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 |
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