" I just want to express my feelings through poetry "


hey guys I just want to share my personal Spoken poetry or spoken word hope you like it

" Copying own of their works is illegal according by the law "

 All rights reserved
 
 By the author 
 
 
 Bamnieellandmic

Away from the problems of life!
Have you read so much that there is nothing more to read?
Then welcome to the world of Fancy Words.
Your daily light hearted, stress relieving dose of Poetry, Probably.
It may not be Poetry but it may very well be.
Read Everyday to soothe your mind.
                          WELCOME TO FANCY WORDS!

I HATE POETRY

Or rather, I hate how we're supposed to do poetry. Like a lab rat, structured and naive. Writing about things we don't even fully understand ourselves. Oh, what hypocrisy. I don't even fully understand why I'm writing this right now, with a movie playing in the background trying to drown my problems with distractions. Such sweet distractions. But that's another story. 

Now, where were we? Ah yes! Poetry.

Well, think about it, how do you see poetry? Nay, what do you see when you hear the word poetry? I'd bet a hundred dollars (No, not really) that the image in your mind goes a lot like this; a structured composition of rhyming words formed in couplets or quatrains or whatever it is you prefer, a few mismatched words found from the deepest parts of the dictionary- thesaurus, whatever. 

It doesn't matter. 

The point is, they're all the same. All those words and rhymes and rhythm are all the same. It may be from different writers, from different experiences, emotions and all that bull-trap, (sorry, I'm trying to minimize my curses) people spin from nowhere just to tell themselves; "Hey, this is unique." or, "Hey, this is different", "This is original.", "This is mine." Well sorry to burst your bubble, but none of it is true.

There is nothing unique in this world, nor is it ever going to be different nor will it ever be yours. 

None of it is yours. 

Let's face it, people write poetry for what? Leisure? Personal use? Ha! That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard, personal use. Whatcha gonna use it on? Some kind of reference? An autobiography? Like anyone is going to care. No one ever cares unless you're already dead or dying or famous. I think I might have accidentally quoted someone on that. 

Point is, there is no point. 

In living. In dying. And on anything in between.

And that's why we write; to be heard, to leave a mark. To try to be someone unique, someone inspiring. Or to be famous, whatever floats your boat. But in the end, what we really want... is to matter. May it be to a whole bunch of strangers applauding and asking for autographs, or to just one person that went out of the noose because of your work. 

Because of you. 

And I think that's enough to hold on. To keep on writing. Till my last breath.

(But I still hate poetry) 

