Song for Tall Grasses Singing

Because my calling is such
I lose myself in entire days
Whole days of loving too much
Across the lampless silence
Of her enormous sun
A ‘520’ of emotion and rainless air

I kiss your palms, as if
You were my only fortune
Because my calling is such
I fall into touching your fabulous face
A breathless journey beyond
All error and transient lust

Because my calling is such
I let our embrace become an art
The sun is to be twice its size
In song as if the world were good
Because my calling is such
I serenade summer with your name

These difficult Mandarin names
I want one, beneath white sheet embraces
And kisses that seem to stretch
Until the sweetest noons
Because my calling is such
The moon is red where rainbows meet sunsets

And I am enthralled in happiness
By your miniature dreams of prophetic-secrets
You endear me to you by your
Power of imagination, flamboyant with humor
I’ve laughed with you in a few short weeks
More than the entire year

Because my calling is such
My cheeks are filled with light
The brightest clairvoyance that ever lit
Your breasts glued to me
Like royal gardens from the ancients
I call your name in language more beautiful

Than my mother tongue, your womb
My blaze of sacred heart gone wild.

Photography Credits:

Atom in a World Government

Because the glowing morning
Flung my authority to the skies
I watch atoms become skyscrapers
One planetary city, this evolving
World government, organism

An aquarium where we merge
With technology, we are enchanted dancers
Fully monitored, in a frenzy of change
The modern soul does not love

It encapsulates, it downloads
A synthetic use of each person
Into its life, morals are now for puritans
Everything is the art to please

The new intelligence is corporate adaptation
Because the glowing morning
Bred my own desires for me
I became an automaton in a system

Programmed by invisible software
New-born with each generation of
Designer labels, consumeristic dogma
New levels of insidious social control.

Conspiracy Link:

Homage to Repressed Poetic Virgins


I wanted to affirm life
In a poem, set life in silent offering
A hundred times, pushing the boat
Into beauty, across the water
Dawn, a crayon summer living
On the edge of literature
And love, these comforting moons

I wanted to begin again in wayside streams
Shout out the alphabets of my
Flaming salute of joy, smile
As if I had waited an entire lifetime
To truly know how to smile
Darling, you gave me the yearning stillness
That allowed me to write again

And I was more of a poet, than a dreamer
Because of you, I wanted to optimize
The way I experience the little things
In a forbidden dance in a never-ending night
Where every day was another
Hour of my life, the extraordinary discovery
Of myself in others, loveliness spelled

Out in infinite variety, in caresses
That penciled the soft outlines of the Earth
I wanted to affirm life
Once and for all, in your hips
Your womb the star-foam of all
I had ever wanted, the swaying plentitude
Of the ripe trance of writing and loving

They were like breathing to my tragic poetic side
I wanted to give life to the repressed virgins
And read them their own poetry
Of femininity, while licking the quatrains
Off of their daring free-verse
It was to be a festive summer
Love would soon blot out

The adventure that I had planned
I wanted to affirm writing an empty verse
From all the lessons I never learned
How fleeting was the poetry
Of my brief life, a few pleasurable summers.

Photography Credit:

The Last Green Kiss

I am kissing the rain as it pours
As when it rains, it pours
And kissing is the best sport
Of pale green, and your lips
I kiss for spring and lime love

To hide your grief, by the lucid
Law of your radiance
In the slender outline of the drizzle
We kiss some more in our honeymoon
Of first meeting, we made love

Six times today, we count the kisses
More than a hundred times per I entered you
I smiled every time and we laughed
In the stricken sunlight of a summer love
I am kissing your body for ancient times

As when I love, I celebrate marvelously
I blink for Taiwan wrapped in your hands
I loved the skin of Mandarin idioms
You taught me to love foreigners
Strange Goddesses from another realm

I am kissing the rain as it pours
As when it rains, it pours
And kissing is the best sport
And happiness is more humane
Than the mouth of cruel words

I kiss for your blossoming health
In the fraternity of your young heart
I feel the prophets touch me in your gaze
I write for the green grass, that always comes again
I am kissing you with my last love

All questions and ambiguities I let go
As a hummingbird’s fiercely gentle touch
We are the architects of shared happiness
A civil flower of mutual acquisition
You bring me more fortune than all other women
From the beautiful colored bones of your soul.

