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In Search

The chrysanthemum is vexed by the mist;

The orchid weeps in the dew.

Behind the gauze curtain,the air is cool.

A pair f swallows flies away.

Knowing not the bitter taste of separation,

Then slanting moonlight lingers 

Till down at the vermilion door.

Last night the west wind 

Withered the green trees.

Alone I climbed the high pavilion,

Gazing at the distant road 

Vanishing into the horizon.

I long to send you a letter 

But I have no colored paper.

Oh where,past the endless 

Mountains and rivers,are you?

A Field View

At dusk with eastern shore in view

I loiter, but where can I go?

Tree on tree tinted with autumn hue;

Hill on hill steeped in sunset glow.

But where can I go?

The Firefly

You shed a flickering light;

Your wings are weak in flight.

Afraid to be unknown,

At night you gleam alone.

The Cicada

Drunk with fresh dew

Your trill will flow

From'mid the sparse parasol trees

Rising high,for you voice will go

Not on the wings of autumn breeze

A Pledge

By heaven

I shall love you

To the end of time!

Till mountains crumble

Streams run dry

Thunder rumbles in winter

Snow falls in summer

And the earth mingles with the sky

Not till then will I cease to love you!

Class Anthology

The Unspoken Farewell

Feather.

She whispers, lightly, almost soundless.

She can feel the pain all at once, at the edge of despondence and hopelessness.

A deep empty hollow inside her heart opens up like an abloom flower.

It becomes bigger and bigger, dragging her down to the inferno.

Feather. Feather.

She wants to call, as if the best tranquillizer to thwart her collapsing soul.

And regardless of any attempt, she was inept of making any sound.

She feels like a trapped jailbird, wrecked and torn and lashed myriad times.

She wants to go home, along the littoral,

where Feather used to belong, where they longed for an eternal pacific.

Then the pain arose to galvanize:

She has lost him, her very Feather. That gorgeous and pallid angel.

Feather. Feather.

She shrieks.

            Time&Age

It is almost as hard for friends to meet

As for the morning and evening stars

Tonight then is a rare event

Joining in the candlelight

Two men who were young not long ago

But now are turning grey at the temples

...To find that half our friends are dead

Shock us

Burn our hearts with grief

We little guessed it would be twenty years

Before I could visit you again

When I went away

You were still unmarried

But now these boys and girls in a row are 

Very kind to their father's old friend

They ask me where I have been on my journey

And then

When we have talked awhile

They bring and show me wines and dishes

Spring chives cut in the night-rain

And brown rice cooked freshly a special way

...My host proclaims it a festival

He urges me to drink ten cups—

But what ten cups could make me as drunk

As I always am with your love in my heart?

...Tomorrow the mountain will separate us

After tomorrow who can say?

Room number 441

Fall arrives early and the Dhillthyston Medical College is shrouded in sheer eeriness.

It is only October yet the fallen leaves cover the ground all over the school regardless of countless sweep. Flakes of withered leaves lament over their break away from their mothering tree, before helplessly falling to the ground to immerse in the mud, and then disintegrate and rot. Those Arborvitae trees that were once full of vigour appear despirited, as if they have suddenly become old-aged.

The night is long and dusky. Dark clouds scud across the sky like wild horses; and a sudden violent gust of spooky wind blows the shredded leaves in constant swirl.

Room number 441 in the girls’ dormitory.

Silence. Complete silence.

"Hah－"then a sudden light gasp utters out of Cloris’ mouth. The girl wakes up from a strange dream. There she encountered a man, who donned a ghastly smile, and had eyes like the surface of a lake in a murky bleak night, ominously dark and alluring with a peculiar green glow.

She sits up, uncovers her furry blanket and steps towards the window to inhale some fresh air. The autumn air already carries a bit of chilliness, which helps clear up her blurred mind from the dream.

Unable to go back to sleep, Cloris sits down in front of her computer and presses the keys at random. The bright screen light immediately emanates into her eyes. She blinks a few times.

A MSN message with a name she does not recognize suddenly pops up－

It's time...Come, I'm behind you.

It must be one of those silly tricks that senseless people over the Internet play, she thinks. But Cloris can't help feeling tense with an immediate ghostly chill, as though an icy finger has touched her spine.

She turns her head and unexpectedly sees the face of the man in her dream, magnified to such extent that she thinks she can literally feel his breath. The air at this point is so rarefied, and Cloris almost feels suffocation with her heart pounding to the point of breaking out of her ribcage.

Then, for some reason, fear stops seizing her.

She suddenly feels that his eyes glow with the depth of universal love, as though they cast off stardust as a diamond casts light and then smoulders. They have a certain undefinable green sparkle to them, making Cloris feel as if she has been enchanted by a spell.

She questions herself——

What's my name again?

But nothing matters anymore as the man reaches out to touch the tender edge of Cloris’ hand. He leads her towards the balcony, and embraces her into his icy chest.

Then...he pulls her over the edge of the window.

And they fall.

The Temple

Above the town, on the hill brow, the temple used to stand.

