Evidences for contest

https://manager.submittable.com/user/submissions/8030114
account name: ji9865729@gmail.com          password: abc000228

Anthology Poem #8

                                                         The Best Memory in Summer
    Summer is the season I meet you in the blue skirt.
    And the season I finally lose you.
    Seasons circulate and circulate.
    You are never coming back.

    I think of you every lonely night.
    Your smile appears again and again in my dream.
    Struggling, I yearn for freedom, for the life without you.
    And failed.

    Your skirts flutters in the wind.
    Summer is here.
    Your skirts flutters in the wind.
    Goodbye.

Anthology Poem #7

                                                                     Just from afar
    Your shadow was stretched at the moment of sunset.
    You turned away from my side, and looked up.
    "How beautiful." You stared at the burning cloud.
    I nodded, but you were the only scenery in my vision

    I tried to stop you from walking.
    "The shooting star is above us!"
    You did not reply.
    "Dear star. I wish I could be forgiven."
    I murmured. You pretended that nothing happened.

    I have never seen you be like this.
    Why you are crying so loud?
    Why are you acting like I am not with you now?
    I am holding hand so tightly.
    Why you can not notice me?

    If you are going to act like this,
    I will leave you alone!
    But before that, I have something to tell you,
    Even though it's embarrassing.
 
    I can not help you wiping your tears,
    You will have to go on alone.
    Wish fortune and happiness will always be with you.
    Let time heal your pain.
    Please forget me, a poor liar.

    But I will always protect you,
    Just from afar.

Anthology Poem #6 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                                        I know
 

    I know when you remind me of my lunch.
    I know when you warn me of rain.
    I know I always disappoints you because of my marks.
    I know there is still a lot more to learn.

    I will grow up to be an adult sometimes,
    And you can not protect me forever.
    When I finally learned to make lunch myself,
    When I finally be a father,
    When I finally worry about my child's mark,
    And finally tell my child "there is still a lot to learn."

    I will realize your concerns are just another form of love,
    But you may not willing to express those concerns again.

 

Anthology Poem #5 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                       From an empty city, to another
 

    From an empty city, to another.
    I am a wanderer who is always on the way.
    With nothing left behind,
    Neither memory, nor the evidence of existence.

    Occasionally I think of you.
    Your soft voice still comes to my mind.
    But your appearance already dimmed as time goes by.
    So I let all of your memory go with the genial spring breeze.

    I did expect for true and warm connections with people.
    When I was still young.
    When I still wished upon the shooting stars.
    When I shed my tears generously for all gorgeous living beings.
    When you were still here with me.

    At the end, I am alone.
    From an empty city, to another.
    I am a wanderer who is always on the way.
    With no memory left behind.
    Neither your voice, nor the arc of your lips when you smile.

Anthology Poem #4 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                                 Have Nothing At All

   

    Once I asked endlessly,

    When with me would you go?

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    I will give you my pursuit,

    I will give you my freedom.

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    The ground under my feet is walking,

    The water besides me is flowing.

    But you always make fun of me,

    Have nothing at all.

    Why you are always laughing?

    Why am I seeking so hard?

    Am I always,

    Have nothing at all.

    I am telling you I wait for so long,

    I am telling you my last request.

    I am going to grab your hands,

    And you are going with me.

    Now your hands are shaking,

    Now your tear is pouring.

    Maybe you love me,

    Have nothing at all.

Anthology Poem #3 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                                     Hometown
   

    My hometown is getting younger and younger,
    Like a tacky cloth.
    The one that is getting older and older,
    Not only my father.
    Wipe that foggy car window,
    I clearly see the strange hometown.
    Fleeting time changes everything.
    Push the door that has been locked for a long time,
    There is no one waiting inside.
    I am like the guest who passes by from far.
    The arrogant building blocks the sun and tramples the sleeping walls,
    The sleeping walls were surrounding a lovely family.
    Colourful is easy to get bored and tasteless,
    Black and white only stays in the young.
    Like those outdated but classic old movies.
    See that clock again,
    I know this is my home.
    The wind sweeps away the leaves, leaves the soul to the spring.
    This is the hometown that belongs to me.
    Even there is more cars that trample you,
    I want to guard you forever.
    But I do not know the boat of tomorrow stops where,
    I will come back to you peacefully at the end.
    Under the soil will becomes the place that I will not abandon,
    I will come back to you peacefully at the end.