To My Love on Tuesday

Innocent as a flower
Naive as the Spring wind
Self-indulgent is our kiss
As the flow of my goodbye wishes
Clear-eyed, I cried by your eyes

Happy tears of warm finitude
The glow of poets and dancers
We talk and laugh, make-love
This is life in her comic element
Innocent as a rose

Naive as the Summer whisper
Sundays pressed against my daily calm
Layers and layers of sunlight
Like kissing the glints rosily
Slants of light that have an easy life

Innocent as a new bud
Naive as our friend, Tuesday
It is Tuesday today, and we are in love
Why you – my heart and savior
Innocent as the gifts so little understood

Naive as a life without enemies
I grow in so much kindness
A grin of victory in the white sunlight.

O Like a Fire That Flickers for the Fairer Sex

I think of women on
Hot extravagant afternoons
Words from the Earth, my little bread
The water of centuries picked clean
I let the red ink of these prerequisite passages

Settle in me, their earthy wisdom
Like a masseur’s warm open hand
Their expert flirtation of
Psychology and innate fastidious ‘performance’
I think of women on

Cool nights that restore my pulse
I listen to them too much
To hasten to their self-same torments
I’ve heard all of their complaints
On the tipsy tip-toes of poetry

I did nothing to provoke them
My goldenrod of spilled yellow friendship
I am a living animal, in their presence
An outlawed sign-language of my desire
They read on their unmenacing lips

A sour frantic belonging of their value
I think of women on
Mornings of the shrewdest plans
They are instrumental to my cathedral-abundance
I’ve become too good at giving & giving-in

And now a most savage dog
I think of women on the way here, or there
After-hours rain downs my familiarity
I think of women like naming the planets
Pirates of my soul’s bleeding kisses

Whimper, silly, hush, flood, hot-flashed
I think of women and their sweet roar
Sweat, push, pull, sign, moan, hush.

Like an Aztec Peasant Warrior

But we are permitted to wonder
And there is nothing left to say of it
My vows were dead as premonitions
Like an Aztec priestess, I was sent to be sacrificed

When the sudden death came
I was not expecting, the inevitable
I lost consciousness distilled in a lifetime
Of servitude, and vowed one day to rise

In a different form, a greater jaguar
The old winter rain stained my blood soaked body
I am afraid there is no room, in your heart
For one such as me, I am too gentle

Too kind, too sort of like a shepherd
I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more
But we are permitted to wonder
What might have been, I know in dying I do

I shall sleep in the streets with the last Great Word
And tell no grand-daughters why you were so cruel.

I Have Not Had the Pleasure

Your mind is a beautiful raiment
Of an alien geometric pattern

I was haunted by your icy banner
Your sermon of the snow

Your soul is a beautiful sky-trace
Of an alien enchanted thrill

I was haunted by your perverse design
Your sensuality of dark heavens

Your body is a beautiful smouldering city
Of an alien city I once called home

We have not sown this, it has come from before
Like a karma of how I go to things I love

Your mind does justice, in the places
Between us, like velvet telepathy

Of an alien fashion, I used to know about
The place of higher skill, the paradise of migratory students.

Her Veils are White as Snow


My resurrection is a sensitive process
Like a bee-line of women, as symbols
Of the remuneration of my destiny
I want their food, their shelter

Their fragrance, not as significant
Of what I might hoard, or plunder
But of a banquet of trade
That I might have something enriching to offer

O blasphemy is love’s ecstatic fire
I am reckless with the reality of it
Smoothing and apple-green
What in their skin could possibly redeem me?

It’s an illusion of the material world
I’m sure of it, flowers on the water
Lotus bud in the air, I stare past mirrors & windows
Back to nature, back to God

I am clothed in sensual clothing
My resurrection is a taboo exploration
Like a woman’s body that has never been fondled properly.