Ning Qing was momentarily dumbfounded when she read the inelegant poem. She then read through the poem again repeatedly.
She paid the most attention to the last line. The words were very faint at first, but the color of the words grew deeper as time passed.
"Mistress, I'll go and send him away. Do you have any words that you want to relay?" Ning Que asked.
Ning Qing had never been friendly to people of noble status. However, she always looked sweet and friendly toward the commoners.
She would always give her comments whenever a student handed her their poem, no matter how badly it had been written.
"Mistress?" Ning Que reminded her once again.
Ning Qing said, "Go and get him to come in."
Ning Que could not help but be alarmed. Why… Why would she want to do that?
Ning Que had never met anyone in the past, no matter how influential they were. She even declined to meet the person who sent over Mister Taia's treasured calligraphy just now.
Now she wanted to meet a beggar?
Could that beggar have written a poem that would shock the world?
Should she do this even if that was the case?
This was a unique time. The mistress should not be receiving the beggar no matter how good the poem he wrote was.
She had to avoid doing things that would arouse suspicion.
"Mistress, are you sure?" Ning Que asked.
"I'm sure. Let him come in," Ning Qing replied.
"Alright!" Ning Que said.
***
At that moment, at the peak of a mountain not far away, a group of people was waiting for a result.
They were waiting for the beggar, Yun AoTian, to be immediately thrown out from the castle.
An aide from the Valley of Torn Gust said, "All of you, get ready. Do not let the beggar, Yun AoTian, return to the peak of the mountain when he gets thrown out. Do not let him meet the lord again. Execute him immediately. A person like this will definitely become a disaster for the Valley of Torn Gust. For the foundation of our lord, we have to kill this lunatic for the Jing Clan."
"But what about the situation on the side of the lord?" a warrior asked uneasily.
The aide replied, "Whatever we are doing now is for the ambition of our lord. The lord would never forgive Yun AoTian if he were to fail now and incite the wrath of Lady Ning Qing. It would instead sully the virtuous name of our master if we weren't the ones to kill him."
The warrior was shocked momentarily. Their lord was as beautiful as a fairy, but he did not have a virtuous reputation. He was notorious for killing others.
"Do you understand?" the aide said.
"Yes!" The warrior said, "As long as Yun AoTian fails to ascend the mountain, we'll immediately kill that wicked man for the lord."
The aide said, "Send someone to have a look. Has he been kicked out? Did he infuriate an investigation team? Do not let him escape. He might not rush back here."
"Yes!" The warrior descended the mountain to observe the situation.
He sprinted back a moment later and said in shock, "Mister, mister, our brothers who were monitoring the situation under the mountain saw this. The beggar, Yun AoTian, has entered the castle. Lady Ning Qing has received him."
"Impossible…" the aide said in a raspy voice.
"Impossible!" The Blue Immortal and Chu Zhaoran involuntarily exchanged shocked gazes.
How was that possible?
Ning Qing had refused everyone else. She would not open her door even for the treasured calligraphy of Mister Taia.
Yet Yun Zhonghe was received even though he had entered the castle with nothing in hand?
Why, why had this happened?
What exactly happened? Had the sun risen in the west?
***
A moment later!
Yun Zhonghe appeared in the study of the widow, Ning Qing. He did not see Ning Qing, the woman who held the most authority and was hailed as the Legendary Talented Lady, through the screen.
However, he detected the unique stench of blood when he entered the room. He was now even more clear of her judgment.
"I pay my respects to Lady Ning." Yun Zhonghe bowed and paid his respects. He then said, "Lady Ning must be very curious as to why I know all of this. It is actually very simple—"
However, Yun Zhonghe had not finished his sentence when he was immediately stopped by Ning Qing. This woman was also very forceful.
"What's your name?" the widow, Ning Qing, asked.
Her voice was melodious. There was determination mixed in with the softness.
Yun Zhonghe replied in shock, "My name is Yun AoTian."
Ning Qing said, "What's your identity?"
Yun Zhonghe replied, "Valley of Torn Gust, an officer of the Embroidered Uniform Guards, third official registrar."
Ning Qing continued, "What's your background?"
Yun Zhonghe answered, "Beggar. I was born a hooligan."
Ning Qing asked, "Have you received an education?"
Yun Zhonghe replied, "I studied for a few months when I was five. I dropped out during my first year of kindergarten."
"Then how did you enter the third official registrar of the Embroidered Uniform Guards at the Valley of Torn Gust? Has Jing Zhongyue taken a liking to you?" Ning Qing asked.
Yun Zhonghe replied, "That's because I have a special talent. I achieve results every time."
"What talent?" Ning Qing asked.
"Coaxing and lying to girls, cheating them out of their fortunes and bodies. Guaranteed results," Yun Zhonghe answered.
Ning Que, who was by the side, swallowed when she heard those words. She wanted to vomit.
A ploy of seduction?
Jing Zhongyue had sent such an old, ugly beggar to seduce the mistress?
How long had it been since he last washed his hair? Even the fleas were about to jump out, weren't they?
How unique of a taste did she imagine the mistress to have?
However, Ning Qing was not angered. Instead, she said, "Do you know what happened to the handsome, talented man Jing Zhongyue sent the other time?"
Yun Zhonghe said, "I do. He became a eunuch."
Ning Qing said, "Then does she feel that I would not bear to take action if she sends an old beggar this time? Furthermore, you might not be that old. You speak so bluntly. Are you not afraid that I would turn you into a eunuch?"
Yun Zhonghe said, "My parents have told me since I was young that I should be honest and that I must not lie."
Ning Qing said, "What are your parents working as? Are they also beggars?"
Yun Zhonghe replied, "I lost my parents at a young age."
The joke was lame to the point that Ning Qing could not help but shrug.
"At this point, should I laugh a little to complement your joke?" Ning Qing asked.
Yun Zhonghe said, "It'd be best if you could."
Ning Qing opened her petite mouth and let out two very official-sounding laughs.
"Yun AoTian, do you know why I received you?" Ning Qing asked, "Other than the fact that you said that I have been poisoned by someone."
Yun Zhonghe said, "You must feel indignant."
