Best Yangtze Poems
Flow mighty rivers, what all have you seen
Rise and fall of empires, string of storied kings
As veins carry blood, you give Earth its life
Carving the landscape as if done by a knife
Ancient, so ancient, much older than man
Incredible show of Gods mighty hand
Oh Nile and Amazon, visions so vivid
What secrets you keep alongside the pyramids
Yangtze and Yellow, through China you flow
Fog and mist rising, light and shadow aglow
OB-Irtysh, Lena and Yenisey too
Through grand scenic Russia, mysteries come into view
Mississippi, Missouri, Ohio you carry
Life giving waters, beside you we tarry
The vanity of man, tis he gives you names
creating boundaries, staking his claims
How much blood has been spilled, along sacred shores
Man wants all you can give, and then he wants more
You were here long before him, and will flow when he's gone
Still rushing and rippling your beautiful songs
Reflections of Sun and of Moon on your face
Inspire our souls with power and grace
We've drank and bathed, and cried on your shores
We've polluted and dumped, filling your pores
Please forgive us our trespass, in time we will go
Still rivers, grand ancient rivers will continue to flow
Heavily laden boats, rectangular sails billowing
Under seas of low cloud, braving the fierce Yangtze;
Held between snowcapped mountains, earth and sky
Indistinguishable from steaming mist and rolling fog;
A long drawn straggle of Grey Geese plummeting down
From breathless, rarefied air to stumble awkwardly onto
Plum coloured mudbanks; an unrestrained, excitable
Cacophony of frenzied honking! Then wild monkeys
Provoked into howling each side of the river.
There, at the juncture with Longjin Brook, stilted homes,
Half-hidden by bamboo groves, crouch at the waters
Edge; maidens will come to wash clothes
Whirling wooden batons, twittering like golden swallows;
Fragrant wildflowers enhance their sweetness.
At drab, pale, first-morning light, fishermen cast
Nets over the cooling, placid blue waters;
The fish that swim here are said to be the finest
In the province.
We will exchange Black Carp and Blunt-Snout Bream,
Wrapped in moist bamboo leaf, for glutinous rice
With the clans that tend the terraces inside the fertile
River valley...
Does not the Emperor insist upon good commerce?
If you are dissatisfied as a peasant
You can take the ancient "old tea horse road"
And burden your back with heavy bales stacked high
On a rail;
The road will take you all the way from Zigui
To Tibet...or even further perhaps,
And sombre ravens will soar overhead and taunt your
Every footstep.
But I will remain where I am, in the
Village On The Water
Nestled deep within the Three Gorges;
My life, the endless horizon stretched beyond,
Held in balance as if it were Shaseng
The Shadow Play Stone;
And each new morning awakening to slow,
Chiming bells.
I know of, and I rest in awe of the illimitable greatness of the river Congo, and the Yangtze.
I know of and I rest in awe of the brilliance and grandeur of Mt. Everest and Mt. Speke.
I know of and I rest in awe of the beauty of the Aurora borealis and the hop-skip terpsichore of the wallaby.
I know of and I rest in awe of the splendour of the sun setting in the fall sky, casting its aluminiferous orange and gold rays over the descending life of the maple, elm, birch, oak, and the willow tree, and projecting it"s image over the vast sea.
I know of and I rest in awe of the magnificence of Giza Necropolis, the Great Wall of China, the Taj Mahal, the Grand Canyon, Machu Picchu, the Galapagos Islands, and Serengeti.
I know of and I rest in awe, as an awe-inspiring tears run down my face at the strength and the greatness I envision with daylight reverie. The reverence of your sepia beauty, your hair; the effulgence of a raven's plume. The grace and unworldly wisdom of you, my grand-girl, my little Nhandi,
copyright 2007
Quayside bazaar
Odd artifacts;
Trinkets to go
~~~~~~~~~
Poignant tune
Old memories flood;
Trip to yesterday
~~~~~~~~~
Airport arrival
Homecoming route;
Mid-afternoon buzz
~~~~~~~~~
Laundry lady
Dry cleaning job;
Helpful hints
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy hangover
My mother's voice;
Dreamy interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Old giant rubber tree
Huge monolith;
Treasured monument
~~~~~~~~~
Abrupt torrential rain
Misty blur ooze;
Traffic congestion
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper headline
Yangtze River mishap;
Death by drowning
~~~~~~~~~
Mailbox arrivals
Big brown envelope;
Prize-winning certificates
~~~~~~~~
Busy arrival hall
Airport crowds loiter;
Familiar faces
~~~~~~~~~
Fruit shoppe offerings
Delicious temptations;
Colourful range
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 June 2015
Singapore
(As a child I was nicknamed Andie Pandie for the panda bear that I liked so much, one reason why I chose to do my ode for this animal. Also I was born in September, just like most pandas, and am a bit big boned too!)
September is my birth month and so it is because
my kind has some restrictiveness to its breeding laws!
For reasons unbeknownst to me, there only is one way
for us to meet, and so we only mate from March to May.
