《The East Echo》

2019-03-15 09:31:12  巢圣  所属诗集  阅读918 】


Fire or Ice
for Robert Frost

I know you were talking about Bible
You wrote your poem symbolical
But this piece of mine will be literal

The world will end in fire
The heat of the sun will burn
And people will be stricken by pain
So painful even to bite their own tongue

The sky will scatter like smoke
Its oxygen disappear in the ozone holes
In the end the celestial void will explode
Forming numerous nuclear mushrooms
And the elements of the earth be burned

The world won't likely end up in ice
Scripture says the storehouses of snow
Are reserved by the Lord with hail
For times of trouble days of battle
It's just being fulfilled
The melting of Mount Everest
The Antarctic and the Arctic
With the rise of sea level
The earth is to fail

Stopping by a Wood on a Snowy Evening
for Robert Frost

Snow can refer to the words from His mouth
Falling down from heaven
Watering the earth
Giving seed to the sower
Bread to the eater

The horse with a bell is another power point
On the bell in the Bible is inscribed
Holy to Yahweh
The sound of the bell is important
Must be heard in the sanctuary
The sanctuary is Yahweh
Or a priest like Aaron
The mouth of Moses
Will also die

That's to say
We must speak in the Spirit
So that we can live ourselves
We also have the duty to move on
So that the sound can be heard
To the ends of the earth

Now guess the meaning for the wood
It's the people of the Lord's delight
We may stop for a longer while
If come across such a crowd

In a Station of the Metro
for Ezra Pound

Ghost-like noises escalated from the deep pit of the world
Spectral faces on the speckled branches joined rootless

Mending Wall
for Robert Frost

There is a wall called Salvation in the Bible
Salvation belongs to Yahweh
Yahweh is the Word the way
The living Oracle
Robert, does your neighbor
Want to mend such wall

There is another wall mentioned in the Bible
It's between man and Elohim
Our doorposts set next to the door of the Lord
Our thresholds beside the threshold of the Lord
And our selves are considered dead kings
The Lord commanded us to remove corpses
So that our body can be His temple
Our heart His throne
The place of His soles

Frost, How can we repair such a wall

The Old Man and the Sea
for Earnest Hemingway

The sea is dying with what's in it
The sea is Babylon
The language and the literature of the Chaldeans
The theories and the doctrines of the letter
Invented by king Babylon's wisdom

The sea is dying and the large fish
Like Pharoah the king of Egypt
Thrust onto the ground
Like Paul called by the light
Scales fell off his eyes
When he saw

The sea is dying with the waters of the world
And the sea will be no more
Hemingway, your old man won to survive
My old man to save the world

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
for Dylan Thomas

The night is far spent and the day is at hand
Those who sleep sleep in the night
Those drunk are drunk in the night

We are the sons of the day as light
Not the sons of dark and the night
We should behave becomingly
Make no provisions for the flesh and its lust

A day is coming like a thief in the night
Like labour pain
That suddenly comes upon man
Dylan, perhaps I am talking over your head
You were just worried about your dad
I am concerned about mankind
With no intention to offend

It's time to say goodbye to that good night

The Moon and Sixpence

I am curious to tell the world
I am a moon of living water

Whoever comes to me
Can drink the word of life freely
And live in light and purity
And in the end eternally

Will anyone bother to try me
Out of curiosity
Freely or with a penny
Or the same price
As Maughm's

A Poster Study

The poster is really arresting
Many books have piled up into a man
A man who looks wild with joy
Ready to fly or flee

I've examined the poster again
Trying to eye which book is mine
In the part of the head or the hand?
In the part of the hip or the heart?

Does the poster want to say
A man is but many a book?
His desire his thought and his walk
Nowhere but books they stay

As I peer the poster for a third time
I suddenly realize it's like an empty soul
A mist driven by a storm
Wild waves foaming up puzzle

I'll confess the designer is somebody
If the writers happen to be nobody
Having studied such a poster
You may feel you have finished a library

What Was Lost
for Catherin O'Flynn

The British should concentrate on such theme

I was in London for three months
Taken to different churches

Only some old folks were there
The churches are like graves prepaid some say

Almost all pastors and ministers
Were under a curse
Either having eye problem
Or neck problem
Or denomination problem

What was lost, I'll listen to Catherin O'Flynn
For my heart does care about the wonderland

