If a teacher of eighty
Finds his students acting freely
If he recalls his years of toil
Matches the intensity of his pupils’ joy
《 Anthony at Eighty 》 __ Kong Shiu Loon
Reply
Category Archives: Poems – English
《Toronto Reunion 2015》Cecil Chan(67)
Cecil (Standing L5)
Thanks for the companionship
Road tips and bullshits
The familiar refreshed the unfamiliar refreshing
Things I have done and said
Has long escaped me
And lived in your memory
You light up my life
You fill up my life Continue reading
A Winter Dream __ Kong Shiu Loon
A Winter Dream by Kong Shiu Loon
I pine for her violin
For her flutes and tambourine
For her orchestration of greens
I hear warm velvet breezes
Distant hill hisses
Bird songs shaking trees
This Hard Winter __ Kong Shiu Loon
The clock’s minute-hand 
Trembles slowly to land
On never-never land
Reading on I pretend
With no man-made heating
The cold pages are not turned
Under my seat hide my hands
《In Praise of Autumn》_《Autumn Thoughts》 by Kong Shiu Loon
In Praise of Autumn
A season you are
Not like any other
Golden leaves lingering on trees
Ready to mix with other colours to please
Wonders in your cloudless sky eternally shine
Bounty melons fruits and corn witness farmers’ pride
Where sheep and cattle graze meadows are left bare
Migrating geese get busy their long flights prepare Continue reading
Jumps and falls__ by S.L. Kong
I watch at the park a girl of five or four
Hands outstretched she jumps repeatedly to catch a hanging ball
The autumn morning sun is shining ever so soft
It warms and encourages the girl to jump more and more
Sitting nearby her mother is concerned her daughter may fall
She calls her to stop the jumps once for all
Nearby an old man mutters as the mother tells the girl her fun was ample
‘Tis not the ball but the reaching the man continues with his mumbles
《踏莎行》遊冰川有感__江紹倫
《Tune: Treading on Grass》 Thoughts in visiting the Glacier by Kong Shiu Loon
Grand is the Arctic scenery
Sky and ocean-land in harmony
Billion-year snow sitting stationary
On helicopter I marvel the intricate beauties of the icy territory
On the ground my breathing lets out cold mists not ordinary
What wonders can Nature’s hands create
Making immobile glacier its flows in wait
Alarmed are we to find fellow species extinct today
The cause is pollution induced global warming
Survival requires curtailment of desires for material wellbeing
Ah My Native Land__江紹倫
Ah My Native Land
Winds through ten thousand pines sound musical
Green leaves on a thousand hills shine beautiful
Playful clouds create shadows from the sun
Waves of thriving rice on the plain a sight so fun
Birds roost in the midst of fine woods
Fishes glide in pristine shallows feeling good
Such heartfelt dreams end I linger
Awake I pine for my native land ever
A Dream__江紹倫
A Dream
We bid each other adieu life unsettling even in a dream
Surviving calamities we meet again our hearts gleam
Let’s treasure our love this wonderful moment
True affection appears in life how often
Seamus Heaney✝ 1939-2013
Heaney’s Nobel lecture, in which he offered insights into his poetry, can be viewed at YouTube http://youtu.be/P7KzfqtL5qY
EXPOSURE
It is December in Wicklow:
Alders dripping, birches
Inheriting the last light,
The ash tree cold to look at.
A comet that was lost
Should be visible at sunset,
Those million tons of light
Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips,
And I sometimes see a falling star.
If I could come on meteorite!
Instead, I walk through damp leaves,
Husks, the spent flukes of autumn,
Imagining a hero
On some muddy compound,
His gift like a slingstone
Whirled for the desperate.
How did I end up like this?
I often think of my friends’
Beautiful prismatic counselling
And the anvil brains of some who hate me
As I sit weighing and weighing
My responsible tristia.
For what? For the ear? For the people?
For what is said behind-backs?
Rain comes down through the alders,
Its low conducive voices
Mutter about let-downs and erosions
And yet each drop recalls
The diamond absolutes.
I am neither internee nor informer;
An inner émigré, a grown long-haired
And thoughtful; a wood-kerne
Escaped from the massacre,
Taking protective colouring
From bole and bark, feeling
Every wind that blows;
Who, blowing up these sparks
For their meagre heat, have missed
The once in a lifetime portent,
The comet’s pulsing rose.
(From “North”)
—————-
The main thing is to write
for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust
that imagines its haven like your hands at night
dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.
You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.
Take off from here. And don’t be so earnest.
(From “Station Island”)