Those who would have read all the great poems
may not be able to write any great poem

Poems are somewhat like religions
If you like them, they are great
If you don't know them, you are just fine
not as some say you have no poetic feeling
or you would have no clue about what's the meaning of life
Everyone is a poet in some way
Everyone is the meaning of life anyway


UFO

When rumors on others run out
the whirlwind could turn around and sweep one's own feet

When secrets of ourselves are open to the world
we start to see ourselves as an UFO coming back from outer space

We are making transparent butterflies everyday
which flower they go pick on is entirely random

Our brains are the mothers of all UFOs
poems just seem coming from nowhere
going nowhere either


Space

Space is needed by stars
to shine their own shine
without getting into one another

Space is needed for poems
so reader have blank to think

Spacer genes are needed for chromosomes
so slight damage would not give up life so easily

Silence is the space separated ourselves from others
addiction to follow someone to the bathroom
is perhaps too much to the nose

Loneliness is the space we all have to enjoy
reflect and grow from
It is the lover we could not get rid of
even in the mist of soaking bath of love


Enlightenment

Chemically
we have infinite ways to view ourselves
There could be everyone else on the earth
understand something about me
that I just could not see myself
Until that magic moment
I make the connection (reactions) through the only tunnel
to myself with those from outside

Persuasion on the hand
is tedious trial and error
to adjust/express in zillion angles
until the subject could see through the wall
eyes to eyes
to one's own heart


Spoiler

For the fame
it is all about the splash of everything
but the spoiler
except that one tends to forget who is the spoiled

For a happy camper
a raindrop on the forehead would be sufficient
to be happy about
A spoiler might be a surprise plus


To a Drop of Dew

Thank you for waking up my love of the morning
on her lips as if you are the innocent gift straight from night
You are the fresh reminder of the old youth
who could not come up with any fresher idea


Metaphor of Rain

As if my thoughts
are wandering cloud
heavy at times and simply want to dump it all off
After nights of dreaming
they go up again
float in the sky of life
sunrise after sunset
In between rising moon
crescent or full
there is complete darkness
in the heart of loneliness
I would enjoy my thoughts of moonlight as my self-reflection
or the sound of raindrops
as my wisdom is moisturized


To the Desire

At the tip of your flame
I surrender often
but beyond the fireball of you
nothing seems to be so uncontrollable

Not sure I feed more air to you
or you burn more air out of me
It is easy for me to blame you of course
since you could not possibly speak
But you sometimes have the last laugh
because I am the one taking the consequence
of your push or my instinct
Not sure whether you drive me to write more
or I am simply writing more because lack of you
The line are often blurred
when I let you devout me
or just ignore you altogether
It must be another me of you
shadowing my body and soul
wake up when I am dreaming
sleep when I want to fill the void
What a naughty you
or me


Indulgence

If I have not
lost myself in any occasion
I would not likely
throw myself away
for anything
that no rule is enforced
that no boundary is imposed
but perhaps
there are plenty of wows
that I have not met
there are plenty of extremes
that I have not been overwhelmed
or simply
I have not run into someone, something or some places
that could completely disarm me
besides the death


The Dream of a Snowflake

The snowflake is dreaming
with friends to make a scene
worthwhile
actually try to warm you with the purest greeting
not a word needed
only your eye contact
or in your hands
there
all yours now
to dream further
the cycle of spirit
Your breath could also do
like a day dream
disappearing in a second
but already comes true
without her waking up


Autumn Stories

I do not seem to have enough stories
to keep the conversation going
When I listen to strangers chattering
realize those unlimited details
are making stories
that I always skip or care less
They could cherish how someone else
said, or how their facial expression looked
or reiterated the dialogue word by word
that I always try to block them entirety
No wonder
I am always left behind as the bare tree in the autumn
let the leaves of gossip
simply flying

 
To the Sea

I am hoping
to remember the rhythm of your breath
When I am getting too sick to see you
my imagination would fly out as a white seagull
looking over you as I would normally do
I will pace my breath like the waves from your heart
visualize the blue cuddle I am going to get
when I reach you as ashes
with my soul followed in the wind
You are free to take me anywhere you like
because my other half will always be with me
as my moon


