The Farther Route
Do you like how twisted I am?
Are you willing to take the farther route with me?
There is no light,
but it is said to have more stars.
There is no sign post,
but there are many unnamed flora.
Do you want to live in a warm ocean?
Are you willing to approach a shark out of sheer curiosity?
I always think of you at critical moments
as if you could wake me from my nightmares.
If There Were a Next Life
I would spend my next life
As a beautiful deer,
Dashing into the road when you were driving
For your sincere remorse.
I would spend my next life
As a petit snail.
On the sidewalk after the rain,
I’d quietly be crushed by you
So that I could live on the sole of your shoes
And follow you wherever you go.
I would become a
Located in a
Perfect love poem
To make you slightly surprised
And to make you wonder about
The meaning of my existence.
Some verses are sad by nature,
such as Love, such as We.
We–Can you understand?
It requires two people or more
to do the same things, such as
making love, or coming across difficult words,
or reading similar stories,
or writing sentences that make one another feel
suffocated at an instance.
I will not ask you ever again, things like
how you’ve been, how the weather is
where you are, if it’s raining,
if you’re still kidnapped by the reality, or
if you’re still afraid, you’re
still shaken in the middle of a storm.
I know the mere existence of somethings
make people sad.
I just didn’t think even these hearts
are broken through our collaboration.
I don’t know about you, but the rain here
has been hitting my window nonstop.
Every raindrop is a needle
piercing through our history
and then slowly sawing it back together.
Are you still where I left you
just as I had once waited for you?
Sooner or later someone will have to leave first,
sometimes dying in life
sometimes an inextinguishable flame
rise in one’s dreams.
Some verses have always been upsetting,
I know, for instance what you’ve told me, about
us. Everything turned miserable
after you and I are no longer we.
I come across difficult words,
read similar stories,
tell lies that suffocate myself.
All lies are voluntarily told.
Same are decay and diaspora.
Same as you and I.
〈所有人都起飛了只剩他在原地〉 by 林禹瑄
Everyone Has Taken off, Leaving Only Him on the Spot
Everyone has taken off
Leaving only him on the spot
Stepping back and forth, blinking, lighting a lighter,
Using burnt fingers to rub some icy desire.
The floor in his eyes was still the floor
The wall was still the wall, and the self mirror on the wall
Was still having the annoying look,
Living in the house like a wasteland,
Making hollow sounds:
No splendid fire, no man-eating flower,
and no soft branch leading to the deep end of the universe,
bringing back the answer to life–
He still has questions, but no one answers them.
Everyone has taken off
Leaving only him on the spot,
Trying to burn the extinguished prairie,
Believing that repeating the same uselessness
At the same frequency
Will make himself useful,
Such as reading about communism, drinking diet coke,
Such as believing that ordinariness
Brings one safety and happiness.
“But nothing happened.”
No clock hand that went counterclockwise, no shiny memories,
and no expanding galaxy silently devouring
a life time of regret and depression.
He knew that the world had problems,
But he didn’t know where he had made a mistake.
He remained silent. Everyone said
Silence was right.
And yet everyone has taken off,
Leaving only him on the spot,
Walking back and forth, blinking, and lighting a lighter,
Continuing to breathe sincerely
“Nothing becomes better.”
He unwrapped a piece of chewing gum,
Chewing himself plain.
He felt lonely,
He felt he was extra,
But he didn’t
Put on a disappointed look.
A minute still contains 60 seconds, and afar is still afar.
Standing under the sun
Still makes him want to make a wish.
Everyone has taken off,
Leaving the best of life behind.
He puts the ashes in his pocket,
Sometimes watering it, sometimes burning it.
When it rains,
Only he has a secret.
Only he can see the new-grown mushrooms.
By Lily Yen
On the last Friday of each month, during the Kind of Red tapas and wine tasting hour each participant is asked to contribute a line or verse that drips soon after a sip, sound, glance or a unique exchange. Here we share with the community some leafs of the accordion booklet.
