My Poems
“Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow.” —A.P.J. Abdul Kalam
|
The Longest Journey
Huajun Wu
Under the silver lining of the dark clouds,
you stroll around the azure lake,
in the dappled shade of cycamore trees,
you walk along the babbling brook,
while gentle summer breeze rustles through the leaves,
you jog in a tranquil park,
when honeysuckle smells the sweetest,
with flaming flowers that brightly spark,
you dance until you feel dizzy in the blooming garden,
life tastes like the aroma of a vintage wine,
stored in the cellar for decades,
it is the melody that rings in your ears,
plucking your heart string in the tedious days,
it is the shooting star across the heaven,
setting fire to the drifting clouds,
when the first ray of morning light penetrates the shield of night,
you wake up to the smell of freshly baked croissant,
you step on the grass bare-footed,
with the pearly dew kissing your toes,
when you watch the sun setting on the rosy horizon,
when you sit down together under the golden moon by the gleaming river,
listening to two hearts sing the same joyful song,
when your eyes lock on that fateful moment,
your paths cross again,
on the longest journey of love.
Why Not Write a Poem
-Huajun Wu
What happens when swamp witches are caught in a car?
Why does a lone leaf cling stubbornly on the branch in the snow storm?
Ask Ian, the writer of these poems about his life moments.
His poems are both simple and deep, close and far, sweet and bitter,
Every line seems to be plucking my heart string.
Who says only the most philosophical mind can create?
Mitchel Resnick protests: give little-c creativity a chance!
Who says poems are rainbows on the farthest horizon?
Ian writes poems about kitchen, driving and tea and they are so inspiring.
Courses, clubs, deadlines, projects,
appointments, opportunities, relationships, dollars,
Hustle and bustle of our life,
Ambitions to make a difference to the world.
While we dive into the rush to catch the express train to the American dream,
Have we fallen victim to the chase of our goals?
Why not pause for five minutes to observe, ponder and read a poem,
And create one of your own?
(Inspired by Ian Hochberg’s poems)
-Huajun Wu
What happens when swamp witches are caught in a car?
Why does a lone leaf cling stubbornly on the branch in the snow storm?
Ask Ian, the writer of these poems about his life moments.
His poems are both simple and deep, close and far, sweet and bitter,
Every line seems to be plucking my heart string.
Who says only the most philosophical mind can create?
Mitchel Resnick protests: give little-c creativity a chance!
Who says poems are rainbows on the farthest horizon?
Ian writes poems about kitchen, driving and tea and they are so inspiring.
Courses, clubs, deadlines, projects,
appointments, opportunities, relationships, dollars,
Hustle and bustle of our life,
Ambitions to make a difference to the world.
While we dive into the rush to catch the express train to the American dream,
Have we fallen victim to the chase of our goals?
Why not pause for five minutes to observe, ponder and read a poem,
And create one of your own?
(Inspired by Ian Hochberg’s poems)
Balloons in the Tree
Where do you come from?
Colorful balloons caught on the bare branches.
I am shivering like a withered leaf,
You are brightly blazing against the clear azure sky.
When do you start this journey?
How long have you been wandering?
Do you feel homesick?
Or are your happy to let go of your past?
Who set you free to pursue your dream?
How did they feel when they watched you climb higher,
Become a tiny dot and emerge with the clouds?
What is the hope or message tied to your strings?
What worlds have you seen?
Have you seen wild geese fly with the wings on the moon,
Grey squirrels frolic on the golden trails shaking their bushy tail.
Have you heard the last joyful song of the summer breeze,
The sound of the chilly rain on a forest road?
The glee of the excited boy when the first snow flake falls on the tip of his nose.
Are you tired of drifting?
Why did you choose to rest on this very tree at the crossroads?
Is it worth to wait days and nights
For someone to take a glance at you
On this fateful day?
Where do you come from?
Colorful balloons caught on the bare branches.
I am shivering like a withered leaf,
You are brightly blazing against the clear azure sky.
When do you start this journey?
How long have you been wandering?
Do you feel homesick?
Or are your happy to let go of your past?
Who set you free to pursue your dream?
How did they feel when they watched you climb higher,
Become a tiny dot and emerge with the clouds?
What is the hope or message tied to your strings?
What worlds have you seen?
Have you seen wild geese fly with the wings on the moon,
Grey squirrels frolic on the golden trails shaking their bushy tail.
Have you heard the last joyful song of the summer breeze,
The sound of the chilly rain on a forest road?
The glee of the excited boy when the first snow flake falls on the tip of his nose.
Are you tired of drifting?
Why did you choose to rest on this very tree at the crossroads?
Is it worth to wait days and nights
For someone to take a glance at you
On this fateful day?
The Hat
The boy tinkered with his hat,
Folded it into a triangle,
Put it on, grinned and proudly announced that he was a Mongolian.
An idea struck.
I said let’s play a game.
Name ten ways you could use this hat.
He said no, shaking his index finger like a movie star.
I had to use my secret weapon of persuasion.
How about a donut?
He eyes shone mysterious lights and immediately started counting.
This is my boy
Who will jump into a herd of killer whales for a donut.
Put your hands in,
It is a glove.
Put your feet in,
It is a sock.
Speaking of sock,
When Santa Claus runs out of socks,
He could use a hat instead.
When you are cold,
You can burn it to keep warm.
When you want to take a quick nap,
The hat is a soft pillow.
Pull the hat down to cover your eyes,
You could play hide-and-seek.
Wrap it around the wine bottle,
You could go traveling without the fragile label.
Cut two holes,
It can be used as an underwear.
But then who would wear it?
Savages, I guess?
Finally he said,
If it is a green hat, it could be fold into a Christmas tree.
A green hat to decorate the house for the whole family reunion?
What an idea!
Should I tell him about the expression “wearing a green hat”?
Which is the nightmare for all Chinese men.
Not be so haste.
For children,
Innocence is their widsom,
Simplicity is their tree house,
Some stories are better left untold when the time is right.
Let the boy play and dream in his happy Neverland.
(“wearing a green hat” is an expression that Chinese use when a woman cheats on her husband or boyfriend.)
The boy tinkered with his hat,
Folded it into a triangle,
Put it on, grinned and proudly announced that he was a Mongolian.
An idea struck.
I said let’s play a game.
Name ten ways you could use this hat.
He said no, shaking his index finger like a movie star.
I had to use my secret weapon of persuasion.
How about a donut?
He eyes shone mysterious lights and immediately started counting.
This is my boy
Who will jump into a herd of killer whales for a donut.
Put your hands in,
It is a glove.
Put your feet in,
It is a sock.
Speaking of sock,
When Santa Claus runs out of socks,
He could use a hat instead.
When you are cold,
You can burn it to keep warm.
When you want to take a quick nap,
The hat is a soft pillow.
Pull the hat down to cover your eyes,
You could play hide-and-seek.
Wrap it around the wine bottle,
You could go traveling without the fragile label.
Cut two holes,
It can be used as an underwear.
But then who would wear it?
Savages, I guess?
Finally he said,
If it is a green hat, it could be fold into a Christmas tree.
A green hat to decorate the house for the whole family reunion?
What an idea!
Should I tell him about the expression “wearing a green hat”?
Which is the nightmare for all Chinese men.
Not be so haste.
For children,
Innocence is their widsom,
Simplicity is their tree house,
Some stories are better left untold when the time is right.
Let the boy play and dream in his happy Neverland.
(“wearing a green hat” is an expression that Chinese use when a woman cheats on her husband or boyfriend.)
Not Embarrassed Any More
Dusk falls on the enchanted water,
He feels like the prince,
Who watches with eyes wide open,
When the swan with the crown turns into a beautiful princess,
How happily he dances on the Swan Lake.
Cool winds go through under the wings,
He feels like Son of Daedalus,
Flapping his wooden wings above the clouds,
Too excited about the magic power of flying,
To notice the melting wax,
How happily he dances in the sky.
Hakuna Matata, Hakuna Matata,
Gentle waves and warm sands on your bare feet,
With heavy decorations of bracelets and skirts of fresh leaves,
He feels like a Hawaiian warrior with paint on his face,
How happily he dances around the campfire on the beach.
Stars winkles in the spiral milky way,
Against the deep-blue night sky,
On a romantic summer night,
He feels like the wild jazz pianist,
In the dreamy world of La la land,
Holding the hand of his beloved girl,
How happily he dances in the City of Stars.
Who is the awkward but excited dancer?
A six grader, Jonathan.
Every time you try to take a picture of him,
He is making a funny face,
And he shouts: “No cameras allowed!”
Tonight He walked out of his comfort zone and stared dancing,
Inviting me to take a video of him,
Without the slightest idea of the usual embarrassment.
You know why?
The email says,
“Due to snow,
The school will be closed tomorrow.”
That certainly calls for a celebration,
In the most inelegant way.
Dusk falls on the enchanted water,
He feels like the prince,
Who watches with eyes wide open,
When the swan with the crown turns into a beautiful princess,
How happily he dances on the Swan Lake.
Cool winds go through under the wings,
He feels like Son of Daedalus,
Flapping his wooden wings above the clouds,
Too excited about the magic power of flying,
To notice the melting wax,
How happily he dances in the sky.
Hakuna Matata, Hakuna Matata,
Gentle waves and warm sands on your bare feet,
With heavy decorations of bracelets and skirts of fresh leaves,
He feels like a Hawaiian warrior with paint on his face,
How happily he dances around the campfire on the beach.
Stars winkles in the spiral milky way,
Against the deep-blue night sky,
On a romantic summer night,
He feels like the wild jazz pianist,
In the dreamy world of La la land,
Holding the hand of his beloved girl,
How happily he dances in the City of Stars.
Who is the awkward but excited dancer?
A six grader, Jonathan.
Every time you try to take a picture of him,
He is making a funny face,
And he shouts: “No cameras allowed!”
Tonight He walked out of his comfort zone and stared dancing,
Inviting me to take a video of him,
Without the slightest idea of the usual embarrassment.
You know why?
The email says,
“Due to snow,
The school will be closed tomorrow.”
That certainly calls for a celebration,
In the most inelegant way.
I Thought I knew You
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Building sand castles under the maple tree in those sunny afternoons,
Collecting strawberries on the meadow dotted with wildflowers,
Catching water bugs under the pebbles of a jewel-blue stream,
Walking in the gentle drizzle through the pine forest,
When you are young,
You love nature and adore all her secrets.
You say,
“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Your sister declares the most beautiful rosebush in the garden belong to you,
Because she has so much fun playing the game you invent.
You sent your brothers chocolate,
Take him on a walk to the mill and buy him a glass of milk,
You make a pledge to carry each others’ parcel.
A life-long brotherhood is forged and you become companions in fate.
You take care of your mom when you are struggling with disease of your own,
You tell your brother to name his child after your father,
To make your mom happy.
You say,
“Even if the world is the greatest school,
Family was the ABC for it.”
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
You has hardly any money for the rest of the month,
But you use most of it to buy some rolls for a starving dirty dog.
You gives away most of your clothes to those who need them more,
Leaving yourself with little to wear, none of it clean.
You borrow money to take the train,
Walk for ten miles in the dark on foot,
Just to say goodbye to an old neighbor who is dying,
Saying visiting him and his family is the right thing to do.
When your life is as dark as an unlit coal mine,
You are still doing something for others at your own expense.
“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
You say.
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Do you remember the instruction book with sixty male figures?
You copy them over and over again,
The whole book four times.
