In late sun, the river and hills are beautiful
In early sun, the sky and trees are beautiful
Spring & Autumn are filled with glory
The Mandarin ducks are sleeping

Beneath a thousand sunsets of the extraordinary
Each new human being witnesses
The elderly guest blankets us in calligraphy
A row of white birds against a night-sky

Eternity relives herself in children
In the eyes of the forming cerebral cortex
Whitewashed years pass with such speed
Lying on quilts and pillows for a

Brilliant mortality, what bamboo feasts await
Noise and exclamations, all point to the
Western sun once again, the nourished life
Sleeping Dragon, Leaping Horse

These are known to Taiwanese Fantine
The river of trembling stars casts its shadow
On her imagination, waiting for the day
When she will fill the low flat fields

With the strawberries of her imagination
I can prepare a morning meal for her wisdom
I know the dreams, she will heal the world
Her sight will soar to the morning pass.


(Ode to Nandine Gordimer)
Nadine Gordimer ‪#‎RIP‬


[She was called one of the great “guerrillas of the imagination” by the poet Seamus Heaney]

Dear poet, who said:
‘There is no moral authority
Like that of Sacrifice’
It was you, people give
One another things that can’t be
Gift-wrapped, how many lovers know

The gifts that were given freely
And now departed, it’s a power
Of something which I am convinced
There is no innocence this side of the womb
These pretty games we play for
A few wide altered years

Our truth isn’t always beautiful
It’s our hunger for it that makes us come alive
Passion is the fact of our lives
Those who say ‘I cannot live with someone
Who cannot live without me’
Know the secret, sociology will extract it
Slowly, like art buried

The Writer loses Eden, writes it to be read
By an unanswerable audience
Dear scribe, rest with those words
I should smile, to realize what is your answer.

WHEN WILL I be able to RETURN?


After the long escort, now we part
What mixes all the days together
Gifted us this human world of togetherness
Green mountains: sweet fragrance
In each region, you are eulogised and cherished
Divinity happy in the heart, in a world
Of water and crystal and tranquil space
Nature walked with me, I was never alone
Golden orioles flit across the beams
Walking by flowers that smile like poems
Bright cotton floats in the air, like summer-snow
By the river’s talents at dawn’s friendship
I face a mural of living grace, breathing pockets
Of the splendid incense of shinning water
Yellow and red dirt seems right at place there
Paths and trails, rosy dawns of new lives
How can I be upset to grasp what’s hot?
Summer, spring and autumn mix in me
Myriad blossoms press the branches low
How I admire the river’s blue, the bird a perfect white.



Swift wind, heaven high, summer’s cry of grief
The Golden sky’s water has fallen, autumn clouds
Approach, like a morning scene good and fine
The pear tree on the hill has little fed flowers
Seasons stir an endless shed of leaves
Summer frustrating into Autumn, whitening temples
Etched into temporary memory
For everything is temporary, I climb
The terrace alone, to abandon my cup
Of cloudy wine, the winds surge on
Many new ghosts cry to me, soon
The snow will dance in the whirling wind
To many places, communication will be broken
I will find myself in music such as only go to
The Heavens above, I will be not heard
And everything we spoke about last
Night under the moon will be forever not recorded
Through the gates I slowly walk to the end.