Poem, Wine, Fiddle & Chess
Chanting poem and pairing couplet made me happy.
So thus drinking bottles of wine with my friend, Charley!
I played fiddle according to the ancient music book.
In chess competition, I defeated the famous crook.
Papers and cups always scattered on my table.
At times, songs and reading sound were full of my aisle.
Drunken and sleepy, I asked my guests to leave my den.
Having no urgent matter, they would be coming again.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Merry Retirement
I am a low rank official in the government;
Who soon arrives at the age of retirement.
Exercise is my routine in morning and evening.
I take a noon rest in the bed for meditating.
At times, I practise calligraphy with a Chinese brush.
Computer is used to amend my verses not in a rush.
Chanting poem makes me very happy.
My black hair turns grey but I do not worry.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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To Transmit The Culture Fire
We should follow the sages to carry on their duty.
Modern technology helps us to change the world daily.
In China, poem and couplet websites are flooded.
People transmit the culture fire by internet method.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Hong Kong Association of Amateur Calligraphers
Chinese calligraphy has no boundary.
Friends of Hong Kong gather here to work hardly.
We imitate the works of Wang's father and son
And follow the rules of the Qin and Tang penmen.
For complicated words, all strokes should go closely.
To form the simple ones, we must write them thickly.
We also study the ancient stone rubbings from tablets.
Exchanging views with the mentor, we achieve our targets.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Give Up Betting On Horse Racing
Horse of outside chance should win this time but lost bluntly.
Bettors were angry and clamored against the jockey.
In my old age, I knew at last the race was but a fraud.
However, many horse fans deemed the trainer as their God.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Autumn Cicada
It embraced the withering tree in autumn.
Time passed away and good fortune had not come.
Its sad chirping noise startled the frustrated walker.
In sympathy, he shook his head and walked slower.
From Charles Wu in Hong Kong, China.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Military Training
Hearing morning bugle, I rushed to the flag-raising rite.
The ugly cotton-wadded quilt was deemed to be alright.
I was not up to the standard in parade and shooting.
Face with mud; helmet with leaves, I was camouflaging.
After training, all overseas students would be away.
The platoon leader was happy to be on holiday.
Cherishing our friendship, all people must say good-bye.
We drank wine in the graduation party and I did cry.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Fish And Shrimp [1-2]
Fish And Shrimp [1]
I sigh with deep feeling that fish and shrimp are but children.
They are slap-happy to play in the net of the fisherman.
Seafood merchants become fierce and cruel butchers,
Who exhibit them in a pool to attract buyers.
Fish and shrimp[2]
You need not sigh furiously because of the gluttons.
Since ancient times, fish and shrimp have been cooked with onions.
Excessive catch should be prevented and even God says no!
We must protect the existing resource on the earth so.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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To Be A Fairy
You can have a clear conscience in absolute quietness.
After reading Buddhism books, your feelings are wondrous.
You become the peak fairy, 'Han-man' watching cranes to dance.
At diving fishes, the water fairy 'Care-free' will glance.
The cloud city with smoke palace is your final home.
The funny moon with steps leading to heaven, you should roam.
Inhale then exhale after meditation makes you happy.
Playing zither and Buddist music, you will no more be angry.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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The Champion Horse
Thousands of people greet the best horse in the field.
It runs so fast yet easily though not four-wheeled.
Its speed is higher than the wind and bird in the sky.
Sometimes it neighs on the grass; sometimes it looks so shy.
Is it the son of the famous horse owned by the king?
Its excellent performance makes all horse owners awing.
It wins many open events in an easy way.
Leaving his good name in the racing world today.
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poem by Charles WOO
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Disneyland
Hong Kong Disneyland is open for business today.
The paradise looks so new that all cheer, ‘Hurrah! '
Looking at the castle, you may dream about your childhood.
Flying over the stars, you explore the space where you could.
Forest beasts dance in the Festival of the Lion King.
Cinderella becomes a beauty and the mice sing.
The display of fireworks makes visitors so amazing.
They enjoy themselves but hesitate before leaving.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Fishing In The River At Autumn Night
The moon shines on the river while autumn wind is blowing.
At night, I invite my friends to go fishing and boating.
Rowing our oars, we seek a shoal of fish gladly.
Mooring to pillar of the bridge, we act quietly.