"That's right, indignant. It might even be fury," Ning Qing said. "I've seen many students, as well as many people, who never received much of an education. Over the years, there have been at least a thousand people who have submitted their poems to me. Honestly, many people wrote poems that were worse than yours, but every one of them had presented their best works. Some of these poems were extremely bad, some coquettish, others incredibly hypocritical. However, at the very least, they made use of all of their talent. No matter how pretentious their poems were, I could see their respect and passion for poetry. However, I could not see any respect in your poem. You are mocking literature. You are taking the poetic verses lightly. That made me very angry."
"I can apologize. I was wrong. I was truly wrong." Yun Zhonghe apologized immediately.
"Your apology is the same as your attitude toward poems. Frivolous, without an ounce of respect," Ning Qing said. "I am even angrier now."
The mature yet beautiful lady in front of him was very interesting. She was still extremely calm, even when she said that she was very angry.
Her elegance and cultivation seemed to be etched into her soul and bones.
At that moment, Yun Zhonghe noticed that the lady's lips seemed to be growing increasingly purple. Then, a streak of blood flowed down from her nostril.
"Lady Ning Qing, you must receive treatment as soon as possible," Yun Zhonghe said. "What did you eat just now?"
"No, that's not important," Ning Qing said. "I only care about two things in my life. First, my image. Second, literature and poetry. Your guess was right. I am not willing to see anyone because I am in an inelegant state. That's why I am unwilling to see anyone."
Yun Zhonghe said, "Lady Ning Qing, your condition is extremely critical. You have to be treated immediately."
"No…" Ning Qing said, "I do not care whether I die or not. But you mocked poetry and took literature lightly. I am very dissatisfied with your disrespectful attitude. I am very angry. I am furious."
"Yun AoTian, I am angry. Attitude is very important," Ning Qing said. "I might be a talented lady, as well as an elegant lady, but more so, I am an extreme lady. So… You have to pay the price for your frivolity! Ning Que, prepare…"
The female warrior standing to the side, Ning Que, fiercely pulled out her sword when Ning Qing said those words.
"The handsome man sent by Jing Zhongyue previously flirted with me with flippant words. That, to me, was a great humiliation," Ning Qing said, "So I turned him into a eunuch. However, your frivolous attitude toward literature and poetry is an even greater humiliation. For that, I am going to neuter you and send you back to Jing Zhongyue."
The female warrior, Ning Que, immediately placed her blade under Yun Zhonghe's abdomen without saying a word.
There would be another eunuch by Jing Zhongyue's side if the blade were to move downward.
Yun Zhonghe felt his scalp turn numb.
He realized that the woman before him, Ning Qing, was frighteningly stubborn. She was also a little mentally unsound.
What was going on?
Were all of the top-notch beauties of this world a little mentally unstable?
Jing Zhongyue was like this. Ning Qing was like this. Even I, Yun Zhonghe, am like this.
Did a person become crazier the more attractive they were?
Ning Qing said, "Yun AoTian, I do not care how you are going to convince me, nor do I care about what you wish to obtain from me. I don't even care if you are trying to save my life. We will speak after you pass the hurdle before you. You have to compensate for the poetry that you mocked with your frivolous attitude. Do you know the only one who can truly mock poetry?"
Yun Zhonghe said, "The Poetry Genius!"
"That's right!" Ning Qing said, "Only a rare Poetry Genius can mock poetry as he would have possessed poetry. It is the same as how you can freely mock a woman when you are in a relationship with her, while mocking a woman you do not know will get you neutered."
Yun Zhonghe confirmed it. The widow in front of him was definitely insane.
Ning Qing continued, saying, "The inelegant poem you wrote just now was unfit to be read. It was flippant and disgusting to the extreme."
"Every month, a few days of intense abdominal pain.
Blood, an unending flow that dyed the dress red. You cannot meet anyone for half a month.
A head of hair, shedding every day, too embarrassed to see anyone.
Difficult troubles that you cannot voice, don't worry, the holy hand of gynecology is here to help."
Ning Qing finished reciting the vulgar sentences, not even fit to be called a poem.
"This poem has four lines. The words that start every line are 'every,''blood,''a,' and 'difficult'!"
"Use these words as your opener and make another poem that consists of four lines. You can use words that sound the same. However, you have to impress me completely. You have to surpass all of the poems that I have received in the past."
Yun Zhonghe froze at that moment.
The widow, Ning Qing, continued, saying, "That will prove that you are a one-in-a-million Poetry Genius. It will prove that you have the right to mock poetry and literature. That way, I will be able to forgive you, and we can continue. Otherwise, I am going to neuter you.
"You only have a limited amount of time. You have to complete your poem by the time I finish my countdown. Otherwise, you can peacefully become Jing Zhongyue's eunuch.
"Ten… Nine… Eight…"
Ning Qing started her countdown. She took an average of five seconds between every number.
Yun Zhonghe's scalp truly began to turn numb.
F… F… F*ck!
Ning Qing was truly a devil. Was she really insane?
"I already told you that I was an uneducated hooligan. I dropped out of school in the first year of kindergarten, and you expect me to compose a poem?" he thought.
"Aren't you leaving me with no choice?
"Furthermore, you expect me to start with the words 'every,''blood,''a,' and 'difficult.' Even though I could use similar-sounding words, the poem has to be one-in-a-million. Isn't this harder than reaching the sky?
"I don't even have a place to copy the poem from, do I?"
Also, blood was continuously flowing out of her beautiful nose.
Her breathing was getting more and more rapid, her lips more and more purple. Her condition was becoming more and more serious.
Ning Que's blade below Yun Zhonghe's abdomen was raring to go. It was ready to strike at any time. Ning Que was going to turn Yun Zhonghe into a eunuch before immediately turning to save her mistress.
"Seven, six, five, four…"
Ning Qing's countdown was about to end. Yun Zhonghe was about to become a eunuch.
Yun Zhonghe trembled. All of the hairs on his body stood up.
He closed his eyes and racked his brain.
"Three, two, one…"
The countdown was about to end.
Yun Zhonghe opened his eyes fiercely and said, "Got it. I got it."
He then recited a poem with the required word at the start of every sentence. The poem read:
"There are goodbyes as the blossoms move west. There is sorrow as the snow travels up north.
I will always be a man of the mountains. Unable to obtain a comforting hug from my descendants."[1]
(Adapted and modified from the famous work of a Tang Dynasty poet, Zhang Nanshi)*
***
[1] The words used at the start of the sentences of the second poem are similar sounding words to those of the first poem in Chinese.
*Author's note.