Photography Credits:

Rainy Spring Day

Today’s character is not of spring
The rain hangs no gold-feathered birds
Life is a foreign song today
I cannot recognize the Earth
I am mere being, without sun
An invisible palm at the edge of space
With love enough at the center
To dangle down, the slow rain wept branches
Today feels like Autumn
Cold and nesty, with Nature’s bronze distances
Life is a foreign song today
I will step aside, and be the final observer
Of mere being and transparent spirit
And live a clear day of no memories.

Conference of the Beloved


Out of infinity, I have built
Petals of love, it’s boldness
To shower you with them
My blood sings of tiger-shadows
Pulsing with your caramel-tongue kisses
Very merciful are these nights
* * *
Of kissing with certainty
Like a refuge at the heart of life
Out of eternity, I have built
Petals of love, it’s my eyes that instigate
The fish-swimming-up-river dance
Of my spine inching through you
* * *
I’ve taken no vow, but I belong to you now
The sun of my days empties itself
In your water, by your spirit
The sand is marble and the path is diamond
Out of obscurity, I have found you
Petals of love, it’s green-hearing
* * *
To listen to your mandarin tutoring
You tutor me in so many ways
That I have become reckless in my loving
With cries of fields of your womanhood!
There are birds at daybreak from your bed
Sometimes they wake me, last night I slept deeply
* * *
My poems are like your photographs
I try to remember each detail
Out of unity, I have built
Petals of love, are the childhish hearts of our laughter
We laugh in unison, like nature and star-light
I rejoice to shower petals on you
* * *
How many kisses can I spill
Under the crazy clap of your dizzy wings?
Into a tapestry of our Athenian holiday
The white garlands of Fujian you carried
Taiwan, where plains and mountain people unite
Out of surrender, I have built
* * *
Petals of love, with an affable stranger
Foreigner, who take to bed philosophies
How the sun explodes lion-colored
In our hearts like virgins and gods
Once and for all, relinquishing control, abandoning fear
Out of the nest of time, I have built
* * *
Petals of love, with kisses of delphic joys
Like living a prophecy of pomegranate thirst
I am living the verse of your revelations
Out of convergence, I attain liberation
In golden eye-contact, in dimensions of eyes
A pinch of lime, Soya-sauce and Dijon mustard
* * *
Stains our lips, on the stolen watch of May buds
I nightly nibble at your servitude, and rest
A mystic color of my heart at rest in you
I enter you with a lover’s crooked eloquence
To find you have consumed the strangest honey
You show me the nine-steps to healthy chi
* * *
Out of time, I have been summoned by a Beloved
To the fragrance of sky-skin, ribs of ruby
Your touch my face with half-shut awakening
A ginger-fire dream of unremembered dream-symbols
I suck the buds of your May-body blossoms
Leaning all my available light across your core
* * *
The sunlight begins to dry on your glowing mornings
You come to me with whispers of Yizhou
Ancient providence joins me in your gaze
Aboriginal, Japanese, Mainland, Spanish, Polynesian-Philippino, Dutch
Out of infinity, I have built these arms for you
This simple love to adorn you with touches
* * *
Petals of love, at the conference of the Beloved
How badly I wish to be part of your Team
That every now and again, I am too amazed to speak
Or share the golden onions of your creations
With a dozen different Japanese sauces.

Photography Credit:

Taiwanese Summer, Part IV

When I indulge, it is an unspeakable pleasure
A delight claims all my thoughts and acts
That I become pregnant with curtains and bed-sheets
Your gleaming smile in the night
When I come to you, my lips pressed
To lotus-channels of desire
Beneath the dignity of your caress

I grew to resemble your wisdom
Your strength and purity I took into me
When we indulge, it is an unspeakable rejoicing
I have not the words to translate into Mandarin
Not the four-charter ‘wise’ sentences
Through songs of wings, chorus of footsteps

I would listen to the morning, and remember you
I would hope for the night, to see you again
When intimacy is a quest for forgiveness
Of all previous hardships, alas, I resign myself
To joys transfixed in pleasurable habits
To a new life of yearning and sweetness

The moon will glow like a white sleep
And our bodies will explore those lands hand-in-hand
You are the host in the paradise of heart
The spring wind that climbs over a dozen hills
Under the pillow of wild flowers, I see you with tulips
And imagine photographs of us over the course of years
A summons to the silent tongue of diviner years.

