Yourong Frank Wang

Category: Poetry

  • For Trees

    What’s left is long buried:

    Roots in the dark,
    stories dissolving—
    pressure in every vesicle,
    between the soil
    and all the sky reachable.

    They were the stage,
    the actor,
    the playwright.

    A barren terrace
    slowly grows its cover;
    shuffling sunshine
    weaves the shape.

    What’s left is long buried:
    lumber from the hill—
    to build,
    for fuel,
    material ideal.

    I pray
    to the storm,
    to the fire.

    I pray
    to the axe,
    to the hand,
    to the eyes.

    Be kind
    to the souls of a giant,
    to the bones of time.

    Berkeley,
    March 2018

  • Earth, #3

    Well, since bits of it have already shown up in postcards that I send, I thought I might as well expand it into a doggerel.

    I really want to change it and add a few commas, but good night for now.

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  • Birth of a Star

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  • S0

     

    Not yet time for farewell,

         our tale I cannot foretell.

     

     

     

    Wreathed,
    my resolution,

         dreaming of words I’d spelt.

     

    Why can’t I speak?

         why do the words flee my mouth?

     

    “Please come,

         be by my side⋯”

     

     

    Silently,

    I screamed, wary;

     

     

    Unexpected,

    When I see you do,

         I breathe, fearless.

     

    Edit: In January 2018, I briefly visited UCLA Physics’s Galactic Center Group in person, and their work served as part of the inspiration of this piece. I used to play with Kepler 2-body systems for fun, and figured that they are fairly meaningful representations of relationships (they are not as complicated).

     

    Otherwise, let’s go for the old hashtag.

    # Stay in Friendzone #

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  • Modern Poetry: It’s 1AM And Why Not Sleep?

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  • The Voyagers

    The 3rd Revised Version for 2016 UoA Poetry Slam
    ©, FW, rewritten on 4 May 2016
    At Engineering Library,

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