My partner catches a red carp with his fishing bait.
Shaking its head, the reed wonders the old men's fate.
Is the strategist of Zhou Dynasty still fishing?
No! He migrates to the land of peach blossoms sleeping!
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
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poem by Charles WOO
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Splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The random poem I jus made up
This poem I just made up
is a happy poem,
filled with excitement and interest.
It is a true piece of art
that should be cherished throughout life.
This poem I just made up
is a sad poem,
filled with depressing verbs and adjectives.
It is played like a minor chord
that compliments the sound of my guitar.
This poem I just made up
is a major shoutout to my best friend.
LINDSAY KETTERMAN! !
It is a happy poem
Just like a happy face.
That should be cherished throughout life.
P.S. I didn't write this poem.
poem by Hannah Hetze
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is A Poem Which Is Not A Poem
THERE IS A POEM WHICH IS NOT A POEM
There is a poem which is not a poem
Its mind breaks its music
Its heart is too much in thought.
It does not sing us to somewhere else.
There is a poem which is not a poem
Prosaic confessional flat,
Its says its single thing from the soul
And leaves the page without implication.
How many such poems have I written
As I write this one now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Kaleidoscope and Harpsichord
As I've told my wife too many times,
the meaning of any poem hides
in the marriage of cadence and sound.
Vowels on a carousel,
consonants on a calliope,
whistles and bells,
we need them all
tickling our ears.
Otherwise, the lines
are gristle and fat, no meat.
Is it any wonder, then,
my wife has a problem
with any poem I give her to read
for a second opinion, especially
when the poem has no message
and I'm simply trying to hear
what I'm saying and don't care
if I understand it.
The other night in bed
I gave her another poem to read
and afterward she said this poem
was no different than the others.
She had hoped I'd improve.
'After all, ' she said,
'you've been writing for years
but reading a poem like this is
like looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
Point well taken,
point well said.
But then I asked her
what should a man do
if he has careened for years
through the caves of his mind
spelunking for the right
line for a poem
only to hear his wife say
after reading one of his poems
that it was like
'looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
What should he do-quit?
'Not a chance, '
she said this morning,
enthroned at the kitchen table,
as regal as ever in her fluttery gown
and buttering her English muffin
with long, languorous strokes
Van Gogh would envy.
'He should write even more,
all day and all night, if need be.
After all, ' she said, 'my line
about the kaleidoscope and harpsichord
still needs a poem of its own.
It's all meat, no gristle, no fat.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Reading Bukowski's Poem.
You ran your finger
along the spine
of books on your bookshelf
and took down
Betting on the Muse
by Charles Bukowski
and opened it
at random
reading the stories
and poem after poem
then having
nothing better to do
you got to page 292
and a poem titled
the good soul
and laughed out loud
like a dog barking
in dead of night
and your shoulders shook
and your wife said
What's so funny?
and you said
Oh just words
and she turned over
and back to sleep
and you put down
the book
beside the bed
and turned out
the light
laughing at the poem
inside your head.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous 'I Am' poem came from the pen of John Clare
When in Northampton mental asylum his type of person rare
Since when mentally unwell his best poems he did pen
One of the most amazing in his time of literary men.
The most famous 'I Am' poem of self does not boast
From the pen of one who to self never drunk a toast
A poor and mentally ill and near forgotten man
One close to the end of his tragic life span.
The most famous 'I Am' poem to it has a sad ring
'Tis not of the wonderful life it does sing
Now used as the anthem poem of the mentally ill
The most famous 'I Am' poem life's cup of dark sorrows does fill.
The most famous 'I Am' poem not a great song of life
But of one who had struggled with his inner strife
From the heart of a poor poet a cry of despair
The most famous 'I Am' poem from the pen of John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous I Am poem was penned by John Clare
When he was in Northampton mental asylum and burdened by care
A poem from all others that set him apart
For life's poor and forsaken a cry from the heart,
A poem by an aged poet lost in the lost years
The most famous I Am poem move many to tears
A poem written by one who knew about despair
That poem his reality such poems are rare
The most famous I Am poem tells of an Earthly Hell
Known by the fringe dwellers the mentally unwell
The song of an old poet forsaken and gray
The truth in his words is still living today
And though the renowned old wordsmith to the reaper long gone
His famous I Am poem it is living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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