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Best Poems Written by Shmily Wang

Below are the all-time best Shmily Wang poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Situation of the Poet

I write poems and we write together. 
We always do it. There is wheat in them,
Also the sun, and the dripping moon.
We do not want the house but our inner peace;
Not praise but the smiling face of every child.
In the days when the orchid falls and opens,
Lonely and happy to talk with the world.

4 o'clock p.m, April 11, 2017

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March Says

March like a butterfly shines the light of the morning
The language of air, quietly has dialogues with the heavy wing
The station of dream, flows slowly into the distance
The mirror of the time flies across the blue forests
Write poems, cook with clean hands, following mother's smiling face

2 o’clock ,On March 30th , 2017

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Poems Alive

Notes preceding:
The blue poems,
How much you’re like my bride, wearing a blue skirt!

You said
If I couldn't come,you wouldn't be old
I said,
If you could come, the world would be happy

I said,
Please don't be lonely
You said
You couldn't, from that moment on
The loneliness is like the light blue skirt
Which is displayed in the closet in the winter
Was getting more and more lonely

Well
You have been used to the bright moonlight
I have been used to the sun's light
Well
You have used to accompanying with the stones
I have used to watching the poems

Well
Poems alive

18 p.m Oct.18th ,2015

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Dialogue

In the NO. 318 ward of the People's Hospital,
The quiet eyes shine on everything.
A man who wrote poetry
Had a free dialogue
With a book called " Also Sprach Zarathustra"
There is no silent moment with me,
The life is such a holy dance with you!

12:45 October 12, 2017

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The Child Who Draws Is the Most Lovable

——to Bianbian's Raised by Blood

The blood in her fingertips
Was ticking into a clear rivus
The golden fish were swimming in the universe
The man who could understand it can't understand 
The man who couldn't understand it can understand 

 On June 16th, 2017

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The Blue Ears

(The First Reading of Ma Yan and Picasso)

In the morning, the sun is shining
On the twelfth street. The memory wandering
Between the privet tree in 2001 winter 
And the painting in December 20th, 1935

The smell of the brush washes the human being
The night and dream, the black and white, the ugliness and beauty
Are the repairing man okay?
Do the black hand still have an umbrella?

The eyes are deep with passion;
The joy is intoxicated by poetry

The dawn just like
The dazzling blue ears. 

a.m. November 15th, 2017,first draft

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The Meaning of Silence

The flying night:fire. What kind of start is this?

The runaway seeds were born in the snow flight of the sun.

People remember the sleeping reality as well as the waking dreams. 

The pain is the silence of the next second. The silence is eternity for thousands of years.

Eternity is waiting for thousands of years ,and waiting for a child's good memories.

Waiting for the echo of the sky to the earth. Waiting in Waiting, 

Waiting after waiting. The falling morning:ice. What kind of end is this?


At 0 a.m. on November 30th, 2018