Taiwanese Summer, Part III

I am waiting for a train
In the land of poetry and devotion
You left me here, traversing
The comfort of your past, your body
Your artful thumping heart
A fresh and vivid scenery once again
Assaults my senses, making me alive
Elongating my faith in nature
Like a strip of melons, ripe beans
Food of beauty, in the land of marriage
There were times when, I never believed
I would be a passenger in beauty
You say you only read classical poems
With the classics open on my lap
I want the purity of sky looks shattered
The traffic jam of trees, music, salt
I want the forest’s growing reliability
That only dies as part of her growth
I am waiting for a train
In the land of poetry and devotion
You who look more radiant than ever
A same dream with a plum flower
The pink hope of being reborn again
A total eclipse of the Moon and the Heart
At the dock of the riverbank, I smile
At how our eyes sparkle just to say goodbye.

Taiwanese Summer, Part II

You are my satin luxury
My wreathed world of delightful foods
The world’s exterior beauty
Lives in your heart like the wind’s passage
I feel your living virtues
Fuel of better futures, taller tales

I revere all things beautiful
The inner wealth where comfort is derived
the Spring Blossom of green-tea hope!
The health that love multiplies
A purity of mind when safety intervenes
We do not drink along now, but in the meeting room

Of one life to another, one flock coming together
You are my June of deeper shades
I feel that you could reach my depths
That I am a bit more shriveled every year
Who cares, it’s deep emotion that I live for

The Tea Temple of soul and beauty
Where good spirits congregate
The happy lament of a colossal poem
Clean, pure, lucid and strong
You are my living treasure of a thousand years.

Ode to a Taiwanese Summer


Finally standing before you
I won’t confer titles or drop labels
But I know, you bestow grace
In little incidents, that service
Is blinking in my chest
As for me, a simple man
That wants a love to last a lifetime
I want to pass down the years
With one capital heart of love
Finally standing before you
Since you turned up unexpectedly
I had been preparing a path for you
When began one sunny day
We hadn’t yet found a common vocabulary
But you dreamt of me last night
Preparing me for monogamy
And the endless summer quickly came to us
Finally standing before you
You are a hidden orchid in my rib-cage
A thick concealed rose on a high hill
A floating fragrance of your beautiful subtle song
Light knots in nights without you.

Photography Credit:

The Male Myth of Success

Let fame never find genius
And love fuel crazy sacrifice
Who nameless died attacking
For a cause forgotten, that’s a funny truth
That men specialize
For imaginary battles
That may mean nothing
For posterity, but the simple
Games of boyish dreams
Tons of bronze, statuses buried in the Sea
A kind of prostitution, to inferiority
You said it was rocket fuel
An inconsolable force to drive us on
I called it my survival-mode
My leap before looking
Of the few things I loved.


I can’t carry the grand piano
Downstairs without a partner
I can’t do it, I won’t, do it
I want to be boundlessly rich
In spirit, with a partner
My best friend, who can draw
Out a smile, even a half-smile
And in company revelling
A half-night expand
To a year full of good nights
And no goodbyes, give me
Fifteen rubies for all the times
I will be able to say ‘I love you’
I want the impossible
I want a bride like Clara
A questioner like Jackie
I can’t carry the past alone
I wasn’t built for staying up late.

Advice from Creation

That strange flower, the sun
Just gave me word that
The world that I know is an illusion
She descended in robes of purple
To tell me in the loneliest air
That I am the listener of time

I watch it like a dance of a few leaves
Like a metaphor of giving reality
Its purpose, informing singularity
That strange flower, the sun
Gave me lessons in probability
The speed of light, fictive music

Most near, most clear exuberance
Heat, the clearest of blooms
The flame and swan-song that separates summers
From each other, like silver sprinkles
Of a few hundred dawns
That strange flower, the sun
Told me our imperfections were wrought
By common thoughts, and repeated actions.