Red Carpet , red room, red wine (well , white and pink as well , but you know)
Red flows as much as the wine and the smooth jazz tonight.
Let’s all get red together tonight with the wine.
-a thirsty Red Roomer
Be the change i want to see until i see the result!
Kind of Red has been a treat to the senses, clarity to the mind, music to my taste buds.
Dive in and enjoy the tranquility with soothing jazz, timeless sounds, and forgotten beats.
Let us swim in the pungent sweat of grapes crushed with heat and ferver.
Their form forgotten, and instead shapes in the imagination of your flavour.
Diving in the sea,
the ocean, the flow, the whisper.
You’re the king queen of the world.
The being reigning the well collecting the colour seeping and the great bird shrieking ;
-a literary enthusiast of the Red Room
What can I say about you
that hasn’t been expressed
by other clear voices?
You were unexpected brilliance,
making my life a little richer.
You entered my life
like a welcome explosion
of words, art, senses, heart,
friendship and purpose.
Your hearts are big,
your words are true.
You found room for me
and let me in.
I entered a stranger,
but left a friend.
No, more than that.
You made me family.
I walked through a door
that was the warmest embrace.
You gave me a gift
where it was okay for me
to explore and be myself.
You’ve made me
a little richer,
a little kinder,
a little happier to be me.
I’m not always a loud voice
but you welcomed what I am.
You were there
as I battled pain and anxiety,
and you never turned me away.
Because of you,
my writing erupted
from my pen in inky loops of joy,
my voice soared beyond
performance, but to reach out
and make a difference.
We are family beyond blood,
connected by the colorful
painful mosaic of
I will carry you in my heart
and share your gift with the world.
You are my tribe.
–by Whitney Zahar
Poem written for Spectacular Atrophy
The organizers and players involved gathered in a circle, as fireworks shot into the sky; an explosion of light, dazzled and amazed, showering the land with love and praise.
That spectacle is a part of this cycle.
It was said:
Abided , alleged , anticipated
We bargained, begged, blasted
They “cross-examined” , condemned
Denied , Droned
Exposed, equivocated, echoed
It was foretold
Implied, indicated, interrogated
They observed, observed, observed
Parroted, pledged, paraphrased
Requested, repeated, rephrased, repeated, rhapsodized, reviewed, repeated
Taunted, thundered, trumpeted
We voiced, vowed
by Aspiring Azul
Kaamyab Ho, the positive work flow, laid deep within my skin, prick pointed by peri pipkin. The crying procrastinator imprints a reminder FOREVER, only method of removal would be to sever the limb in which I lift high above my head.
Kaamyab Ho, the positive workflow..
A phrase to continue the pace for productivity, it faces me for my eyes only. Soley- but I don’t stand alone, the grind is consistent with any 21 year old.. With livers as healthy as any teenager, we convince ourselves that there’s plenty of time. To heal, bounce back and recover from the night before. Ignore the sore pains that you’ll never have the best story to explain…well, parentals..i lean upon a cane. Modern day utilities remind us of our futility in the level of functionality that matters. Morning chatters, sips on chai crackers this ink blot teaches truth..that’s the last tooth. I’ll be ready as an adult…crunching my way through youth..
Kaamyab Ho, the positive work flow, laid deep within my skin, words by brown kin I’m closer to being Hindustani , Gandhi had his code to abide by, this way chickens do fly, possibilities aren’t out the window …they exist in my scope, no need to linger… let me throw you a rope..
Rise and surface through the desert sands…originally unfamiliar lands- striving for success starved of demands unmet..this is more than shade…it’s a tent…
Tools and sustenance hits fools and reluctance. All we need is within it, how could you not make sense of this.
It’s from a steel point…torch lit to a rocker’s joint.
she walked into my room with a needle and ink..there was me sitting with a very stiff drink..
Chizzle to skin, clink..clink..think on what’s being done..this is permanent ink..
Kaamyab Ho, the positive workflow
Read by Aspiring Azul
Stage Time & Wine 88, April 15 2017