In the midst of an explosion of the X Psychiatric Hospital, Yun Zhonghe, the hospital director traveled back in time.  29 genius mental health patients' souls entered his brain, equipping him with 29 peculiar abilities. He joined the imperial intelligence agency and went undercover in the enemy state. Years have passed, if I don't resume my original identity, I would soon become the emperor of the enemy state!

"Tell me your experiences and let's see what fate holds for you and them."

     She stood from that end of the cave and came to sit close to him. The walls of the cave were no longer cold and emotionless, they were then warm and have got life seeped in them. 

Vulcan could savor the life therein and was going to complement the fairy's words:

      "That which I'd love to tell or which I wish to forget?"

       The fairy had changed back into the beautiful lady she used to be. He did love her in that form, and not in some forms which was lack-sanity and kill-emotions. Some deep dipshit.

 He was sure that he knew what she was thinking about. 

      "The one you wish to tell because you won't forget, and the ones you won't tell and wish to forget."

       He smiled. He had no idea what did intrigue her to wield words in such manner. Twas something which ought not to intrigue. 

He seemed to be addicted to words and only push motions that would complement the addiction. To him, it did seem as though all the spiritual figures he had been seeing had been playing around words. 

And so was the fairy. Probably twas a ritual in the spirit land. 

       "I write poems. I am poet."

      "What are poems?"

      He turned to her. He wanted to convince himself that he wouldn't have to explain every word he did mention to her, else he would quit speaking. How would he explain all the words?

     "Poems are offshoots of poetry."

       "Answers that give questions are better steered cleared of."

       She decided to pick a stone which was lying by her feet. He had no idea what she was going to do with it, but he did know that she obviously understood his stance in the argument. 

       "Poetry is a beautiful maiden with grits and glory. It's draped in such fame that only few take note of it. Few dotes, even devoutly dotes on it."

       She aimed the stone at the wall of the cave as the stone fought its way through the wall of the cave and poured out a cup of water from the hard wall. 

In a jiffy, she was already there and had her mouth to the dribbles of water from the wall. He looked amazed and knew know what to do. 

       "Many mercies for the stray."

       She was already by his side again. She nodded him to the continuation of the explanation. Then at once, she did seem to have something to say:

        "If thou dote on poetry, even devoutly dote on it, why then do you have a wife?"

      He smiled. He wasn't so shocked with the question. He knew already that he was chatting with a fairy, hence, the distinction of thoughts. 

He tried to sort a soothing answer. That was all that he did need. He did seem to find one:

      "To me, formerly, idolatry is not much of a deal. Man must do whatever he does like without a pause. Man must have ways with what he did want to do. Therefore, I dote on poetry and poetry only."

     She was no longer at his left side anymore, she was rather at the right.

 He didn't know when she did change her position. Of course that should be owed to disappearing. 

      "I do not esteem idolatry. That was why I sent the eldest of the tigers who was very experience to mar the breath of Myclops. I won't be a toss of idolatry. If you will dote on poetry, devoutly do so. If thou would dote on me, devoutly do so. Do not be tossed about like the wanky winds blown hither and tither."

      She wore a felon frown. He was trying to understand if she did love him or was just playing around the words. 

He understood what she was saying and wasn't ready to maintain an argument. He would never quit writing, neither would he quit having sex with her.

 She did want him to choose, how was he supposed to do that. She was merely selfish. She shouldn't be so.

 Why would she think that she would be the only one to have her? He wouldn't make his face tell the tales of the throbbing thoughts. 

       "Then I wrote about poetry of fear and death, of pain and rage, of sea and terrors, of venom and wiles, of destruction and annihilation, of disaster and earthquakes, of duels and of war, of Poseidon and of several gods, of Nymphs and Mermaids, of Centaurs and Imps, of Satyrs and Faggots, and then of the one who lived above the apt azure and the body of misty silhouettes."

       He paused to sweep his thoughts into a whole. He wanted to arrange them and figure out where to start from. But she snapped at the chance:

       "Do you devoutly dote on me or on idolatry?"

       He continued. 

        "Then was I  caught in the claws of merry, a day when Cupid met with Dionysus on the wings of the worn winds about the affairs of the earthens. 

A joy was birthed at their meeting and so, a light was pointed, whose ray lit the gloom of all the villagers. I, a culprit as well to the cave of Myclops went, to celebrate his installment and figure out what he would be basked in. 

Not to be acquainted with the gods or something, but to know the places all were placed and confined even if they were not visible.


        Then did I fight my freedom from the claws of merry and leapt at booze. Generous booze held me worthier of all those who leapt at him and smothered my wits, chopped my sanity into confetti.

Then was my vision boozed then bruised. That I, the maiden of Anthony called, the three Nymphs of the gaunt grotto. 

And the cave of Myclops to me was a body of a rude sea. And sea in my eyes, went down I to swim and swim my way out of this world.