Thinking as a Hobby
for William Golding

Which grade of thinking is such a man, Golding

He thinks of the law day and night
From his mouth the word of truth never apart
In his stomach the open scroll is always his delight
Or rather
A power that works in his heart
Like the power turning the day and the night

Really wish
The Word has come in his flesh
He is that kind in the world
But not of the world

Guess Golding will be amazed by such a man
Within his grades of thinking

For William Golding

Thinking is a flow of power and life within our body
Leading us into all truths
A reminder of what the breath of life hath said
That fills and designs and turns the universe

Thinking happens by itself
Not controlled nor directed by our brains
Thinking is an independent life
Like the breath in and out of our nose
Linked with the movement of cosmos
Separate from our physical body
Reigns over our body

The head just watches like an outsider
What's going on in every breath
And hears what it says in a powerful feel
Thinking is the work of the breath
And finds its rest and abode in our heart
It awakes by itself in the night

Anything written under the guidance of the breath
Is poetic and poetry
Thus a poet is the essence the spirit of universe

A physical man knows no breath of life
Nor knows the work of breath in his thinking
He begins from his neurotic brains
And ends in his narcissistic head
Soon will be replaced by robots
Very likely to be devastated
By his productive programming

Bertrand Russel Compared Life to a River

Small at first, running wider gradually
Until merged in the sea
I told my students I somehow disagree
Though most of them like this analogy

I shared my only son's story
His childhood friendly to everybody
Old and young poor and rich
As if we are really one family

He would go up to a junk collector
Addressing him Uncle with his toy
Or he would go down to a beggar
Greeting her Old Granny
With his pocket money

Compared with a child
People of my age are so shabby
Always on guard
Making this world odd

My students nodded silently
Aware that human minds truly
Go more and more narrow
As we grow and grow
Know and know

Thinking as a Hobby
for William Golding

By your logical thinking with pure reasoning
You knocked down the skittles of all sects
Detected naive believers
Exposed funny teachers

Thinking was your government
Thinking was your own religion

A tall tree visible to the distance
Its branches of birds sheltering beasts
Its fruit eaten by all flesh

College Pressures
for William Zinsser

Zinsser, only you dare say
Achievement is the national god of USA

Your government might murmur privately
Our national god is money
Anyway printed already
On US dollars from history

Your people representatives of democracy
Perhaps some are specific and realistic
Their god is their stomach

The churches in your country
Never left behind any society
Soon invented success theology
Surely no brotherhood of poverty

Through Metaphor to Reconcile
for William Carlos Williams

All things are indeed metaphorical
For example
The letter of the Bible was written
For us humans to receive the Spirit
And be reconciled to the Creator
Through the first corner stone-
The name of Jesus Christ
To be one with Yahweh-
The breath of life
The invisible
And the eternal

So we fix our eyes
On the things unseen
Not on the things seen
For what is visible is ephemeral
And what is invisible is eternal

For William Wordsworth

I really miss the cloud
That took the Lord back
Also the cloud that spoke
To Moses in the wild void

A cloud today is a witness
Speaking in the Spirit to rain Jesus
Such a cloud am I as lonely as you
In a world of narcissistic daffodils
Dancing in every wind of
Denominational stuff

I can't but sigh in my inward eye

Still desire to be that cloud
With the rainbow clothed
Its seven colors seven spirits
Sent to the world from the thrones

The Inner Rings
for C. S. Lewis

From the stump and its roots
Left in the doctrines of the ground
Bound with bands of iron and bronze

Spring up the inner rings
And inner inner inner rings
With human understandings
Apologetic philosophies
And common senses

Rings without rings
Without without rings
Where are you in the rings
Sects within sects like snares
Denominations in denominations

Where are you in the rings unawares
Perhaps you'll cry all like onions

E.M. Forster

Instinctively found the profound
Cause of human conflicts strives
In the macabre Marabar Caves
Stuffed with the ancient serpent

Any friendship or relationship break
In the authority of that Satanic dark

Like in that Babylon mysterious
The nest of foul birds foul spirits
The mother of harlots
Sex with different doctrines
Causing souls killed
Unable to make out
Her theory of the letter

How to Grow Old
for Bertrand Russell

Russel lived almost a century
Most qualified to talk this topic
He did it genetically and physically
Psychologically and philosophically

What's crucial in this essay is
Our thinking in the form of interests
You may sum up scripturally
As you think so you will be

My routine Bible read says
Adam down to his eighth generation
Almost all lived nine centuries