Book of Midnight


The book of moonlight is not written yet
After midnight, I hear the thunder and rain
Lapsing between its clap
I am no longer alone
I partake in the lunar fire
Of meditating wakefulness
Before sleep, the lull of white tigers
How many poems did I deny myself
In a lover’s arms, an emanation of unity
Moonlight was an evasion
As was love, as was art, as was literature
I lived for the stroke after midnight
The touch of a delicate air
A vessel inwards of my spiritual nakedness
The poetic hero without palms
An inner minstrel of reincarnated prayers.

Photography Credit:

On Essential Matters

I am not alluding to the ‘lost generations’
So much has changed of what it means to be lost
Long live the people of prosperity
Who sacrifice freedom, for the power of superiority

Maybe they see life differently
Act more decisively, set more goals
While dewdrops moisten my emptiness and loneliness
After prayers in the snow, that went unanswered

I am not typical of my generation
So much has changed from East to West
My longings have grown and been crushed
Like dozens of times, a broken-heart gone unanswered

The twinkling of stars do not care
There is no Eastern River to sail down, where I live
The tea is cold, my true love is only inside
A Shepherd of my soul that I sometimes hear

Sometimes after, sometimes ahead of hope
This silver frosty world is like transient snow
Laughable as we find the problems of history
There is no road for you but the essential matter
Where do you place your heart, and what do you count?

An Era Of Clandestine Golden Coins

These days we see it differently
The ambiance of the sun is spotting
She is bleeding afternoons differently
Like a dove’s flight in a countryside late afternoon
The pictures are about breeze

In the city with an empty stomach
Always aching for the frequency of nature
It’s a heathen country, to be born in Beijing
The drinking waters’ contents are secret to us
Chancing to query at the impossible odds

I ask for directions, in a direction-less world
With only the scripts they give us
These days I see it differently
When am I to find the higher way
When the world is a sold-out search engine

It reminds me of death, the corporate-system
These people will be replaced with clones
And will not know the difference, believing
Themselves to be unique, it’s a different genealogy
I know more kinsman left by love unconditionally

Their lives a routine of pre-defined conditions
Everyone has become a fill-in, like migrant workers
Beautiful women barter the calendar of every day.

Orphans of Asia

May 22, 2013

The orphan of Asia is crying in the wind
She is this young, not old any more
Lost with the new age at her heels
Nobody cares to play fair with her
She must find her own literacy
In games of power and pitfalls of fortune
Create her own ideology of feminism
Dreaming of bananas, pineapples and freedom
Dancing in the street, a new order of consciousness
She is a kingdom of honey-sweet sugar
A pragmatism of following ancient ingenuity
The orphan of Asia is a sleek mistress of the west
Parody of the Earth, song-mother of empires
Out of Africa, home of the first-settlers
How large is your opportunity
Why else would you be smiling? India? China?
The orphan of Asia has Japanese wings
Singaporean inclinations, Taiwanese wise-sayings
The orphan of Asia practices many religions, and none
She does not sleep in her mother’s arms
Everybody tries to take her favorite toys
Lips of forgotten genius, voice of new originality
Pakistan, Malaysian, Indonesia
The orphan of Asia is crying in the wind
Still remaining muddled, trapped, a lost kitten
Under the weight of a terrifying World Government
In place before the outer signs are seen
Your air still sneezes intellectual adolescence
Your spirituality has been banished by your politicians
Your soil still stinks of colonial dictators
Your education still forces you to betray yourselves
What nationalistic statements can save you from yourself?

Thunderbolt Woman


You flash in my life
Like golden lightning singing
A thunder from a fiercer sun
That rides the afternoons
Impatient to germinate
Dormant for a while
You move into me
Like a theory of everything
Transpersonal in the sexual
The inner nature of union
Symbol of so many things
You flash in my life
Like a light from some distant corner
A companion of straight fields
And lines of roses with so strong a fragrance
I am nearly floored
You stand firm
Between my Heaven and Earth
Talented in translating
The festivity of the ancients.