 And so did I! Swam my way out and was transported by generous waves to what was called my fantasy."

      He paused. He felt his throat was drying up. He needed something to damp it with. 

He looked by the right, the fairy was no longer there, she was already before him. She did speak up again:

      "Do you devoutly dote on Poetry and me as well?"

      He wanted to run through the course of his experience:

      "Then saw I a lawn of sea which contradicts that which on the earth is. It's like a glass and callous crystal. When I wondered for naught what it was, I wandered. Before I wandered, I saw the lips of the sea spoke (for it has no waves), though I did not hear. Fear made mess of my grit and was I quaking, anticipating my death. But felon fate whose wits had been plagued by lust tossed an eerie form. A dolphin note did the lips of the sea croon and I was pissed. Then I wandered. 

        To eat only, for hunger would always find a room for itself everywhere. Both in reality and fantasy. The place was a spell of time for strange sight never bore out the sight.

 Then saw I a fruit, ate and ate my want to fill. A fruit only there equates twelve square meals here on earth. Saw I a spring and would go there to fetch water for remonstrating throat. 

But then, after my heart, weary of several calls lured the lips to a song, heard I a shout from the sea. Like a crazed panther, toppled I through the path till there I was borne.

       And I stood before fear and awe. Oh no! Get it not wrongly. Stood I before one who sent fear through my spines and the other who seeped awe in my reins.

 Hence, the odds. Poseidon, even odd Poseidon, was before me with his serpent. A clown firstly I mistook him for and yet doubt his authencity, for he's wavery and knavish.

 Dragged me he on the Leviathan and drove away in a haste to my fantasy where he did tell me that I would act everything I had written back on earth. 

But few foils were made too. For I made love with several Nymphs in my fantasy, and I'm sure that I didn't write about that. 

Why would I? My daughters read my poems. What treachery to virginity would the imagination of sexual conference be."

     He was done talking. He knew that. He didn't know if the fairy would still be interested. He wasn't even sure. The fairy stood up immediately and spat rage into his face. 

      "How inconstant and lack-propriety you are. To leap from several maidens to me. From Poetry to the Nymphs and now to me. Be gone now and let us cross paths no more. If you won't be gone, for love I'll give you my home, but for honour of fair love I'll be gone."

     The fairy vanished. He had no idea what to think. He already knew. Everything happened o
too quickly. He couldn't be sure if the fairy would return to him anymore. He stood up.

"What would you like to be? A toad, serpent, bench, signet, papyrus, pot of Cauldron? Say."

 What kinda crazy list was she making? How crazy she was. She couldn't even make any soothing and pleasurable form. He would take those as a message from a cherub in hell. 

 "A necklace!"

 "So be it."

 She touch his erection (the closest thing to her) and he turned immediately into a necklace. A necklace with a green blob. 

She wore it around her neck and slid it into the path between the two enormous boobs.

 That was all Vulcan had ever wanted. That moment should never pass away...

 * * *

Vulcan was a horror poet when he was alive. On the day when Myclops, the village priest was to dedicate the cave to Medusa, Vulcan got drunk. And in his subconsciousness, he was caught up into his fantasy. There he was met by Poseidon, the god of the sea, before a sea of glass. He was welcomed into his fantasy. There he was to act all the things he had written in his poems. 

 It aint as easy as whichever way you are looking at it. Remember he was a horror poet. Enjoy his fantasy with him. How he met Medusa, several nymphs and fairies and discovered the secret of the wierd priest.

 He would fight Poseidon, Leviathan and maybe God too, because he wrote all those in his poems.

 * * *

 DISCLAIMER

 TO ALL THE READERS. ESPECIALLY TO THOSE WHO THINK THEY KNOW ALL. {APOLOGY IF THAT WAS RUDE}

 FROM CHAPTER 2 - 50 PERHAPS, THE USE OF WORDS IS QUITE REMOTE AND COULD BE A LITTLE BIT ANNOYING SINCE THE WRITER MADE AN EXCESSIVE USAGE OF "THE THIRD PERSON OMNISCIENT NARRATIVE TECHNIQUE". THAT IS, THE WRITER EXCESSIVELY PLAYED ON THE THOUGHTS OF THE CHARACTERS BY REPEATING AND REPEATING AND REPEATING WHICH COULD PRETTILY BE ANNOYING. 

 THEREFORE, TO SAVE YOURSELF OF THE STRESS, YOU CAN SIMPLY START READING THE BOOK FROM CHAPTER 60 OR SO. DO NOT BE BOTHERED. YOU WON'T MISS OUT ON MUCH. IT'S A BOOK OF STAGES OF FANTASY. PLUS THE BOOK WILL EXTEND TO 1K CHAPTERS. 

 SO, NO READER SHOULD GO TO THE REVIEW SECTION AND START COMPLAINING ABOUT REPETITION OF THOUGHTS OF THE CHARACTERS BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN DISCUSSED HERE. DO NOT DIMINISH THE REPUTATION OF THIS BOOK. READING IS BY CHOICE. 

