The Spring in the Northern Parts

not my photograph…

Translated…

Look, the grasses, the trees are, using the scent of green, to let us know, that the spring season is, on its way here.

So, the spring’s coming, even in the coldest parts of the world, because soon, the weather will be warmer, and, the snow and the ice will melt, and, the world has, come to life…

the picture came attached to the lines in the papers…

Stolen Time

Translated…

The traditions of calculating the years with “false age” is Asian, there’s one belief, that after a New Year’s Day had come and gone, one is a year older.  This belief had not troubled me when I was still young, sometimes, I’d even, looked forward to getting one more year underneath my belt, the arrival of a brand new year, like I can actually, grow up faster, so I can get rid of that immaturity that’s perceived, not only by others, but also myself too.

not my art…

But, this way of adding on the year is, very interesting, meaning that, every time around the New Years, the time became an addition, an accumulation that’s of simple arithmetic, instead, it’s also, a specialty of the cultures, or rather, a trick that time is playing on us all.  And so, with the passing of this special time frame, a realm special to only time opens right up, allowing all that’s lacking to be filled back up again.

Thinking in this mode, “false age” then becomes, something that’s extremely imaginary!  Like how we’re able to, “go through the New Years”, and manage to, stowaway some time for ourselves, to accomplish what we weren’t able to, to fulfill some of our regrets.  And, this wonderful, but not yet perfect “one”, maybe, it’s then, filled with, this imaginary greatness and blessings for the futures as well.

not my photograph…

So, this is how the New Year’s can give people the hopes, the aspirations, so you can have a better version of yourselves to look for, it gives us all something to look forward to…

The Shores of Our Love Became Eroded

The shores of our love became eroded by the goings on of life, the daily hassles, it’d, made us both lost sight of what’s important in this marriage, the love we used to share…

and this, is what love looked like, after it’d become, eroded…

The shores of our love eroded, we thought we were, on stable grounds, that nothing could take us down, because we were, so young, so naïve, thought that love could conquer all, but, love can’t conquer SHIT, as we’d both, learned that the hard way.

The shores of our love eroded, and, those waves became stronger, they’d gotten to the sizes of those hard-hitting tsunami waves after the earthquakes, and, they’d still, HIT us, one, right after the next, harder, and harder each and every single time it’d, rushed in.

The shores of our love eroded, and now, there are, so many holes in this marriage, and, we couldn’t even recall when the erosion had begun, and, there’s no way we can ever, repair the damages now, we’d let this marriage of ours slide for too long, and the love became, eroded too much to beyond fixing already…

not my photograph…

A Sugar Mill, a Poem

Translated…

The Orange Flavored Small Candy Pieces aren’t Actually Small in Size

It’s as Majestic as the Sugar Mills

not my photograph…

Sweeter than Sweet

Bringing the Other Flavored Candies to Shame

The Smallest Sun

Emitted the Greatest, the Shiniest Rays

Making Professor Yu’s Taste Buds

Exposed, in the Light

Not my photograph…

Guan-Zhong Yu is Also, a Sugar Factory Too

For the Decades, He’d Cranked Out the Sweetened, the Scented

Poems, This Particular One, with Ninety-Eight Characters, Fourteen Lines

Every Word is, Sweet

So, this, is in honor of the poet, Guan-Zhong Yu’s poetry, and, this poet had used the metaphor of a sugar mill to symbolize poetry, because poetry is a form of art, that’s from someone’s feelings, and, there are, sweetened memories that the poet got from reading the old poems.

Songs about Loss I’d Sung

Songs about loss I’d sung, I can’t even count them, lost track, a VERY long time ago…

Songs about loss I’d sung, I’d cried, as the words rolled off my tongue (and feel FREE, to CALL me the CRY B-A-B-Y if you want to!).  Each word, each note that came from my lips, stemmed from, the heart, and, these songs of loss I’d sung, they’d, struck a chord, deep, on the inside.

Songs about loss I’d sung, do you want to hear them?  You’d have to, stand in line, to BUY those, HIGHLY-PRICED tickets, because I really just, DON’T “do” my performances, but, when I sing, I move the crowd to T-E-A-R-S, because the music, as well as the lyrics are, coming from my heart AND soul.

Songs about loss I’d sung, I’d sung, for so many GOD damn years (since my younger childhood days here!), and now, I’m finally, DONE, feeling the loss (not feeling it right at this particular moment now!), and now, as I, belch out the words, the words are, fully, emotional (but I’m still N-O-T!!!), and, I can move ANYBODY to tears with my songs………

not my artwork…

Springtime

the buddinng of an originally “asleep” tree…

A poem, in two lines, translated…

The Tail of Winter, Left, Wagging on

The Colors of Springtime, Flew in on the Wings

It’s as, you can see, all the gray of the winter season getting melted away, and the world became alive again, filled with the assortment colors of the springtime, greens, blues, yellows, reds, everything is beginning again in the springtime…

feeling warm, doesn’t it???

The Start of a Circle

not my photo…

Translated…

My daughter wanted me to teach her to knit a scarf, I’d told her, just like everything else, starts with the center of a circle.  At this time, there was a voice inside, telling me: the circle can be the brand new start of a new cycle, it can also, be the repeat of an old one.  

The flowers in the garden bloomed, they’d all, started, with a small circle too.  And still, after the seasons are over, they’d all, come to a halt, with a cadence.  Just like when you knit a scarf, you’d needed, to find a place to stop, to put an end to what you’re knitting as well.

And so, this, is the philosophies of life, everything starts will end, and, just like the cycle of life, what’s ended will start again, maybe NOT in the same forms that the end was in, but, everything will keep on happening in life, whether or not we want it to, growing up is like this too…

not my photograph…