Changming Yuan

Changming Yuan grew up in a remote Chinese village and published several books before coming to Canada first as an international student. With a PhD from U of Saskatchewan, Yuan currently teaches college English in Vancouver and has had over 100 poems appearing online or in the literary press, which includes _CV2, the Dalhousie Review, dANDelion, In Our Own Words (US), the London Magazine (UK), Stylus Poetry Journal Australia), and Thanal (India).  



Outset

today, let me suspend
all my senses
in the warm and cozy
glow of the morning
huddling up my whole being
just as I used to
in my mother’s womb

revisiting eden

class="tip" dir="ltr">
at a secret moment of space
close to the invisible gate
we take off everything on us
our garments
our masks
our skins
our senses and souls
take all off, until we take off
our very selfhoods
just to have a peep
into the green fields
where adam and eve started
to cover their private parts

Thank God, Thank Heavens

lucky as i am, i am deeply grateful
for letting so many wicked things
happen to me one after another:
my mother died when i was only nine
i raped my math teacher on a stormy night
my brake broke down when i drove downhill
i stabbed my boss twenty times to death
my wife made love with my best friend
a ferocious lion tore my son into pieces
my uninsured house was rushed away by a flood
i was robbed of all my belongings at a knife point
and nobody heard my deafening call shout
among many other worse happenings
all took place in the heart of darkness
so falsely real before I was awakened

Hiking

between two tall skeletons of birches
i walk right into the heart of mid-autumn
with the city gate as my starting point
but without any predetermined destination

along a less frequently trodden trail
i keep traveling behind my own soul
each time I climb onto a little ridge
i see another higher up just ahead

it is not a question of uphill or downhill
nor a choice between two different roads
once standing on the peak to look back
i find all mountains so surprisingly small

Snail

Without this big mountain
On my humble back
I could also travel
With grace and glory

Picking Cherries

on a summer afternoon
i take my little allen
far to a field near the forest
of some cheerful cherry trees
where he could jump wildly
on ever-naked soil
finger the freshness of fruit
and smell the scarlet of nature
letting the wanton wind
blow hard and straight
through his limbs and senses
long numbed in the city pen
by the heavy grey of cement
it is really fun, dad
and the cherries are so delicious
yes, but the trees are hard to grow, son


To My First Love

beyond this bold and cold beach
i desire to design a sunshine island
where we will no longer be sandwiched
by yesterday’s fashionable dream
and tomorrow’s virtual reality
rather, we can walk freely around
with all our leisure and pleasure
gathering our fragmented childhoods
raising a dozen geese or ducklings
growing several rows of cabbage
and watching the little fluffy cloud
drifting close to the distant borderline
between the sea and sky both bluish


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