 PLUS, THE WRITER MIGHT FIND TIME TO EDIT THE MENTIONED CHAPTERS AND HELP THE READERS TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS TRYING TO DO WITH THE EXCESSIVE PLAY ON WORDS. 

 WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF AN ANCESTOR.

 TO BE FOREWARNED IS TO BE FOREARMED.

 THANKS FOR STOPPING BY.

The Zen poet Shiki has written:

SUCH SILENCE; SNOW-TRACING WINGS OF MANDARIN DUCKS.

The Zen poets have created a totally different category of poetry called haiku. It does not have many words as other poems have many words. A haiku is a very small piece, but very existential. You don't have to read it, you have to see it.

SUCH SILENCE ... now don't listen to the words 'such silence', but feel it, experience it.

SUCH SILENCE; SNOW-TRACING WINGS. Such high flight that it leaves traces OF MANDARIN DUCKS on the eternal snow of the mountains. Seeing this miracle, you fall into a deep, undisturbed peacefulness.

The haiku is not a song to be sung, it is a song to be experienced and seen. You have to visualize it.

Another poet:

HERE AMONG THE PLUM TWIGS, DRY, YET BLOOMING, THE ORIOLE'S SILENT SONG!

In fact haiku cannot be translated. These words are only approximate. Chinese and Japanese are non-alphabetical languages. They have a totally different world. For example: HERE AMONG THE PLUM TWIGS. You have to use the alphabet, ABC, but in Chinese or Japanese or Korean, it is not letters that are used. You will see pictures of plum twigs, you will see the picture for 'here'.

Everything is a picture. So when you read a Zen poem, remember that it is pictorial.

HERE AMONG THE PLUM TWIGS, DRY, YET BLOOMING, THE ORIOLE'S SILENT SONG!

Here it is possible, in this silence, to understand. This silence is not just a word. You are drowned in it. It is showering on you like rainfall. And suddenly in this silence, a cuckoo starts singing or crickets start their songs. It becomes a haiku.

Poetry has been lived for the first time in haiku. In other languages, poetry has been written but it has not been lived. And the difference is Gautam Buddha's experience, which opens a new dimension - the existential.

Particularly in this country, people are so concerned with words - scriptures, VEDAS, continuous commentaries upon commentaries. In the whole world, there have never been so many commentaries. Just on one book, the SHRIMAD BHAGAVADGITA, there are one thousand commentaries, and those are the famous ones, others may have been lost. But one thousand commentaries? It is as if people lived only words.

In Zen you have to drop the habit of bringing every experience into words. For example, the moment you see a beautiful rose, something inside you immediately puts it into language. Something inside you says, "What a beautiful rose." You cannot remain silent - "What a beautiful morning, what a beautiful sunset." Can't you remain without any words, just watching the sunset? Then you would become almost a part of it. Then it would not be something separate from you, it would be something very intimate and very close. To live poetry, to live music, are by-products of Gautam Buddha's experience.

Ikkyu wrote:

BUDDHISM IS THE SHAVED PART OF THE SAUCEPAN, THE WHISKERS OF THE PEBBLE, THE SOUND THAT ACCOMPANIES THE BAMBOOS IN THE PICTURE.

The bamboo is very much loved by the Zen poets for its tremendous quality of being hollow. Out of this hollowness of the bamboo, a flute can be made. The bamboo will not sing, but it can allow any song to pass through it.

In meditation you have to become hollow, just like a bamboo, so that the whole, the existence itself, can sing its song through you. You become simply a part, dancing, because the wind of the whole is passing through you. The energy of the whole has taken possession of you. You are possessed, you are no more, the whole is.

This moment, as the silence penetrates in you, you can understand the significance of it, because it is the same silence that Gautam Buddha experienced. It is the same silence that Chuang Tzu or Bodhidharma or Nansen .... The taste of the silence is the same. Time changes, the world goes on changing, but the experience of silence, the joy of it, remains the same. That is the only thing you can rely upon, the only thing that never dies. It is the only thing that you can call your very being.