Our mothers carry us for just several months and then
in August or September we arrive inside our den.
So small and hairless at my birth, I’d make you smile, “Awww.”
My mama cradled me inside the palm of just one paw!
In two months I could see, and then I quickly learned to walk.
I ate bamboo at just eight months, and here is how I talk:
I chirp, or like a kid, I bleat; I croak, squeak, honk or growl.
And if I roar, it’s like a “huff;” for sure, I do not howl!
My mama nursed me eighteen months, then sent me on my way.
In one of China’s twelve preserves I can be found today.
The bamboo that we love grows in a patch and when it’s done,
We need to then uproot ourselves and find another one.
As people build more farms and cities, we then lose our space.
We need you humans’ help so we can move from place to place.
For Yangtze Basin to conserve bio diversity,
this economic central region has to include me!
I’m China’s treasure and the world’s! Who doesn’t know my name?
For fifty years my picture gave World Wildlife Fund its fame.
So help this big boned animal who rarely touches meat.
I’m just a Kung-fu giant “bear cat,” black and white and sweet!
For Amy Green's "Ode to the Endangered" contest
A year ago the Yangtze River Dolphin was declared extinct.
In Memoriam: The Yangtze River Dolphin
November sunset --
Quickly does the evening fall
Upon the village.
The Yangtze River still flows
Past the fossils on the shore.
t?sse?a st???e?a: ?e??
?e??: mainland china-
the year is 1930 and the
people of china have
been suffering for 2
years now because of
widespread drought which
caused famine in three
northern provinces, that of
gansu, henan & shaanxi---
said to have killed nearly
3 million people, the famine’s
strength had much to do with
the weak relief efforts of then
republic of china.
the winter of 1930 brought
with it snowstorms bearing oddly
heavy amounts which then
melted away quickly in the spring
bringing with it the heightening of
the yellow river, huai river & the
yangtze.
heavy rain pelted down upon the
already overflowing rivers & through
the summer months of 1931 this area
which normally receives 2 cyclones a
year, underwent the chaotic pummeling
of no less than 7 in july alone.
while estimates of those that died
from the destruction caused by these
floods range from 3.7 million to
4 with an overall 28.5 million “having
been affected by them,” it is
extremely difficult for a person
living in the comfortable convenience
of western civilization to fathom
the mass drowning & the expansive
coverage of land by water in this
natural disaster, which to this day is
considered to be the worst in recorded
human history.
on top of the deaths from the floods
themselves & the diseases like
cholera & typhus which proliferated
under such circumstances, the unique
chaos that came with the complete
breakdown of societal norms in hubei,
hunan, jiangxi, wuhan, chongqing,
hanyang & hankou brought with it
infanticide & cannibalism, as well as
the sale of daughters & wives.
Whenever a ginseng breeze blows,
Tokyo tears fall in my heart —
I have mountain village longings for distant her
My lonely home sits below sea-level blue,
my sabishi jia is sinking below cerulean water
Butterfly images on the rice paper lantern
softly sway ... gently I fall into a light sleep
My dreams float in the night Szechuan sky,
wishing for the clouds to cry
I feel the famine embrace of my phantom sorumeito —
My ghostly soulmate rests in the arms of another,
leaving me with a dearth of
barren gingko days ... only empty Yangtze pain
The air I breathe remains dry,
but my heart is flooded with emotional rain
I’m drowning on the inside,
overcome by
a downpour of internal torrential weeping
Overwhelmed by unabated emotional rain
Heavy is my Chengdu heart ... swept to the depths
of deep despair
by tsunami waves of true love loss
Never knew freedom would come
with such a soul evaporating cost
Didn’t realize being captive was such a joy,
oh how I wish I was still kept in her heart
As the morning sky starts to cry,
the rain washes away the levee pride
which my dry eyes used to hold back
All the tears that had built up in my heart
for too long
Today, my emotional rain
has washed me clean
to the far shores of hope again
Welcome to China’s gorgeous Yangtze River
third largest river in the world
rising at Jari Hill
in the Tanggula Mountains
christianed Quian by Marco Polo
seventeen hundreds renamed Blue River
I carve and cut my quarters from a cork tree
Intermittently pausing to assess my progress
Young yet yellowing Yggdrasil on the Yangtze
Getting grander but perishing in the process
Good God gaze at this gape and give a guarantee
Don't let me regress, digress, transgress, or obsess
4-17-2020
floating down the Yangtze
many new sights I do see
happy fishermen wave to me
bass jump out of this China sea
I hum and sing we be de we
dum diddle dum diddle dee dee dee
I love the feeling of being free
as I glide my way down the Yangtze
In the Hubei province of China central,
Is a city which is regal.
On the banks of the Yangtze mighty,
A busy hub for trade, basking in glory.
Wuhan is the name, known to many,
Is now in the news for ignominy.
A malicious virus named NovelCorona,
Is having an outbreak sourced from its fauna.
