What Kind of a World is Worth it, a Poem

Questions of why we’re here, an existentialist, “crisis” if you want to call it that, translated…

The Alarm Sounded

Outside the Windows

There are Still Those

White and Fluffy Clouds

Chased Off by the Wind

I Too, Was, Hurried Along by the

Assortments, of Doubts

Why, is the Value of Chicken and Pork

Nothing More than Food

The Udders of the Cows

who, is reflected, by the mirrors?  Not my artwork

Don’t Belong to Their Calves

Why is it

That the Existence of Humans

Is Merely, Creating Trash

Destroying the Natural Habitats of Other Living Organisms

Increasing the Speed to Which, the World Self-Destructs

We’d Put Up with

The Insults and Sickness

the self 的圖片結果the true self, hiding within, ALL those layers, NOT my photo…

Preventing Ourselves from Thinking Too Much

Over Those Rising Doubts

Using Our Smiles and Order

To Keep This World that’s

On the Verge of Collapsing, Together

What sort a World Deserved, to Sound Off the Clocks?

a portrait of the self, NOT my art…

If There isn’t, a Pair of Bright Eyes

Staring at You

If the Sunlight from Between the Leaves

Can No Longer, Stop You in Your Tracks and Leave You in Awe

If the Scenes Up Ahead Had

Already, Been Viewed

What Versions of My Self are

Deserving of This World?

A Small Weed that Grew Out of the Cracks of the Walls

A Pair of Crows that, Nested Atop the Stop Lights

Wouldn’t Ask These Stupid Questions

Building Over the Sand

Erect, Over the Garbage

Built Upon, the Unworthy of All Conclusions

A Flower Can Finally, Bloomthe components of the self, chart from online…

Although, it Was, a Deformed and Pale Flower

Although, it Was, only, a Wave of Patterns

And, Amidst That Bubble that’s, about to Burst

There was Also, a Colorful & Eye-catching World

A Rainbow that Slowly, Ascends

Also, a Me

Ranting Incessantly

Voicing Out

All My Doubts in that Certain Space

So, you are still the problem, in this philosophical search for your own purpose of existence, and, although, you may run into walls and dead ends, with this sort of inquiries on your selves, you will, eventually, arrive at the RIGHT conclusions, and carry forth, with that added wisdom you’d gained, from your own life experiences.

Dreams, Piled Up from Last Night…

Dreamed, piled up from last night, they’d all, gotten, meshed up together, too tangled within one another, it’d become, next to impossible, for me, to groom through them one by one now…

like the train of thought here???  From Disney’s Inside Out, footage from online.

Dreams, piled up from last night, how much of it do you remember, huh?  Were there, any, nightmares that haunted?  Good dreams, that left you, with that smirk from the corners of your lips, perhaps?  Dreams, piled up, from last night, they’d all, become, meshed, the boundaries between them became, completely, blurred, you can’t even tell when one ends, and the next begins anymore!

Dreams, piled up from last night, you’d not yet found the time, to sort through them one by one, as the day’s calling your name aloud, urging you, to wake, to start working again, and so, you’d, left the dreams from last night, piled up, along with the rest of those old and worn out dreams from before last, like those uncleaned dishes that were, left downstairs, in the kitchen sink.

like this?  Not my artwork…Dreams, piled up from last night, what, can you tell about them?  Were any single one of them too loud?  One that got your attention?  Dreams, piled up from last night, they’d all gotten, flushed down the drains this morning, as dreams only last for no more than eight hours (I’m thinking, that you had eight hours of sleep last night???)………

Dreams, piled up from last night, what happens now, huh?  Are we supposed to just, wake up, and leave ALL those dreams, piled up from last night in bed, and just, go about our days???like this? 

Thoughts on Poetry

Another philosophical encounter that someone’s having here, translated…

I remembered receiving a letter from my reader long ago, I’d forgotten the contents, just remembered, that there was a passage in English on the envelopes: I will scream aloud, for the sake of hearing the echoes.

not my art…

These words kept me pondering for long.

About the mountain that’s before the poet.

Shapeless, formless, can’t tell the distance, if it’s tall, or short, and only through that scream that came from deeply within the poet, can you hear its, existence.  Using the echoes to know this.

Hearing the mountains, through the echoes.

From the echoes, guessing at the shape and size of the mountain, what it’d, looked like, the expressions it wore.  The truth, of the mountains.

