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Celebrating Xmas Alone
In my quiet winter block, snow is falling
To cover every footprint, smoothing every sharp corner
Wrapping every skeletal plant, but the walled air
Is thickening with loud sounds. Head feels
Hollow. Even hollower is my rented room
Watching the cold flame burning artificially
In the fireplace, I find no one to talk to
Even to think of. Most people I know have
All vanished. Too much attachment is
Too hard for me. I seem to hear echoes of
Holiday greetings from unknown sources
Opening the fridge, I hesitate a long time
About what to heat for my last supper. Yes
As a cockroach crawls as fast as light itself
I am ready to say farewell to you, dear all
How Transience Trespasses
The tender reach of snowflakes
Kissing the landscape with their entire
Bodies – what were left of their hearts
They embrace each sound
With a crystalized melody from above
In a way they fly with my thought
But also embrace my voice
However, the season
Will forget us, and
Do so all in wet, far beyond
A dying vision. Feel sorry
For me?
The Past
More than enough has been recollected
About being in the past. It’s no time
To be, yet except for a handful few, many
Keep filling in the blanks of the present
With the leftovers of the past, or catching
The past from the present moment as if the present
Were a tail of a vanishing fish rather than
A rock from which the colt is running
To the rising sun. Indeed, the trouble with
The past is that it is deadly lost in the white pages
Of history. Plus, even if the past can be edited, but never
Be rewritten. So, let’s move to the future where
The wise men want us to, where the pasts cannot
Prevent us from surpassing the present
A Happy Life
Is, perforce
A healthy and
Heartfelt one from which
You have long since learned
To make light of the darkest
Present moment while
Anticipating another nice surprise
Falling upon you
Anytime tomorrow
We Are Unique
From all other kinds of chimpanzees, we
Homo sapiens distinguish ourselves simply
By creating supernatural beings in various
Shapes, sizes and colors, including gods
Devils, saints and ghosts, not only to believe
In them, but to replace and emulate them
As an animal species: aren’t we all syncretists?
Yuan Changming published monographs on translation before leaving China. With a Canadian PhD in English, Yuan currently edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver; credits include ten Pushcart nominations, the Naji Naaman's Literary Prize 2018, Best of the Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Threepenny Review and 1,449 others worldwide.
yuan changming @ Poetry Pacific
https://poetrypacific.blogspot.ca
https://happyyangsheng.blogspot.ca
Lotus Image & License: Depositphotos_32738103_s-2015
yuan changming @ Poetry Pacific
https://poetrypacific.blogspot.ca
https://happyyangsheng.blogspot.ca
Lotus Image & License: Depositphotos_32738103_s-2015
