tyrant
but i have changed it
twisted it
and now i am the ancestor of a diamond age
once upon a time we bound our feet in rags
and hobbled on dirt-packed roads
but not anymore
not anymore
now we sprint full-out to the east
the rising sun calls us like silken whispers
and we laugh at those who would hold us back
walls and death and power are the legacy
of those who reach for it
of those who write defiance on their chests
in ****** pinyin
and above all
of those who take the fireworks from their skin
and scream them alive
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
she's no deva of mine
no caterpillar concubine
no cocoon consort
no butterfly courtesan
she's four tigresses in one
suckling, wandering, denned and leashed
And I'm following the track of them all
She's my white tigress of Nanjing
and though I haven't ever practiced kungfu nor qigong
I have applied to be her jade dragon
Or at least one of her green dragons
In order to help her to reach one of her nine illuminations.
So I fused my qi and ching and shen
and turned myself into a Knight of the Order of the Porcupine
and offered to gently tatoo with my quills
Her mound of Venus
with a motto of invisible yet immortal ink saying :
"Qui s'y frotte s'y pique"
Written phonetically [kisifrotsipik].
I thought because I sat just like a buddha
I was at that moment a buddha
I thought that if I breathed like a green or jade dragon
She'd let me have a bite at her immortality.
No way, my tigress said :
You just can't be and have been
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC
I am from
waking up at 5 a.m.
and making my dad pour me a glass
of chocolate milk and put in
the Tom & Jerry VCR tape.
I am from
the years spent on stage
performing, acting, dancing,
making music from the keys and strings of instruments
that I have since abandoned.
I am from
the technology that shaped me,
which I cannot live without-
the shows and movies and games; staying up,
the bright screen of my laptop glaring against the darkness of my room.
I am from
crying until my eyes are red and raw,
happy and sad and laughing tears
from the deaths and lives and breakups and reunions
of the characters and shows I will never forget.
I am from
lying in my bed
listening to the music that has healed me,
blaring in my ears
and against the four walls that enclose me.
I am from
the places I’ve been-
from La Jolla to Lancaster to Boston and Nanjing,
to the places I wish to go-
from Sydney to Quebec to Venice and Chicago.
I am from
homework and studying and tests,
and homework and studying and tests.
Yearning for college since middle school,
to be around people who crave knowledge, too.
I am from
Modus Ponens and Modus Tollens and Disjunctive Syllogism,
and memorizing fallacies and philosophy arguments at 8 a.m.,
the course that challenged me beyond my limits,
the course that introduced me to my favorite place in the world.
I am from
my home away from home-
lying on the grass of the quad,
dancing beneath the stars
to the Canon, the soundtrack of my youth.
I am from
the memories I hold
within polaroids and photos behind screens,
within songs and books and between the lines
of the poems that I have bled from my heart onto paper.
I am from
my previous and continuing attempts to escape this town,
and the meaningless interactions within the cold halls of highschool;
trying to find the people who will become my people
and the places I will call home.
j.z.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Explain Krieg und Krise. Remember Nanjing. Hand twist nasturtium, trim Elijah in no other language but your own. Delicious, decked against scurvy despite punishing days world unwraps, made available to voracity, where would you build, on what day? Perfection unable to sit still comes towards ambush as peasant night squeaks to the border. Chanticleer in linear e phlox stammers discretely, hammers combination, blends tonality. Gravid as brook trout, orangerie cascades kanji. Bucolic spasm shimmering, weeping runes a la Giverny become Cycladic, veers off color’s lambent arsenal. Caustic repeats, Gatling interferes, hope bails, song recants. A Zebedee in Flemish hue cracks *** luck, lets out gurgle. But in good fortune, peaches to daisies, Abigail to titmouse, family is raised.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC