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Archive for the ‘Books’ Category

Reading materials

In a bookstore,

or a library,

a wide range of books,

poetry,

drama,

essays,

fiction,

interpreting,

(more…)

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Tower

A tower stands on a hill,
an appearance so resplendent,
a collection of stories,
of thousands of generations,
painstakingly enshrined within it,
the clouds shelter it from the storm,
passionately,
the harp-like laurel tree praises it,
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Review

Opening up,

a history,

turning,

boiling hot pages,

texts like snowflakes,

drifting,

building up thick,

a time left behind,

in the terraced field of the past,

repeating,

clutched in the palm,

imprinted in the heart,

stories and days engraved,

years repeating,

in the massive tome,

one story,

one theme,

colors of springtime,

in the garden,

can’t fence the episodes in,

stocked up,

in the barn,

of time,

that place,

it has too many wonderfulness,

stories planted with unbroken rain,

ground into,

splashing review,

the crop of past memories,

like a green-colored castle,

landing,

the ocean in the heart,

all meteorites,

are lurking,

metamorphosing,

into stars,

igniting the fire in a dream,

helping the stories,

up the stairs,

the flowing days are,

in the photos of memory,

tossing and turning,

the cool moonlight,

so pretty,

so pretty,

a handful of stars,

for you,

for me.

Island

Under the cloak of night,
with a coat covered with wind and rain,
he dived,
while the lake was calm,
under the guidance of moonlight,
believing,
it would take him to a mysterious island,
trying to sink,
could’t help sinking,
breathing,
the last vestiges of strength,
here,
a huge mysterious island emerging,
astonished,
infinite mystery,
closer,
gradually clearer,
embracing,
heavy or ethereal,
magic,
a metaphor for a mysterious surprise,
finally,
arrived.

The One Ring

The magic ring you gave me,

youngness that can’t be read,

the undead at the bottom of the Tigris,

scrambling for the chalice i stole for you,

biting and swallowing,

the fine wine of a millennium,

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Poetsmith

Crimson lights
like burning fire
the furnace
calcining the library
boiling heat transfer,
smelting the inky night,
the poetsmith,
melted,
painstaking efforts,
helping the combustion
linking the night
with the self
forging
a poem
just like
the water-washed dawn
jumping out of
the heart of the river.

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