None of them left their secrecy
Of how to keep such longevity

My biblical survey conveys
They were all vegetarians
What makes the difference
They walked with Yahweh
That's to say
They shared the same idea
As He who was is and will endure

The Moon and Sixpence
for Somerest Maughm

The night woke with a moon eyeing me
Ablush with a face lusty

A biblical moon is for a righteous man
The law in his heart
Thus his mouth is a living fountain

Maughm, you invented another moon
Crazed about a disastrous distortion

For Bertrand Russell

A tiny voice burst out from a hill
Saying to Russell
Wisdom is the truth to reveal
In the breath of a seal
After a fiery zeal

It cried in the tunnels of narrow centuries
Darkened by the luminaries

Human eyes were sent to virtual realities
Unfurling the sales of philosophers
Merged in the dead seas

Paradise Lost And Regained
for John Milton

The unspeakable words
A whisper divine
Caught by the ears
Caught up to the third heaven
With the three seals
Of the true faith
By breath


Where in the east
The tree of life
Enjoyed of its fruit

The mystery
Hidden throughout history
Lights up the lamps in the dark
And the eyes of the heart

Milton, if you could live nowadays
Your face would be a river of tears

You added tragedy to tragedy
The tragedy of any monarchy
The epics
Composed in blindness

For descendants to dig
Generation by generation
In and out of your nation

Deep pits have been dug
From your works by old
As Hades for the blind

The Negro Speaks of Rivers
for Langston Hughs

If I tell you that all your rivers old and young will dry up
And that all your waves will be smitten and break up

With all your doctrines which can't quench your thirst
Like the water of the well of Jacob the ancestor
Which drives you to drift
From land to land river to river

So that the remnant of the chosen
Will pass through them dryshod
With their pride brought down

If I tell you that only one river will be left
Whose water can well up eternally
And stream out of our heart
When His throne is set

for Frost, Williams and Sandburg

Walls between nation and nation
Walls between skin and skin
Heart and heart

What's between-
Ugly huddled and broken
Hunger-deep eyes
Hunger-deep wells

Walls are being demolished
Walls are being mended
And walls are being built

Walls and wars wars and walls
The world is made whores
The abominations of the earth

What should be known
A middle wall to divide
Has long been destroyed
By the Crucifixion
Its hostility slain

An Anecdote of the Jar
for Wallace Stevens

You placed on the hill of America
The bare jar left by the Samaritan woman
After her finding the living water

You made the jar of gray tall and great
The ash words in which Job sat by regret
As his eyes saw whom his ears heard

If you could come like an empty jar
To the widow who took Elijah
You'd be filled up with oil
You and your bush
With celestial birds
On your branch

Opened is the Bible
To tilt the jars of heavens
But few are willingly humble
An excuse for you super powers

A Sort of a Song
for William Carlos Williams

Let the snake be struck on the head
The weed
Be pulled up with ideas
Sleepless in things

Let the stone hearts be cast away
The rocks of their gods
Break under the hammer
Of His words

Let your flowers wilt and decay
In His breath and wind
A time for everything is at hand

Two Roads Again
for Robert Frost

Two kinds of breaths
Issued out of our mouths

When speaking the words
Explained from scriptures
A little here and a little there
Its breath is the Holy Spirit
Also named as Christ
The way to the Father
Who fills the universe
The dark matter
The dark power

The other an evil breath
Talking on our own
Known as Satan
Holding death
Generation by generation
Including men and women
Practicing their routine religion
Their years but a shadow that fleetth

Another Two Roads
for Robert Frost

Surely you heard of them
When you were very little
The two roads in the Bible
One broad the other small

The broad leads to doom
Trodden by many
Pricked with anxiety
Pleasures & money

While the small to eternity
Less traveled on
Found almost by none
Full of revelation
Scorn and persecution

Two roads are there invisible
Maybe only one accessible
To your global people
For your timely thrill

for Ted Hughs

The serpent must be in your belly
Swallowed your intestines hungrily
Or made snakes of them or spaghetti
So you had no way to digest the story

The devil prowls around the world
Devours those eatable
Like you Ted

My! Even Peter the apostle
Who occurred by its nostril
When uttering with his heart
Set on the things of men
Luckily Jesus was in front
Turned & rebuked Satan

But you were not that fortunate
With your will to make fun
So many of you as a result
Have been eaten

