September

September -
there's a gentle voice in the wind
reading
the faded green of the late summer;
there's music
sneaking out from
a leafy garden, betraying
my secret desire
for autumn

Sign of Blue

The painting of the cloudy sky

was created senselessly 

by a single impetuous brushstroke of

grey, wherein

life grew involuntarily

striving for

the slightest sign

of

 blue

Night Fog

Walking in a foggy night

my weightless thoughts
 are drifting effortlessly

towards
a timeless dream

Majestic Pine

December
the chemistry between
my ordinary self
and
a majestic pine

once again

struck
amidst the
coldest winter
air

June, I Said Hello to the Sun

When the first wave of summer heat came

in June, I set out alone

to greet the Sun

I wanted to see how faraway the horizon stretched

I wanted to know how tall maples and pines grew

I relished exuberant color of green

I rode on swift gusts of wind

The dandelion on the sidewalk - whom I secretly loved

nodded to me without knowing my ambition

the roaming clouds - whom I adored unreservedly, 

joined my journey without knowing my destination 

Oh June, I said hello to the Sun 

telling her that I was ready to write 

another song of

myself

The Scent of Gardenia

The scent of gardenia

sneaked out from the shadows
collided with my morning ramble
spilled joy

all-over

the leafy garden of 

May

Lush Green of May

Peace

is depicted by

the lush green of May

overflowing

from a distant field  

into 

the tender heart of 

Spring

The Fisherman and His Life

Perhaps

it was due to overwhelming melancholy

the fisherman walked down to the river

for a temporary rest

Perhaps, it was because the reeds

saw the footprints of the fisherman

seagulls made decision

to fly away from

noisy and madding crowd

Someone recalled the life under water

was like fish’s murmurs

vague and ephemeral;

someone also recalled
the life of fisherman -

fishing all day,

packing up net,

walking along river,
conversing

with rocks behind the reeds

Someone believed,
that the reeds overheard the conversation

but words were obscure
like sand grains

mixed with bubbles of tide waves

Perhaps, it was due to the wind,

the reeds never heard
what fisherman said

Perhaps
it was because fishing net
blocked the view

the reeds did not see
what really happened

to the fisherman

and his life

The Fisherman, printmaking, Max Kurzweil

*Translated /re-wrote from my early Chinese poem.

-----------------------------------------
打鱼人的生世

也许是 河边的枯草
不经意地
记下了打鱼人的脚印
江鸥 才飞过了许多
模糊的人迹 

有人回忆 
许多年前的水中生活 
就像是鱼 说一些 
转瞬即逝的梦语 

也许是 
像树叶一样多的忧郁 
盖满了眼睛 
疲倦的腿 
才去江边歇息 

有人回忆 
多少年后的打鱼人 
收起渔网 
空着笆篓踏过鹅卵石 
枯草听见他们对话 
像涨潮时的泡沫 
翻卷出的沙子 

也许是因为渔网 
挡住了视线 
枯草才不再回过头 
去看渔网后的天空 
也许是因为 
没有风 
吹散树叶 
枯草在石头后面 
 什么也看不清

Sentiment

My sentiment grew

like any living organism －

broke womb, 

stumbled through the troubled puberty
endured the sorrow of

middle age

arrived
on the land of

innocence - where 

my consciousness
slept under

the unconscious
Moon

March's Ambition