My recollection of the place is still intact, and still very vivid, as if it is the event of yesterday. I recall that in the vicinity of the temple was nothing but bleakness and desolation. The area seemed uninhabited, with sapless leaves swirling in the violent gust of wind.

The weather was not in its amiable mood, dark clouds scudded across the sky like wild horses. Between times were some frail birds quivering their wings, singing some rather dismal melody, and then flew across the horizon.

I was carrying a huge mountain bag on the back and a camera in my hand.

I trod each step warily and soon entered the courtyard of the temple which shrouded in murkiness from the view outside. Then, as unbelievably as it could be, once I stepped inside, something extraordinarily strange happened.

The atmosphere in the courtyard was poles apart from the outside, as if a door had split it into two worlds. Wherever my gaze touched emanated gleams rendered with life, without even a slightest degree of gloominess, even though all the architectures were mainly in somewhat dull red and gold.

I stand in front of the chimney-like structure made of bricks, where candles and joss paper were located to offer sacrifices to the gods and ancestors, and worshiped my gods.

Along the two sides of the temple in the courtyard stand two erect Bodhi trees. They must have afforded many people an excellent shade to enjoy the cool.

I than stepped inside and immediately scented a peculiar fragrance of Scandalwood almost ubiquitous in the temples. It was a woodiness smell with an acrid, almost vanilla-like sweetness to it.

Meanwhile, the deep rhythematic tapping sound of a wooden fish(a Buddhist prcussion instrument made of a hollow wooden block) along with the chanting of scriptures disrupted the silence. I found myself completely indulged in this peaceful melody that touched the greatest depth of my heart.

My eyes left from the monk who was tapping on the wooden fish, and fixated on the golden Buddha statue. I felt enlightened inside out, and currents of ardency and calmness lingered within my body and soul.

I slowly closed my eyes, and be immersed in meditation.

Making a book

Found item turned into a poem-"a painting"

Long,long,the path to cold hill;

Drear,drear,the waterside so chill.

Chirp,chirp,I often hear the bird;

Mute,mute,nobody says a word.

Gust by gust winds caress my face;

Flake on flake snow covers all trace.

From day to day the sun won't shine;

From year to year no spring is mine.

The Cicada

Drunk with fresh Dew

Your trill will flow

From'mid the sparse parasol trees

Rising high,far your voice will go

Not on the wings of autumn breeze

My Author Presentation

http://prezi.com/mooivl7hv4gh/writing-12-author-presentation/

Quebec

Photography@Shimon

Edit@Shimon

Terror

Being trapped in this dark spooky forest for over two hours

It seemed as if I could never walk out of the place

At dusk the scattered light from the sun penetrating through

the cloud and mist slowly diminished

and the moon became the only light source

The eerie atmosphere was overwhelming 

Trees looked like shadows of the unknown waiting for the right

moment to jump out and grab me. 

The air was so rarefied to the point where I almost felt suffocation 

as I wandered hopelessly in the forest

Piercing wind gave me a ghostly chill like an icy finger touching my spine

The leaves shivered in the breeze creating haunting whispers

I felt my heart pounding so hard as if it was going to break out

of my ribcage when a sudden bloom of cold ran across my body

Fear had seized me completely

I could net let go of the tension

A Theatre

It was a bit early when I walked into the grand theatre 

and no audiences seemed to be present yet

My light breath sounded heavy and loud in this magnificently 

spacious theatre since it produced immense echo

 even with the most negligible sound

The ornate theatre had many classic elements 

Decorated with extravagant multicolored marble friezes, 

columns, and copious statuary

Above me hanged an elaborate chandelier

I sat alone at the stalls of the seating section separated

 from the stage by the proscenium arch

And immersed myself in this vast emptiness

Some subtle din suddenly interrupted the silence

A crowd of audiences entered the theatre

And the place was immediately resounded 

with gentle talking and laughter

Angel

I went to my grandfather's house for a visit the other day

And he asked me to help him clean up the garage

Going through piles of stuff

the decaying ruins of a statue laid at the corner of the room

quickly caught my attention

It was hard to identify what it was

Some shattered fragments rested forlorn on the ground

like abandoned children of a ruthless mother

I walked up close to observe the crumbling statue

And picked up some to piece together

It was a lovely and delicate wing marred with dark blots

I could easily envision its pristine beauty

Aside of the fragments was an intact women's head

Her eyes were closed and she looked angelic and saintly

with a pure tender smile

The wrecked statue was undoubtedly an angel

Time, Age

It is almost as hard for friends to meet

As for the morning and evening stars

Tonight then is a rare event

Joining in the candlelight

Two men who were young not long ago

But now are turning grey at the temples

...To find that half our friends are dead

Shock us

Burn our hearts with grief

We little guessed it would be twenty years

Before I could visit you again

When i went away

You were still unmarried

But now these boys and girls in a row are 

Very kind to their father's old friend

They ask me where I have been on my journey

And then

When we have talked awhile

They bring and show me wines and dishes

Spring chives cut in the night-rain

And brown rice cooked freshly a special way

...My host proclaims it a festival

He urges me to drink ten cups--

But what ten cups could make me as drunk

As I always am with your love in my heart?

...Tomorrow the mountain will separate us

After tomorrow who can say?