You always say you have to make up for the lost time,
Because you start this journey so late.
You always say you have to keep on making what you can’t do yet,
In order to learn to be able to do it.
In a struggle of ten years,
You created two thousand pieces of artwork.
You are a genius,
But you also paint with your life.
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”
You say.
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
You are passionate about books,
You say this is because writers look at things
In a broader, milder and more affectionate way than you do,
And because they know life better,
So that you can learn from them.
You writes and thinks like a poet.
Beautiful words flow under your pen,
In more than eight hundred letters you write,
You say,
“The heart of man is very much like the sea,
It has its storms, it has its tides,
And in its depths it has its pearls too.”
When the almond blossom sighs and falls,
When the swirling clouds and violet haze mourns and fades,
When the fierce sea stops roaring and the tide retreats,
When the starlight dims and the Rhone river no longer glimmers,
When the amble wheat shakes their heads and wipes away the tears,
And look into the bloody setting sun with gloomy eyes,
You walk out of the prison of your hurting mind,
A poor fighter and poor sufferer,
Eventually surrender to the loneliness, guilt, frustration, misery and pain.
The whole world is saddened by the loss.
Like the Starry Night,
The sadness will last for ever.
(Inspired by Vincent and Theo by Deborah Heiligman)
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Building sand castles under the maple tree in those sunny afternoons,
Collecting strawberries on the meadow dotted with wildflowers,
Catching water bugs under the pebbles of a jewel-blue stream,
Walking in the gentle drizzle through the pine forest,
When you are young,
You love nature and adore all her secrets.
You say,
“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Your sister declares the most beautiful rosebush in the garden belong to you,
Because she has so much fun playing the game you invent.
You sent your brothers chocolate,
Take him on a walk to the mill and buy him a glass of milk,
You make a pledge to carry each others’ parcel.
A life-long brotherhood is forged and you become companions in fate.
You take care of your mom when you are struggling with disease of your own,
You tell your brother to name his child after your father,
To make your mom happy.
You say,
“Even if the world is the greatest school,
Family was the ABC for it.”
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
You has hardly any money for the rest of the month,
But you use most of it to buy some rolls for a starving dirty dog.
You gives away most of your clothes to those who need them more,
Leaving yourself with little to wear, none of it clean.
You borrow money to take the train,
Walk for ten miles in the dark on foot,
Just to say goodbye to an old neighbor who is dying,
Saying visiting him and his family is the right thing to do.
When your life is as dark as an unlit coal mine,
You are still doing something for others at your own expense.
“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
You say.
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
Do you remember the instruction book with sixty male figures?
You copy them over and over again,
The whole book four times.
You always say you have to make up for the lost time,
Because you start this journey so late.
You always say you have to keep on making what you can’t do yet,
In order to learn to be able to do it.
In a struggle of ten years,
You created two thousand pieces of artwork.
You are a genius,
But you also paint with your life.
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”
You say.
I thought I knew you, but I don’t.
You are passionate about books,
You say this is because writers look at things
In a broader, milder and more affectionate way than you do,
And because they know life better,
So that you can learn from them.
You writes and thinks like a poet.
Beautiful words flow under your pen,
In more than eight hundred letters you write,
You say,
“The heart of man is very much like the sea,
It has its storms, it has its tides,
And in its depths it has its pearls too.”
When the almond blossom sighs and falls,
When the swirling clouds and violet haze mourns and fades,
When the fierce sea stops roaring and the tide retreats,
When the starlight dims and the Rhone river no longer glimmers,
When the amble wheat shakes their heads and wipes away the tears,
And look into the bloody setting sun with gloomy eyes,
You walk out of the prison of your hurting mind,
A poor fighter and poor sufferer,
Eventually surrender to the loneliness, guilt, frustration, misery and pain.
The whole world is saddened by the loss.
Like the Starry Night,
The sadness will last for ever.
(Inspired by Vincent and Theo by Deborah Heiligman)