A Man Says to the Universe
for Stephen Crane

A man walks on the earth
And him the cosmos watcheth

In his heart he silently waits
For the morning star to rise

Till he can proclaim the Word
Which made life of this world

He looks up at the universe
Saying It won't be long I promise

In the Desert
for Stephen Crane

A life spent in the desert
With nothing to eat
But his bitter bitter heart

The red badge of courage
Fruit of the hunter huge
Who sold his birthright
Of the flesh
Called red

Interpreted by lecturers professors
Who become rich all over the world
For their research funded
And paid for their papers

What a business
To deal with your works!
But poor Crane!
Doomed to be eaten ever since
By naked and bestial creatures

Gliding out of all bitter hearts
I climbed onto the roof
Reminded of the life
Who was in a trance
Cleansed thrice
Told to be taken up
By the cloth from above

Because I Couldn't Stop for Death
for Emily Dickinson

But you walked with death all your days
Can even be concluded without delays
Death is your immortality and eternity
In your poetic philosophy

You spoke from room to room
Tomb to tomb and time to time
Made your states proud
Read your poems aloud

While your governments
Have been making efforts
With science and wars
That quicken the death
Of the entire earth

Emily Dickinson

Various voices in a prison

The letter that kills
Stilled a window of imagery
Poetry a picturesque philosophy
And the elements of the worlds

Alas! No essence! No oil! No lamp!

Born in a wrong time
You met no bridegroom-
A life linked up by hyphens
Like bones lined up as fences

Poesies sloping that carriage
Deep down into that dead valley

When I Heard the Learned Astronomer
for Walt Whitman

When I heard the learned astronomer
Dreams flashed through my mind

The first one was my landing
On the moon in my childhood
Recalled on my entrance of university
When watching US astronauts on TV
Walking up there clumsily and heavily

The second was my shooting upward
Through the windy void like a rocket
With a lock of my hair in a mighty hand
Incredible experience of my forty eight

The third was my scream of fright
During my falling down like a stone
About to hit the ground with a bang
When an eagle's wing amazing
Came and carried me to alight

The last to mention ashamed
My wrestle with the wires overhead
Which obstructed my skyward-flight
I cried and cried
Waking up in heart to find
That they were my nerves
The horrible brains
Of no believes

Edgar Allen Poe

They say your life was a series of disasters
But few have tried to seriously find out why
This afternoon my studious students and I
Probed into your poems with peering pupils

One of them felt you angered man and heaven
Like you took your young cousin for your wife-
An obvious offense to your close relative
Ignoring the genic problem to your children

The other clue found in your Sonnet to Science
You seemed defending the gods and godesses
Invented by the mythical imagination
A terrible sin against the Father in heaven

Alas! Even a chilly wind took your Annabel away
Resulting in your days gone in a muddy way
Regarding melancholy and death as beauty
Working the world with your pale poetry

for Ted Hughs and Langston Hughs

An ancient river perhaps unknown to human civilization

It has twice ten thousand times ten thousand waves
Like the two hundred million mounted troops
White black yellow and red

Released from the bottomless and waterless pit

Argh! Ted, this river is a similar god to yours
Seen from above
Snaking out of all stubborn hearts
A deceiving spirit thrust down from heaven
Luring generation after generation
With a say to rise

Ya! A god of death hung with greedy grave
Taking nations captive

for T.S. Eliot

Let's shed tears for your years Thomas
While waddling in your muddy world
Dirty and dingy of your filthy shadows
Like dung that they have turned
For not laying to mind the command

You wrap them with rhythm and rhymes
Striking your language with beauty
Forging your fantasy philosophy
From thousands of dried obscenity

What can I say now and in future share
With my children and children's children
So that they will awake made aware

Your poems you knew in your gloom
Need sweep by a destructive broom
If mankind want to live a hope
Possible for a spiritual leap

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
for William Wordsworth

A rainless cloud loitered freely
From mountain to valley
River to sea
Without finding the city
Of water and words worthy
To bubble to eternity

You wandered dry
Your inward eye
Crowded with self-loving daffodils
Blinded by blank
Reserved for dark

As I ponder over your poetry
I've heard a cry from the sky
Splitting apart with tears starry

A Chimney Sweeper
for William Blake

What's made with men's understanding is a smoke
Zigzagging from the chimney of a bottomless black

