The Poetryzine Magazine presents the selected poems by the Chinese-Canadian poetess Elaine Yu
Dance of the egrets
Spread the wings of snow feathers,
flap
on the cold lake of late autumn,
golden light and shadow
flashing on the sea of my heart.
Turn to you,
my feather streaked
a wide
warm arm, as if
a lifetime attachment
without tie.
In the empty
deep forest,
it is neither tight closeness of suffocation
nor distant alienation.
Feel you,
wings flying, and falling into rows,
dancing like snowflakes,
which fills all the notes of nights.
Close eyes and look for you,
with a feeling of air flowing around.
Red lips reach lightly
the mysterious place of my heart,
where the egret is.
Autumn possession
Flatten the body, with the tail
connected in a straight line, lying down
on the fence wall under sunlight. Not moving at all.
I figured he must have completed this year's autumn possession,
who used to run back and forth with a green fruit in his mouth, slipped past me,
turned around a few times, and
moved to the bottom of a hidden birch tree.
Wrapped in a warm wool coat,
and disguised as his kind-
soft, cunning, alert,
while watching him sleep. You tell me
how to get ready for
the food of the whole winter, and deepen into the nest of dreams,
with the whole season,
listen, singing like in a dream.
On the other side
The maple forest cascades,
building mysterious rails that
no one can cross.
It is the realm of jungle creatures.
The noon sunray penetrates the jungle-
nothing can stop it.
Those released pigeons, like warheads
diving forward, ending at
far or near pasture,
however none of them can break out of the known boundaries.
On the other side, is it an orchard or a desert?
The sky has no barrier. Who, from the basket of season,
pick out a green olive, and
place on the tip of the tongue afar.
September's wind
The crescent moon
reaped summer’s long hair.
The wind blows the leaves, and my hair
closing to my cheek,
love the way how intimate they are,
like the muse of verses growing out of my head,
trace by trace, caressing the ear, whispering.
There is no osmanthus blossom here,
but a light scent of flower in the wind,
like the smell from the depth of the plant's soul,
lingering around the fingers.
The wings of a dragonfly dot the lake in the early morning,
without flying far away, and blow you
without softer wind.
Blackberry
Like a swarm of bees locked in a hive,
each one stretches out its small fists,
and hums quietly
from inside.
The hearts soaking sun's flame day and night
flow out lifetime of honey instantly,
release the confrontation-
No grinding teeth nor swallowing desire,
but in a deep purple dream
with you,
until your lips, fingers, hair, guts
over and over,
all dyed in deep love,
until it is evaporated.
One day of fish
Suddenly the faith in fish collapsed,
as if each fish is forced to put on
the Emperor's New Cloth.
Grab the fish by the throat
to test, and then put back into the water of doubt,
almost insane, endless loop.
The truth has been testified that
no matter how the fish is tossed, the presented
data can’t be cleared to zero.
However, such simple and effective logic
doesn't require debate: just take out the fish,
under the scorching sun, and wait
Fire, will be put out by the heroic fish;
Virus, will be faint on its own;
But who, can stop
stop ——fooling the fish
arrogantly
Hydrangea in August
Put in your palm
a four white petals intertwined
sky.
Pieces of
large mountain-shaped cumulonimbus cloud
rise from there.
The pinned, butterfly wings
tremble slightly in the wind, and
the fluorescent gauze skirt
is already flying to the sea,
landing on the mast that sails to the sky-
without return.
The train
Inside a small window,
black coffee, with a few spoons of
dim morning light, no need to shake.
Outside the window,
the fields, lakes, and villages are galloping
backwards, as if they have disappeared
even before arriving.
Whistling, the train boasts its scenery loudly.
I listen with silent eyes, and the flying pen
race with it.
When did the rapeseed flower fields of childhood
that neatly lined up
turn into scattered sod rolls on the grassland,
lying there one by one, waiting to travel.
The rice fields in the south of the Yangtze River
and the slow buffalo, also followed my carriage
to the shepherd's pasture of horses.
Such a fleeting time, and distance-
who can tell which train is slower,
and can carry me farther.
The secret of eyes
The black crystal planet is cruising
in space. Ten thousand light years
is just a moment in the night sky, flickering.
An opening and closing of the light feather
under the eyelid passes
a lifetime, with one-time flying.
A baby opens
his first glimpse of sky, reflected in the dawn
when an angel smiling and holding up the sun.
Rotating rays of two celestial bodies
superimposes across the barrier of time
and space, intersecting at nothingness.
I'm back in the chair now,
piercing the deep well under my eyelashes
to find your treasure buried in time,
which only takes a flash.
Birdsong in summer
Winds, initiating a
heat plan, just wait for the time
to light the fire and start the cosmic bellows.
There are birds continuous chirping
through countless thin pinholes
injecting into my systemic veins.
Like in the turbulent waves, it appears
some little white sails, that after a bump,
sail quietly into my harbor.
The stone of sound over the water surface
jumps and glides, splashing water with
flapping wings of flying and landing,
that pull out the long air route in my eardrum,
like the destination of its soul
forever residing in my body.
*Yanlan Yu, English name as Elaine Yu, born in Shanghai, China, now living in Toronto, Canada. Engaged in AI, IT analysis management. She is a member of the Writers Group of Boya, the Chinese Poetry Association, and the Ontario Poetry Association. She considers the poetry as the seal of soul, the religion of beauty, and the sublimation of love. Recently published personal poetry collection Secret Garden.
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