SoS from WHO lists it an epidemic,
But it has the ability to become a pandemic.
While existing treatments were not effective,
The deadly virus still can't be held captive.
Quite a number of people are dead,
And a sizeable number have fled.
Those who remain are home, confined,
Mentally devastated and justly terrified.
It's time we stand by them, in solidarity,
Bolster them with confidence, instead of showing pity.
Let them know we all are brothers in arm,
No creature on this earth can cause you any harm.
We'll tide by the crisis, as we have done before,
Keep your hope floating, for near is the shore.
I traveled almost everywhere, growing up. It took years. The landscapes, flora and fauna, the art, music, cuisines and curse words all seem to blend together in my mind.
Mount Fuji, the Rhine, the Himalayas, the Chattahoochee, Shenzhen, Washington DC, the Alps, and Appalachians, Moscow, Beijing, Dublin, Portland, Paris, Atlanta, London, St. Petersburg, Tokyo, Rome, Wuhan, Berlin, the Yangtze, the Mississippi, Saint-Tropez and LA - are all jumbled up in my brain, like old, wrinkled maps in a glove compartment.
My mom has total recall - she can remember every day of her life since her mama handed her a faded yellow and blue rattle when she was 6 months old - God gave me the glove compartment.
Still, some things are unforgettable, like an electrical storm breaking around Mt Everest, the lights of New York City, at night, from a helicopter, glittering on the horizon like a queen’s crown. The Danube, from a riverboat under a too-bright moon and the elegant poverty of Italy.
In some ways, I grew up like an exile because we moved every couple of years, and I’d have to start my social life all over again - usually in a different language. Every place we left seemed a lost paradise, and each new place seemed cold and harsh.
Speaking of home to harsh transitions, November recess is over and we’re back in New Haven - with two weeks before final exams. Welcome to exhaustion week (weeks).
This morning I started going through my syllabuses, and after a week of holidaying - they seemed like indecipherable relics from a different world, a world of papers, tests and stingy-fun. I’ve so many things to wrap-up, my brain can’t seem to contain them all, I’m a gadget that’s out of memory.
I used to take my books on vacation, to remain in the ‘game’ mentally and stay ahead of the grind. Not this time. Hey, growing up, I’ve had my moments of ‘developmentally appropriate’ rebellion - in this case - I wanted memories to hoard, like inoculations against the coming work and loneliness cycles.
after Ho Chi Minh
I
The stone basin holds
still water. The still water
drinks the arid sponge
as rays of pure energy
slake their thirst on
the ebon wings of crows
II
Yangtze flows from widows peak
pooling briefly in the lock
of a tired eye. Dirt
and salt cry brackish tears
before leaping from sallow chin,
like rain from languid boughs
III
Frogs turn dirges beyond
translucent glass, their croaks
fold and crease the air
putting dusk on the shelf.
Aphids eat the pithy stalks
and drown in sudden morning dew.
IV
No callused hand washes
in the same basin twice
V
The kettle boils, pallid
phantoms push through iron
walls. Prescient tea leaves show
time’s current—fish swim
upstream. Two worlds away,
a young girl draws a bath.
VI
Forehead donning liquid rosaries,
each dawn anoints a king anew
Each afternoon, grains of rice
cling to one another, fulfilled.
Ink spills quickly each evening,
the white page laps at pitch waters.
VII
Eleemosynary sunlight burns
through the keyhole, tumblers
click in the lock. The stone basin
is once again filled with still water.
"I dismounted, seated myself on an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot for every flock that passed. In a short time finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable, as the birds poured in in countless multitudes, I rose and, counting the dots then put down, found that 163 had been made in twenty-one minutes"
~ John Jacob Audobon, on the passenger pigeon
The poacher, fat, rich, and happy, drifted off to sleep.
He heard a bird in mourning, as eternally, she did weep.
Her name was Martha. She died in a Cincinatti zoo.
"I'm the last passenger pigeon, and I'm coming back for you,
and here is someone dear I'd like for you to meet."
Qiqi, the last Baiji River dolphin then did entreat,
"I was once called the Goddess of the Yangtze River.
I have a task for you, evil beast, and you must deliver."
"And I'm the last Western Black Rhino, without a name,
and what you'll do for money is a crying shame.
You used me for my horn, and left me in a field,
you repugnant creature, whose heart has congealed.
You must protect the earth for every living thing,
for every water dweller, for each bird on the wing,
for each antelope and zebra, grazing on the grasses,
don't let us cook like steaks in your greenhouse gasses.
If you fail in this endeavor, humans, too, will die.
As I pin you with my horn, look up at the sky,
as a hundred-million passenger pigeons swoop
and cover you in a massive mountain of poop,
and dire wolves chew playfully on your bones.
This is what will become of you, if you don't atone.
But don't worry, we can bring you back, with chimp DNA,
and you can walk the earth again like Frankenstein one day."
The poacher woke, disturbed, troubled, and in fear.
Do you think he'll ever change as he reaches for his beer?