South China Cicada

no human ear has ever heard of you

      cloistering yourself deep in the soil

silently sucking all sounds from roots

      for more than thirteen years in a row

      until high up on a summer painted twig

you slough off your earthly self

        pouring all your being in a single song

        before the sun sets for the yellow leaf

 _______________________________

Y, Y

yea, yeah, yes, with your

yellowish skin, you enjoy

meditating within the shape of

a wishbone, inside the broken wing

of an oriental bird strayed, or

in a larger sense, you look like

the surfacing tail of a pacific whale

who yells low, but whose voice reaches afar

far beyond a whole continent, to a remote village

near the yellow river, where you used to sunbathe

rice stems, reed leaves, cotton skeletons

with a fork made of a single horn-shaped twig

when you were a barefooted country boy

on the other side of this new world

 ______________________________

Human Culture

when i wake up

      and open my eyes

i see all my dreams

      bounced back from the frames

.

when i take a shower

      and start to sing

i taste my song tart

      behind the blurring curtain

.

when i strive to step 

      out of my humble house

i feel fences quarreling hard

      in the whole neighborhood

.

when i visit around and 

      do some blind sightseeing

i smell blood stained

      along the castle foot

.

finally i flee from this world

      and hide myself far away

i still seem to hear

      the glaring cries from the great wall

.

delicately hung is this earth

        a bluish cage in the universe

.

__________________________________

Skyline

Golden teeth glistening 

In the mouth of the city

Silver clouds colliding  

At the tongue tip of day

Bite off all darkness

They whispered

And chew the season well.

__________________________________

Siamese Stanzas: Snowflakes

with

as little noise

as much leisure

as possible

you came

to perch

at this cold spot of time

like a pale word

fallen on the wasteland

merely to melt

          a voiceless being soft and quiet 

never heard before you 

yet ready to vanish 

herald tracelessly 

the glaring in the green 

thunder wind 

of 

summer time 

_________________________________

Single Last Sale

You’ve long since sold out

Both your sweat and blood

Now you try to sell your heart

Though nobody wants it

Some say the blood is not red enough

Others find the chambers too narrow

Still others think the coronary arteries

Stained with too many feelings

You peddle around, chanting aloud

From street to street

With your heart still fresh

Beating like a frog in your hands

You hope to sell it for a glass of water

Just to cool down your burning voice

So you do not have to sell your soul

Like all other hawkers in the market

Well satiated, but hardly heart-felt

____________________________________

Truncated Truths: My Crow

Each crow you have seen

Has a quasi white soul

That used to dwell in the body

Of one of your closest ancestors

He comes down all the way just to tell you

His little secret, the way he has flown out 

Of darkness, the fact both his body and heart

Are filled with shadows, the truth about

Being a dissident, that unwanted color

Hidden in your own heart is there also a crow

Much blacker than his spirits 

But less so than his feathers

_________________________________

Like Birds, Like Humans

All doors are man-made

Even those in hell and heaven

Behind every door

Is either a home

Or a prison cell

More often both

Than neither

The only living space without a door

Is a nest or the sky

Both for birds

Neither for man

_____________________________________

Natural Confrontations 

Swirl  

A gossamer-like breeze 

Left far behind

By a running dog

Tries to strike

The stagnated twilight

Hanging above the whole city

Before the storm sets in

Seagull 

As if right from heaven

A snowy seagull charges down

Trying to pick up the entire ocean

With its bold beak

As the tsunami raises

All its fierce fists

In sweeping protection 

Against earth’s agitation

In foamy darkness

Plum Blossom

Without a single leaf

Grass-dyed or sun-painted

To highlight it  

But on a skeletal twig

Glazed with dark elegies  

A bud is blooming, bold and blatant

Like a drop of blood

As if to show off, to challenge

The entire season

When whims and wishes

Are all frozen like the landscape

 _______________________________________

Directory of Destinies

 - Believe it or not, the ancient Chinese 5-Agent Principle accounts for us all.

1/ Water (born in a year ending in 2 or 3)

-helps wood but hinders fire; helped by metal but hindered by earth

with her transparent tenderness

coded with colorless violence

she is always ready to support

or sink the powerful boat

sailing south

2/ Wood (born in a year ending 4 or 5)

-helps fire but hinders earth; helped by water but hindered by metal

rings in rings have been opened or broken

like echoes that roll from home to home

each containing fragments of green

trying to tell their tales

     from the forest’s depths

3/ Fire (born in a year ending 6 or 7)

-helps earth but hinders metal; helped by wood but hindered by water

your soft power bursting from your ribcage

as enthusiastic as a phoenix is supposed to be

when you fly your lipless kisses

you reach out your hearts

until they are all broken

4/ Earth (born in a year ending in 8 or 9)

-helps metal but hinders water; helped by fire but hindered by wood

i think not; therefore, I am not

what I am, but I have a color

the skin my heart wears inside out

tattooed intricately

with footprints of history

5/ Metal (born in a year ending in 0 or 1)

-helps water but hinders wood; helped by earth but hindered by fire

he used to be totally dull-colored

because he came from the earth’s inside

now he has become a super-conductor

for cold words, hot pictures and light itself

all being transmitted through his throat