Moments Of Summer–Blue bird

The cloudy sky shadows faintly
through the faded vine shelf
down to a dilapidated wooden table
on which an old book is open
with the fuzzy characters 
in the yellowed leaves,
like a dimmed doze in summer.
The cool breeze carrying a daydream
wafts in mid-air
like a swing.


A tweeting blue bird flitters over
the high bush and
hides soon
in the dense green shades,
like lightning and thunder which streak through 
my chaotic consciousness–
how to paint the vacant time ahead?
only to pray and wait 
for an answer.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Summer 2016



2016年6月24日

夏日碎影——蓝鸟

多云的天空
透过褪色的藤架
投下些微影在

满目苍夷的书桌。
一本旧书摊开，
泛黄的页面上
字迹模糊，
象一个夏日的迷盹。
微飔托着白日梦，
秋千一样
半空中荡漾。

一只蓝鸟鸣叫着
掠过高高的灌木丛，
隐没进
浓密的绿荫，
象闪电和雷声划过
我混沌的意识——
该如何描绘
以后的空白时光？
惟有祈祷和等待
一个答案。

Drift

So let it be,
forget the twilight,
skim the clouds,
lower your body.
A piece of leaf falls,
drifts--
lifted by the cold sea water
in the boundless night.

Stars over the horizon,
too dull however,
to illuminate the dawn.
The legendary lighthouse 
hides on the foggy cliff,
its sight shivers.

Wind sighs
over and over
with its hoarse throat.
Sands hard to hold
finally gone with wind
back to the vast…

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Summer 2019
2019


年7月31日

漂

就这样吧，
把暮光忘记，
把浮云掠去，
把身体放低。
一片叶子落下，
被冰凉的海水托住，
在漫漫黑夜里 
漂--

天边有星，
却黯淡，
照不清黎明。
传说中的灯塔，
躲在迷雾后的悬崖上，
目光颤栗。


风嘶哑着喉咙，
一遍遍地
叹息。
握不住的沙，
终究要随风散去，
归于无垠……

Christmas 2020

In the short days, long, cold winter

nights the urge for change turns

deep inside.  Some old story 

starts to be told of hope.

Some woman, barely more

than a girl, some man old enough

to be her father wed in the wedlock

of the divine:  she pregnant 

with unknown meaning. . .

A man, a woman, a child

unborn and a perilous journey

across land, against law 

and custom.   Lodged, they sleep 

with the warmth of animals.  Some

star, unseen before, guides Magi

and shepherds to a manger.

A child, a son is born confirming

the forgotten birthright 

of the divinely-human.  Then

dreams and warnings, the flight

into the unknown, the killing 

of the innocents.

Our desire is to see the young-bride,

the father who is not the father,

the child arrive safely in exile.

In the short days, long, cold nights

of winter, this story arrives

and we are pleased and troubled,

put at ease and dis-ease

at how the story came to be

and what it means.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com