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"'Literary works flow overseas, if one wants to compose poetry and drink wine, they will stopover at the west gate again?' Seems like this Lu Yuan truly has some real ability."
"Hehe, grandpa's judgment wouldn't be wrong. If I say he is talented, it means that he is!"
"Grandpa, matching a couplet cannot mean anything. It can only prove that he isn't an ignorant and incompetent person. There are so many people here, are they not all people of talent?"
"Hehe, I know your judgment is very high. Have you heard of [Für Elise] before? That was created by him."
"I've been immersed in ancient poetry these few days, I've not heard of that yet."
"If you are free, you should listen to it. The melody of Für Elise has already been entered into the teaching books. After you listen to it, you will know why grandpa regards this young man so highly."
"If he is really a person of talent, he would surely display his brilliance here in the Poetry Exchange! If he can get within the top three rankings, I will consider him."
"Your requirements are too high. It's very rare for there to be men who are proficient in all fields in the world. Unless he is a genius of course. I feel that he is already sufficiently outstanding, and he is also very humble. He doesn't have the air of arrogance most literati have."
"No! My requirements will not change. Even if I cannot meet someone like that in my entire life, I won't change. It isn't so bad to live alone until I'm old."
"Sigh, you really...what can I say to you…"
On the second level, Grandpa Chen looked to be in vigorous health. He looked at his granddaughter while shaking his head and sighing in his heart.
This granddaughter was good in many aspects. Her talent and ability were high too.
But her brain must have been damaged.
What kind of man would have the talent so high that it reached the requirements she was looking for?
Wasn't this pure nonsense?
.........
This time, the Poetry Exchange was split into two factions.
The classical poetry society and modern poetry society.
Ever since ancient times, they had always scorn each other.
The modern poetry supporters felt that classical poetry supporters were too inflexible and kept adhering to old ideas. They only knew how to follow the old ways and were lacking in new ideas.
The classical poetry supporters felt that modern poetry supporters had forgotten their foundations. The poems they wrote contained no depth, and in recent times, no one in the modern poetry society was overflowing with talent. Hence, the content of their poems was simply sentimental nonsense.
These two factions would always clash with each other in the Poetry Exchange every year, comparing their poems. Everyone hoped that the faction they supported could suppress the other. However, they both had an equal share of limelight every year and the difference was truly minimal. Basically, they were in a tie...
After all, regardless of classical poetry or modern poetry, they had never been compared to see which was better in history. They were all poems. Only the talent of poets was being compared.
Maybe it was because those who could enter the Poetry Exchange were all students ranking at the top of various universities. Their accomplishments in literature were naturally outstanding. Hence, when the judges gave out the points, the score would always hover around the 9-point mark. It was very rare for there to be a lower or higher score given. The winner of each year also won barely by 0.xx+ points. It was impossible for there to be a situation of absolute crushing dominance.
Hence, in such a situation, even the number of talents in each faction was something the two factions wanted to compete about.
Lu Yuan managed to match an extremely difficult couplet. In the eyes of people of this faction, he was a rare talent!
If Lu Yuan hadn't been dragged to the west gate by Li Dongqiang, he most probably would have been sitting at the classical poetry side, eating fruits and idling away his time. If that happened, he would occasionally glance at the people and clap a little for the atmosphere, waiting for the exchange to be peacefully finished. But now...
The situation wasn't too good.
"Lu Yuan, you say for yourself. Now, you have two entry passes, so you can choose to sit at two seats. Which one do you want?"
"That's right, what would you choose? The classical poetry side or our modern poetry side!?"
"..."
The light here was very bright, and it shone down on Lu Yuan's bitter and somewhat forced smile.
Not far away, on an empty space at the footpath, a few cameramen hurriedly turned their cameras and filmed Lu Yuan. The reporters at the side had looks of interest on their faces as they wrote down notes…
At this moment, regardless of who they were, all the members of the Poetry Exchange were staring at Lu Yuan, waiting for his choice. The atmosphere became slightly awkward once again.
"Can I choose to stand and watch? I feel that standing up is quite good." Lu Yuan took in a deep breath upon seeing the gazes of the people and the flash of the cameras.
He felt that there would be a problem no matter where he chose.
"No way!"
"No way! You have to choose!"
Shen Rong and Dao Yuting spoke out at the same time.
"Ah, no good. My stomach is aching. It's so painful that I cannot stand it. Where's the toilet? I need to make a trip there…" Lu Yuan instantly thought of an idea as he looked at the people here. Under the dumbfounded gazes of the crowd, he clutched his stomach and ran toward the direction of the toilet.
Out of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing was the best one!
"We will wait for him to come back and choose."
"Sure!"
The attitudes of Dao Yuting and Shen Rong were so intense that there was a smell of gunpowder in the air. After that, they returned to their seats.
......…...
Lu Yuan ran to the toilet, and he subconsciously searched in his pocket.
His disappointment continued to ferment.
He wanted to hide in the toilet and would only come out when the Poetry Exchange was about to be concluded. It could be considered that he had 'finished enduring' today.
However, he didn't know which bro was it that had diarrhea. In the toilet, sounds of firecrackers popping kept ringing out. The sound was one thing, but the smell was so pungent that those who smelled it would instantly feel like vomiting.
How could Lu Yuan, who was not smoking, endure such a thing? He finally cursed 'MMP' in his heart and speechlessly ran out of the toilet.
Under the light, he stared at the two entry passes in his hand…
(Forget it, I'll go to the Old Master's seat.)
He ultimately had to choose one after all.
Lu Yuan hesitated for a while. Ultimately, he walked in the direction of the seat the Old Master had arranged for him, under the sound of sighing from Shen Rong and the excited gaze of Dao Yuting.
When the talents of the classical poetry faction saw this scene, their expressions were filled with a few hints of satisfaction. As for those from the modern poetry faction, all of them were glaring at Lu Yuan with envy, speechlessness, and rage...
There were all sorts of expressions.
If looks could kill, Lu Yuan would probably already be dead.
"Brother, not bad! You have good judgment! My name is Xu Xiaonian, it's an honor to meet you!"
"Eh, my name is Lu Yuan, it's an honor to meet you…"
Lu Yuan just sat down and there was already a youth wearing a traditional Han Chinese robe coming over to converse with Lu Yuan. This youth clasped his fists together and had a very polite look on his face.
Lu Yuan also mirrored his mannerisms. It was just that the more he did so, the stranger he felt.
He wasn't used to this.
"It's really good that brother decided to join our classical poetry faction. Your presence really brings light to our humble location!"
"Ah? Actually, I don't really know much about poetry. I'm just a dabbler and I came here because I wanted to learn…"
"Brother, you are too humble. Being able to match the lower part of that couplet already shows your skill. If you are a dabbler, wouldn't I be a layman? Brother, there's no need to be so unduly humble. If you are overly humble, that would be considered flaunting…"
"My luck was just good...I really don't have much talent and ability." Lu Yuan blushed with shame when he saw the impressed look on the youth's face when speaking with Lu Yuan.
He also felt extremely awkward.
"You are just too modest. Oh, by the way, I received news that the test topic today will be about 'farmer'. We have to use the topic to craft a poem. Do you have any insight on this?"
"Farmer?" Lu Yuan shook his head. "No. Actually, I don't really know how to write poems. I will just watch as you write it,"
"Everyone has to write one...this is the rule of the competition."
"Ah? The rule?"
"Yes."
"Is there a reward?"
"For the first-place in every category, the winner would have an honor certificate…"
"I'm not asking about the certificates. I mean, are there any monetary rewards?"
"Yeah, the monetary rewards should be $50,000 for every category."
"$50,000!"
Lu Yuan, who had planned to slack like a salted fish, suddenly changed his attitude. His eyes brightened when he heard this.
(Farmer? Wait a minute…)
(I… Want to thank my primary school's language teacher!)
Lu Yuan took in a deep breath and felt a little high.
"Yea, what about it?"
"Nothing…"
As the two were discussing below the stage, the music of the opening ceremony rang out from the stage. After that, a few old men sat on the judging table. The one at the corner was none other than Old Master Chen.
"Respected gifted scholars, a very good night to everyone. Today, our Poetry Exchange is honored enough to have invited…"
After the host's introduction, the lighting on the stage dimmed. After that, the audience who were initially making noise suddenly fell silent.
A giant screen at the back of the stage showed the topic of this category...
The test topic was 'Farmer'!
"Farmer, hehe. It's truly the case. Luckily, I did some preparations. Brother...brother? Mn?" When Xu Xiaonan glanced over, he saw Lu Yuan already lifting his brush in excitement and wrote words on the xuan paper...
When Xu Xiaonan took a closer look, he discovered that Lu Yuan's words were as messy as the dance of dragons and phoenixes.
Mn…
He completely had no idea what Lu Yuan was writing.
This calligraphy was truly…
Too unique?
Note:
MMP is the acronym of a chinese cursing phrase: "Your mom is a prostitute." The alternatives are mmp [pinyin acronym] and X賣批 [mā mài pī].


