Seasonal Change In the shape of a zephyr The whole spring Is finally Beginning To green, budding right From inside a single heart After 10-million-minute white wait of winter Open Opera in zephres of april this solo performance of sweet cherry trees white clusters of vowels pink chorus of assonance there is no accompany of leafy consonance except bold internal rhymes between heartbeats & footsteps Flying with the Zephyr: the Variations of the Wing If every human had a pair of wings (Made of strong mussels and broad feathers Rather than wax like Icarus’) Who wouldn’t jump high or become eager to fly Either towards the setting sun Or along the rising zephyr? Who wouldn’t migrate afar with sunshine And glide most straight to a warmer spot In the open space? Indeed Who would continue to confine himself Within the thick walls of a small rented room? Who would willingly take a detour Bump into a stranger, or stumble down Along the way? More important Who would remain fixed here At the same corner all her life Like a rotten stump, hopeless Of a new green growth? Besides Zephyrs There are winds to lead and winds to avoid There are winds to sweep like a million unseen brooms Winds to break every head on the bare land Winds to caress or flirt with the tenderest spring petals Winds to uproot century old oak or willow trees Winds like heavy sighs of history blowing out every light Winds of leaves, flowers, rains, snows, sand and dust Winds that whisper, winds that whistle like screaming monsters Winds that you can never walk against, pushing buildings and cities Winds that swirl around and make the whole world dizzy Winds that drive waves upon beaches like stampeding horses Winds that send roofs, beds and pigs up above dark clouds There are winds that blow all golden sunshine into white winter Winds that strike human hearts like bells ringing fiercely Winds that never stop waving, wallowing and warring Even if you long for just one damned moment of peace Chasing Something Absent like a whirl beyond the shadow you are the presence of a shadow that is rarely the reality whenever you are you are not what is present where you stand you join the light and never the light disperses to fill in the moments when your spirit is absent few others have the impulses for standing but you do to chase something absent Wild West Willow of Last Winter What a strangely familiar blizzard That has blown your bare body To the far end of the prairie Standing stiff at the still cliff You listen to the muted monologue of the valley With all your hardened heart Then and there, in the shape of the wind You start to shake off your silver branches Like a huge skeletal seagull beating its wings wildly Eager to flap into the northern lights Yuan Changming grew up in an isolated village, started to learn the English alphabet at age nineteen and 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 eleven Pushcart nominations, nine chapbooks & awards, as well as publications in Best of the Best Canadian Poetry (2008-17),& BestNewPoemsOnline, among nearly 1,800 other, across 46 countries. Lotus Image & License: Depositphotos_3273810 |
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