Waves

Waves are constantly harassing the sands
because the sands could not hold their stands

Waves are always split by the rocks
because the rocks have their locks

A bunch of free-minded
A bunch of single-minded

Waves are always open-minded


Working

Simplicity
is often twisted into entanglement
when a phone call to the right person could end
For those who think they could handle
The phone call is normally a failure away
after the fact

Focus
is such a vague quality
until you repeat your mistake
after you solved it before

Dedication
is not working to death
It is working with every bit of your brain
until you nail it with a dead-on solution
under the gun or when you thought you were dead already


Fantasy

Does it
run out of originality
or
I just ignore any chance
to get into one


The Unspoken

Today we give up to each other
until we couldn't remember
No promise needed since vow is in our hearts together

The night will be little bit warmer
in our cuddling
Even the loneliness could be sweeter
than us alone
because we have each other's back
no matter what

All the blessing would be with us
through tough times ahead
It isn't as simple as one
but it could be simple as we become one


Directions

As assertive as I am
sometimes it is quite a luxury to get lost
On course that one could not change
forgetting about any direction is simply a treat

For the ultimate goal opposite to life
that no one wants to go into
Surprises should then be welcomed
in deviation of the route in life
where one may not have another chance
to wander into

No direction in the present
No pressure to squeeze
Freedom as such comes rarely
before someone else around you
starts to yell or bark
(dogs included)

 
Room for Love

When it is too big
the walls start to echo
the separation of hearts

When it is too small
the breath of one another gets across
that might not be pleasant at all time

When it is too hot
anxiety could kick in
One might get tired too quickly to flee

When it is too cold
perhaps chances call for
the need to warm one another

When it is too closed
loneliness might rise up like moon
except that it could only shine on the other

When it is too open
soul might just jump into the air current
and never circulate back


Chasing Games

Two cardinals are chasing one another on the meadow
a simple act of sweet instinct
in the spring to come
mutual fond of a sort

Two squirrels are chasing up to the tree top
no place to go
except each other's arms
(you think?)

What if one jumps to the lower branch
the other is stunt
to discover the denial

Spring sees them all
the silly game of love
so we called
as beautiful as blooming blossoms
as sad as withering petals
all comes and goes
as wind does all the time


December

Lights

Try not to listen to the stations
playing Christmas carol all day long
since I was not born in this land
nor converted to a believer
Yet all the lights in the dark
how could I ignore
A glance is enough to warm me up

Moon

Winter sky is indeed extra clean at nights
The clouds with moonlight seem closer to the stars
in the universe
A whistle of mine must be heard by the moon
she keeps coming back up
and looking for the whistle blower

Snow

I once dreamed of being a shepherd
herding a flock of sheep above
They are chewing on the clouds
and grow into clouds eventually
Then I could harvest the wool on the fly
as ages' fluffiest snow storm

Dusk

The winter clouds near sunsets
tend to get darker
even the sky appears shrinking
compared to summer
The hurry dusk keeps pushing me into the house
even after I refuse to hibernate
But my dog likes to dash into the dusk
to chase a red fox or a grey rabbit or two
into bamboo clusters

Language

Ever wonder whether water is the mother of all languages

The intrinsic simplicity of H2O
feeds the sophisticated forms of what we call life
the ultimate puzzle connected via water
every second along
every cell within

The language is understood
by anything among the earth, the sea and the sky
The language is communicated
among all four seasons through
the light-hearted white cloud
the sobbing rain
the angry hail
the ever so poetic snow
and the splendid
blue sky at its most elegance
and the majestic of all
blue sea as the ultimate epic
that tells all
the ever evolving life of our planet
with dialects from creeks and streams
with accent from waterfalls
with songs sang by rivers from different lands
Even in the deserts
where language is used so sparsely
the roots of cactus are murmuring underground

Seasonal, might be another attribute
not seen in other languages
chatty in some, frozen or disappeared in other