So, the mountain came from, the poet’s mind, and, the poet tried, to make it out, but can’t, because it’s, not for real, it’s, imagined, by the poet.

Extending from the passage from before, the poet was, only a living organism, floating along, surviving, inside the echoes.

a version of teh self, from online…

Each and every poem written by the poet, was a scream aloud, a force of life and death, showed the final strengths of man.

As for that mountain before the poet.

The mountain needed to be tall enough, wide enough too, to make the echoes big enough, and fuller.  To hear it more clearly.

here’s, another…not my art…

The only problem here is: what if, this mountain, doesn’t really exist?

So, this, is the poet, making troubles for her/himself, the poet got fixated on the thoughts of echoes, and, needed a mountain for her/his thoughts to be heard, by oneself, and, what if, there was, NO mountain, then, wouldn’t that mean, that the thoughts never got heard, that it didn’t, exist at all???





Once, Inside a Reflection, a Poem

a painting of Narcissus from online…

On falling in love, and the timing was, WRONG!!! Translated…

I Once Saw You in a Reflection

The Skies Then Were, Bluer, than Blue

The Flowers, More Aromatic than Ever Before

And, You Appeared, So Breathtaking

For My Sake

And Those Sorrowful Tunes, Became Like the Funeral’s March

The Marches Became, Like the Whitened Towns

With Each Sunset, Imprinting Those

Elongated Shadows, into the Rivers

You’d, Stepped in the Innocence of Unknown

And I, Was Merely, Passing by, as the Sun Sets, a Careless

Piece of the Puzzle, and Just so Happened

I Caught a Gaze of Your Fiery-Red Hair

Back then, Life Was Multi-Dimensional

And Life Became, Geometric Shapes

Made by the Strokes of Picasso

They’re, All Blue

Not Collecting the Bitterness

Without Any Laws

Just, Taking Over the Heart, that Multi-Colored Arch

Poured the Birds, All Over the Skies

Not Knowing What Sorrow is

Or what Happiness Entailed

Those Heavy Days, the Sorrows

Were All, Separated, by a Thin Film

Why Had I, Seen You

In a, Reflection

The Spring Learned to Be Lonely

The Clouds of Worries, Rose Up to Your Brows

Time Became a Heavy Chain

And Since, I’d, Learned to Look Out

From the Vents

Why is it, that I’d

Met You Inside

A Reflection

So, there’s, that sense of regret, perhaps??? Because, had the narrator not met this other person the way that s/he had, then, maybe, there’s, a chance, for love to keep going, but, because, the narrator had met that person in a reflection, that, is why, the relationship was, doomed, because, unless you want to DROWN like Narcissus, you should KNOW better, than, to fall in love, with a reflection, because it’s NOT real!!!

Out of Time — Max Meunier

shards of sanity scattered intermittently across the glass-like surface shades of unfamiliarity fade into permanence the strangest of our thoughts condemned to feeling only the past remains unchanged perhaps it is inconsequential as words are as they ever were stinging our jaded eyes with the distortions of our dreams forever dangling out of reach and […]

via Out of Time — Max Meunier

The Wall, a Poem

The philosophies from life, translated…

That Ancient Cement-Paved Wall

Became So Spotted Like an Ancient Piece of Paper

The Spots Seemed to Cause People to

See Certain Images Underneath the Sun

a wall like this must have stories to tell…photo from online…

Those Art Classes from Our Middle School Years

After Passing Through the Accumulation of Time

Became Like Shiny Stars High Up in the Skies

Sometimes, They’d Looked Like the Broken Stems of the Lotuses in the Ponds

The Architect Measured the Totems of the Land

That Wall Often Attracted Me

And Metamorphosed into Various Stories in My Mind

It’d Stood, Few Feet Away

Colliding, Changing into Various Things with Time

Entered from My Pupils

or like this…photo from online…

Started Growing within Me

Becoming, an Endless World of Wonder

Like Stories that the World

Has Disclosed to Me

So, so many things are, written down, not in words, but in images, every place has its own history, and you just need to, listen, or look closer, to hear those silent words that these places are telling to you…

Taking the Monsters, from Underneath Our Beds…

Originally posted on Brave and Reckless: When I can’t sleep I lay on the floor and hang out with the monsters under my bed I finally introduced myself after I got tired of them poking me in the middle of the night mustered my courage took a peak ? They are quite the motley crew ?…

via The Monsters Under My Bed — Sudden Denouement Literary Collective