Photography Credits:

At the Persistence of Nature

The sky must have a gentle
Bosom of a mother
The river must be the sweet
Flute of a sister
Broad enough is the fresh blood
That time brings, like waves
Of grace and personalities
Even in the harshest months
Of defeat and friendship-poverty
I feel the trees gliding into the wind
The rock hitting the light
Each season breathing life
Never having asked to be born
Just like me, just like how I love!
You didn’t ask for an ungrateful husband
He just argued with you
Like a blue star out of place in the Cosmos.

Morning Breaker

Dawn breaks amid desperate acts
The cries of loneliness
Gone are the flowers of poetry

Survival beckons in love-making
The bohemian morning
At Nature’s lips

Her pussy lips fall into place
Before the sun’s large eyes
Cries glory on the bed

Morning, like an upturned gem
Smiling out the door
Someone whispers goodbye to me

My heart is firm with reverence
For the woman who let me into her bed
Slow is the drip of hope

Safe is the faith of loving
Like a hunger and a satiety
That always returns to the same bowl.

Search for an Olive Tree

Do not ask where I come from
I am from the heart of all people
In the distant place is my hometown
Where everybody comes from
I have loved

Why roam about needlessly?
Love and a simple life are enough for me
As birds flying in the sky
As moon lingering in any century
Do not ask where I come from
I follow the footsteps

Of my deepest nature
I am from the heart of all people
Sharing the languages of body and culture
Where everybody is the same
I have loved
For the olive tree is the dream
The dream is the symbol
For so many special things.

Hunting Athena

I’ve listened to you
Like the sound of
A window opening
At the apex of Spring

I smelled your fragrances
Like your body that craved to be touched
I’ve listened for your whispers
Like the sound of the Sea

There are dunes where your
Breasts begin, and your nipples finish
I drive the boat of dreams
I listen for the sound of your

Quiet and faster breathing
I carried your longing in my loins
To capture the heart of your claim
To make art, in small beginnings

To summon the roar of summer
You took me into your bed
With the clamour of our hearts
We made old music, begin again

I’ve listened to you
Like a harp of ancient times
Night is growing a storm’s touch
In your embrace, at midnight.

I Clutch Tightly to the Blurring of You

In that erroneous age, the twenties
I had such ‘illusions’
I lived with love
And made only art
Hoping I would be able to eat tomorrow

I never averted my eyes
From rainbows and fountains
From women who seemed
In touch with a higher reality
Like a sweet heart

I buried my lips in the snow
Only to feel it melt in my spring
Then I turned thirty, and everything changed
I had only ‘poems’ to call my own

I lived alone
And made my heart
One with honeybees:
Honey looks different with age.

Selected Poem of Taiwan


The sunlight swears
Under her breath
Like sunspot flashes
That flicker against the sky
A tumult of faster than
The speed o flight

She returns her patch of little flowers
And cuts with diamonds
And her golden woozy smile
In the end, even the rocks below her
Will germinate, for she is fertile
Like the sandy beaches of a billion planets
The sunlight swears

Under her breath
A wet omen of things to come
Like ocean splashing
Thirst into the souls of creatures
That flowers there against the earths
A tumult of lightning faster

Than the growth of life
Between the sunlight and the tree-shadows
Your life passes like a falling branch
Softly ringing through the night
The forest is a dying place
A vivid film of your soul
Leaping in the moonlit filled wind.

Photography Credit:

Song of These Last Encounters

I have lost self to love
Permanently, now by this heart
Furled, in primitive ecstasy
My relationship with the world
Is now a suppliant violin’s moan

That drags itself to dovelet cooing
These moments are lucid gifts
Of touching and nearing
The broad brightness where self is forgotten
Pain lurking in an unknown smile

I have lost the bravery of battle
Against this harsher world
I have only whispered steps enshrined
Left to twist my path, a needlework
Of rustling greenery, I am not real

Life’s touch is an unflinching desire
I follow her narrow canal to the light
There I will consent to rest my head
On your womb, enter you heartlose on the scale
With lots of luck, songs of last encounters

I have lost self to love, cast adrift
In one-night stands of the dark house
Where lovers whisper “come die with me!”