Verse: Is It Done and All?!

A short yet humorous piece.

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‘How much is this worth?’
‘Priceless.’
‘Is it done and all?’
‘Hard to say.’
‘What exactly is it for?’
‘Useless.’
‘You’re a wacko, you know.’
‘Well, you bet.’

Filed under: verse , humor, life, writing

A Musical Instrument by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A simple and sweet poem as this easily brings us right back to the very beginning of childhood, the time when we still are innocent and curious about our surroundings…

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What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.

‘This is the way,’ laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
‘The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.’
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, –
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.

Filed under: poet, poetry , childhood, classics, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, poem, poetry, spring

Verse: come mock me

A couple of days ago when I was checking out my deviantART messages, I saw someone put me in their watchlist, which is kind of rare so I have to know a bit more about this stranger. After a few seconds’ trip, I came to realize it’s all just a fraud!

This young lady only has 2 deviations, one is a rather poor drawing, and another one, which is also her deviantART ID, is a very large pic of her, with a pair of rather big eyes, thin pink lips and long blond hairdo. She has been a member for about 10 months, but got more than 20,000 page views, and tons of tons of comments at the right column, each stating that how glad they are for being added in watchlist , but none of which has been answered. i blocked this one immediately, I had to ’cause nothing disgusts me more than pretension, lies and frauds. People like them do nothing but harms to a creative communities like this, and what’s worse is that they even flatter themselves for being so smart and highly admired and praised by their ill behavior. But thanks to her, I had a bit of pleasure of sharing this story with you and compose a short verse as well. (read more.. )

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come mock me (I will)
mock me with your smile,
your eyes and fake generosity. (jealous?)

come tease me (I will)
tease me with your photo,
your hairdo and popularity. (I’m fabulous!)

people need people like you
to know the evils
and they also need you
to love themselves more and
shield themselves from your
smile, hairdo, (jealous?)
eyes, and photo. (I’m famous!)

Filed under: thoughts, verse , "human nature", fame, people, thought, vanity, verse, woman, writing

詩: 五點十分

花了些時間寫這作品為了參加個詩文比賽
可惜連個入圍的機會也沒 很少寫中文作品 但這篇至少有我想傳達的意念
至於韻味呢 留給你品嘗

I spent some time finishing this bad poem for a contest, with “Ocean, MRT and Happiness” as themes. Of course I didn’t make it to the TOP, I guess it’s because I rarely write in Chinese, at least it carries the emotion and thought I try to express. As for doing an English version? No way I’m capable of doing that without losing the beauty of Chinese language.

五點零二分 我還在等待
微糖少冰中杯的珍奶
五點零六分 我還走在
紛紛擾擾繁華的巷弄
紅光 綠燈 街角 轉身
你已站在出口那 五點零九分
列車班班 又準又快
我的焦慮與不安 只愁耗在那人擠人的冷飲站
你問 現在幾點了
我答 五點又十分

Filed under: poetry, thoughts, verse , Chinese, city, contest, 生活, emotion, 詩, life, love, people, poem, relationship, time, translation, 城市, 時間, 中文, 人

Verse: Jump and Run

Good thing that a chance visitor of my other blog reminds me that I have composed a nice little piece of verse like this. Thanks to Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll, I actually managed to write some nonsense myself, and part of fun is that you work really hard to pick the perfect words for the rhyme, kind of like playing tennis: you keep adjusting grips and stance so you can have that perfect swing awing and wowing your opponent and the audience game after game. This work is also a welcome alternative to my other work, Where are you going, Mr. Time.

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I long to jump, I wanna run
To be far away from my mom,
And out of sight of that stupid town
That deprives me of so much fun.

I’ve got to run, I have jumped
As high and wild as none has done.
If you are the next to come,
My foot will send you to the ground.

See how great it is to jump and run?
Better try it as soon as you can.
The time is running and has gone,
Mercy aint’ granted for guys in tombs.

Filed under: verse , Edward Lear, humor, kid-friendly, Lewis Carroll, nonsense, time, verse, writing

Poetry: A View In the Autumn Afternoon

From time to time I would feel this compelling, instant urge to write something down, and that’s how I finished this poem, roughly in 8 to 10 minutes, while sitting on the bench in the park, alone, and revised a bit in a restaurant with 2 guys who kept talking about dirty business sitting next to me.

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Through the narrow space between the leaves,
A tiny yellow butterfly can be seen
Dancing, flowing here and there casually
In the forest made up of golden light and trees.
She ain’t like a busy worker as bees,
But enjoys herself playfully, so care-free -
An innocent act that arouses common jealousy
Of abundant leaves that overlook everything beneath.
Some of them have grown quite impatient, ready
To take the advantage of the passing breeze.
So they start rustling, whirling, falling with joy,
To imitate that graceful dancer in perfect togetherness,
Till they all hit the ground, as fast as can be,
And leave that lonely dancer, still dancing casually.

Filed under: poetry , "human nature", autumn, butterfly, jealousy, metaphor, nature, poem, poetry, verse, visual, writing

Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti

Since my previous poem is about traveling, naturally I can’t pretend it wasn’t inspired by one of my old-time favorites, Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti, which has this sort of unknown magic within that it makes me reread it over and over. In this poem, Rossetti adopts a simple strategy – conversation – between two men, one is full of doubts and questions, the other is a Mr. Know-It-All. The charm begins with the road winding up-hill all the way, and it ends with beds – the ultimate, universal symbol of comfort and death – that wait for all who seek and come.

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Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

Filed under: poetry, writers , Christina Rossetti, classics, death, peotry, reading, Writer, writing

Where are you going, Mr. Time

It’s my ode to childhood and memory. I’m aware that the rhythm isn’t smooth enough, but hey, says who I’m a master! I could have explained a bit about this work, but that would be like writing in prose based on the same theme.

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Hello Mr. Time, where are you going?
None of your business, my boy,
Please stay out of my way.
Who goes as well may I ask?
With Miss River as my company.

Hello Miss River, why are you in such a hurry?
To go back home, for sure,
Where I have left long long time ago.
Is it some place that I know?
Sea is its name, Ocean is another.

Hello Big Ocean, glad to meet you eventually.
Too bad I’m leaving as I’ve planned.
In fact I never stay at a single place.
Are you alone on your trip, that’ll be sad.
It’s a journey with friends, but no end.

Filed under: poetry , childhood, friendship, melancholy, memory, nature, ocean, poetry, sea, time, travel, verse, writing

Poetry: Perfume

Like C’mon, this work was finished when I was stuck in a really bad mood. It reflects a bit of my personal experience, which isn’t always good for some imaginary work though.

Let the Perfume touch me
As it always wants to
But it’s my bare hand that holds it
A bottle filled with smelly liquid.

It’s not you who approaches me
(Have you ever wanted to?)
But it’s the cursed nature of physics
Busying itself with a sorrowful fool.

Filed under: poetry , love, melancholy, peotry, perfume, relationship, writing

Poetry: C’mon

Certainly anyone who actually writes can’t avoid Love as a subject, but for sex, that’s definitely something I manage to neglect. Today I made an exception. Though the metaphor (or the evil intention) isn’t quite explicit, I hope you, as a reader, won’t feel offended.

“C’mon” never has an inviting tone,
Never is an inviting hint you employ.
Silly is just another word you love,
As if you play with hearts like they’re toy.

Come a bit closer My sweet Judy,
My loving, my tender, adorable dove.
So much fun and joy I save for thee,
Come enjoy them as you’ve never known.

Filed under: poetry , crime, evil, love, metaphor, poetry, relationship, sex, teenager, writing