Blake, here's a sweeper of contemporary chimney
Which is like a cathedral of your age
Full of locusts from His mouth cut off
Darkened by the deaf and dumb of their inner life
Fed up with all denominational chaff

Any sweeper can be stuck and stifle
Fortunately I have power from above
A fountain of living water to flow love
Over any obstacle and hardship as a trifle

An Essay on Man
for Alexander Pope

A breath in the nostrils
A residue of the spirit
Confined in flesh and bones
On emerging from a womb

Like flowers
Blooming in the morning
To wither in the evening

A sigh a moan for a day's trip

T.S. Eliot

Eliot, you announced the death of many an age
The death of memory and the death of any sage
The death of poetry with the sea and its foams
The death of images with their ruins

Eliot, if the two empires have declined
You are to blame as a person enshrined
You have uprooted their civilization
Without sowing good seed for solution

Those who understand you sigh and suffer
Those who don't marvel at you as a winner
Eliot, I just want to say by taking a risk
You have thrown away the earth like a disk

And then disappeared

On the Second Coming
for W.B.Yeats

Unable to hear the voice of the falcon
Things fall apart and the heart can't contain
For Yahweh compares Himself to an eagle
And carries to Him on His wings Israel

Without the words from His voice
The world is simply a split chaos

Shepherds led astray for gains
Like a rough beast of ignorance
Making the best lack conviction
And the worst full of passion

Their reluctant birth in Bethlehem
Where comes the word of Elohim

Horrible! The devil growls like a lion
Wisdom burst from the head of man

The indignant birds in the desert
The spiritual forces of evil attending the feast
Falsehood for food as the sand of their palate
By adding to the words refined like silver
And interpreting out of their will Scripture

Argh! The second coming! What a woe in wait!

On Milton's Blindness

Milton penned his Paradise Lost
The great heroic of English Literature
When his light was spent

By what light did he make it? One asked
The light of the inward eye One answered
What's that like? Another mildly frowned

Let's see how many eyes man can have
When the tree was eaten by Adam and Eve
Their eyes were opened
The selfish eyes of inside

Why selfish? Right away our ancestor
Shifted their sins to each other
Slyly and shyly to their Creator

An awesome eye needs our knowledge
Jesus called it the lamp of our body
The lamp is Yahweh Eloi
It is enlightened only to see Elohim
By the spirit of revelation and wisdom

Now let's turn back to Milton's verse
His question was solved by Patience
Can you figure out with what eyes
Milton was scrabbling the great epic
Of the English language and the like

Go and Catch a Falling Star
for John Donne

A woman not true or faithful?
Is there such a falling star possible?
Yeah! Her name is great babylon
The prostitute fallen from heaven

Were you catching such a falling globe?
You were such as you wrote the letter
Spoiled by the false pen of a scribe
Captive to many a common character

Poor Donne! You failed to find a woman
True and faithful in your lifetime even
Guess you couldn't figure out why
For visions were sealed by many a lie

Poor preacher! Have you got the point?
Afraid your followers will be hurt
Better let your devotional poems pass
In case mine found in that abyss

Death, Thou Shalt Die
for John Donne

When will death die?
At the last trumpet sounding to fly
The mortal will wear immortality
The perishabe imperishability

How to prepare that twinkle of eye?
For the time being
A feast of fat thing
A banquet of aged wine
Is served on an exalted mountain
The mouth of the loved
As the best kind

When the covering of all peoples
The veil of the letter over nations
Are both removed
Death shall be swallowed

It’s curious to follow
Where death will go
To the lake of fire of sulfur
We think you still remember
The breath of Elohim is a fire of sulfur

Sonnet 18
for Shakespeare

Bill, it's awfully true to itself
That he died and rose to life
And ascended there to Heaven
Seated by the right hand Divine
On the earth He is the words
Searched sought from scriptures

William, to my greatest surprise
Not until yesterday did I realise
That your sonnets are so biblical
Many of your scholars in puzzle

Few of them knew and know
Including many a research fellow
With whom you were deep in love
At your soul's sacred rendezvous

Sonnet 29
for Shakespeare

His love is our wealth, William
So sweet in love He is love
And from Him comes love
Whenever I remember Elohim
Richer and richer my inheritance
A holy possession never passes

As I think more on Him, Bill
His word tends to till my field
And my heart as His abode
His word is Himself not Bible

William, can I say it is also a truth
Where our heart there our wealth
Where our treasure here our kingdom
In my union with Him I reign with Him


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