February '21 was a turning point in my life.

Bridging Bajiang's Embankments

See live rendition here Watch a ride across the wood bridge here Two bike bridges across shallow estuary water the sea salt flows into the steppe of Alishan From Fengqihu where eight fingers stream into one To funky flatlands meandering down through Chiayi In wild weeds overgrown from the last rainy date a bird flies shyly with no more than a song from a dried tree with nothing much to fawn an egret stands in muck wondering where to look but the smell of an ah-ma's fragrant garden invites him to drink nectar from her spine and I too feel refreshed on this bike path bench on the brink of fording muddy waters thirsting for a drench of plum rain showers when the deluge swallowd all in a cinch and typhoon rains will pound it like a fist Whipping winds across the bridges' suspensions their anchorages in danger of being dislodged again or moving not an inch of span reconnected as I am starting to make ends meet till the time when it is no longer hers or mine but weighed discreetly o...

To a local shrub with roots so deep

See first live rendition here Can a transplanted tree afford to lose rain To a local shrub with roots so deep? Wide and far in its reach To the sandy soil of the settler’s beach Where an ancient ship wrecked at sea Spilled its seeds on fertile soil Grew a forest in a far flung land Bearing fruit carried away Depleted and thinned towards extinction A foreign tree lost its distinction Without maintenance Till a leaf in the breeze was all that remained And the sweet taste that bloomed was soon forgotten Becoming an eyesore not worth kindling As lonely it had become as could be Yet just north across the tropic of Cancer In a temperate zone with a kind of its own So much density the forest did see With its own kind thriving naturally Through storms and droughts and falling outs Wandering offspring in wind settling in Unpicked fruit fallen to the ground For anyone who’d lost their doubt This is how culture comes about As ship-wreck...

Love on an express train with a local ticket

Love is like being on an express train With a local ticket and no reservation. One stop you sit chillin’ as soon as it starts; It takes you for a little while and a little while more. Next stop? Get up to find another seat at the door; Maybe the next stop will be the end of the line, So rock her down till the rollin’ stops, When you seem too familiar and kind. Too hungry to sit and hard-pressed to move on, It is done before you reach your destination. Perhaps you sit on the floor transfixed Or stand in the vestibule near the toilets. When you’ve opened your eyes to the world you created, It is half past late for the ride to go that way. Without faith and vision no place goes well. From car two, aisle-seat nineteen you move, To car two, seat twenty-six window move, Third stop, to car four, no seat at all; Two-thirds of your life down the line. Red signal reflection on how your trip’s been going. The train may reach your station too so...

Taiwan Providence

Search This Blog