In that year, with a script finished in five hours, Lu Yuan who was dying for money successfully got a large investment of one million Yuan from a rich and beautiful girl.
At first, he just planned to spend eight hundred thousand Yuan on shooting and take the remaining two hundred thousand Yuan home before the movie's release, marrying a wife and running a small business. He swore he would never come to Hengdian again.
However…
The box office got an extraordinary success…

   my mind still clung to its depictions of uncertainty as i was trying to compose myself. i'm glad i was still being able to stare at you.
   i wouldn't really know what a deeper layer feels like if i hadn't met poetry, the bestest friend of mine, the one that i'm always counting my dull perceptions on.
   and you... you wouldn't really know that i'm a nighttime writer if i hadn't touched you just like one of my midnight papers. you've always been the curious type, you definitely wanted me to travel your blushed skin. but you know me, i like to wrap my words around those who tend to read when no one's truly around. their mindless hearts can't cope with perhaps everything that's going on in this brain of mine, yet they want to know.... they're dying to know why i'm so mentally alluring, but that's something only an insider would ever be able to notice.
   scratched words are my favorite thing to read, even when i'm staring at a blank page that undoubtedly begs to get itself inked all over again...

    i think all of it wouldn't have existed if we hadn't met the risk, my dearest.

   unwritten words— that's what my brain gets itself lost in. unwritten words that i enjoy reading on cloudless, autumn days. but i have to admit: i wouldn't really know how to escape my very own thoughts if i hadn't met you, poetry. you wouldn't know how to escape yourself either. that's how i came to a realization— spiritual sickness often turns into a physical one... perhaps it's a never-ending circle for those who seek the cure outside themselves. you effortlessly became the medicine of my existence. you've always had some sort of power over me, and you knew how to put all my thoughts in one place without making me bleed.


   you're the kind of poetry that captured my mind.

“everywhere i go, everything i do, i see you— not with my eyes, but with my mind.”

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