Chasing
the Pacific Star
Air gyres crowd into the boy
As he dashes through the clouds of hope
Surfing on a wish
He descends to the touchy ocean
A salty breeze gushes from underneath
A spring of refreshing motivation
The flaring sun eagerly follows him like a bright shadow
Intimidating mountains forcibly rise, but are capped
From the serene, misty horizon
Where a bleached bird loudly flaps its wings away
Upgrading his life board,
With exhilarating dreams
As he dashes through the clouds of hope
Chasing the Pacific Star.
Towards a Juvenile Definition of Poetry
what is poetry?
it is music without a synthesizer, but equally delicious to the ears and mind
was an old expression but now a new hobby
will be created by graceful hands and tasteful hearts
has been retained thoughts, burst like mint bubbles
can be lyrics to a song never published or sampled
could be new art, Da Vinci’s undead pursuit
should be inspiring, a star searing sight
might be symbols for those treasure hunters
may be simple for those simple-minded
is being a pastime for those enjoying free time
but it is not dead
it is just dormant, under the seabed of our hearts
Ventis: Wielder of the Philosopher’s Stone
Under the star-lit night sky
The boy picks up a petty pebble
Aims at a tree
And tosses it
The petty pebble weakly lands onto the dirt
The boy picks up a great rock
Aims at the menacing moon
And chucks it
The great rock heavily crashes over the tree
The bold white circle shoots a spotlight onto the boy
A young aspiring alchemist in the vast land of Aeria
Ventis gathers his belongings and turns back
To his hometown, where there is terrorizing fire
A civilization engulfed in its own creation
Only Ventis can save the day
With his created rock, a rock of creation
Running past the crowd
Ventis breaks onto the scene
With a clench of the Philosopher’s stone
The fire is dissipated and transformed into smoke
But from within the smoke,
A homunculus appears,
A creation not divine
A creation feared by God
But rocks have always been Ventis’ obsession
In his right hand he clenches a hard round rock
In the other he holds a smooth & slippery pebble
With magic the stones bend into weapons
Ventis fights and fights
And the homunculus falls and falls
Only to never rise again
He then reconstructs the fallen buildings
Making them bigger and better than before
After a rejuvenating night’s sleep
Ventis awakens to another fine day
Venturing back out to his usual spot by the river,
Ventis reaches into his plush pockets
For the special rock
For which is not there
No matter: he will create it again
Just like how he created homes,
How he created dreams,
How he created his name
The wind picks up the words and carries them away
Under the sun-lit blue sky
The boy throws the pebble
The boy chucks the rock
The common one falls into the strong tide
While the right one makes it to the other side
what is poetry?
it is music without a synthesizer, but equally delicious to the ears and mind
was an old expression but now a new hobby
will be created by graceful hands and tasteful hearts
has been retained thoughts, burst like mint bubbles
can be lyrics to a song never published or sampled
could be new art, Da Vinci’s undead pursuit
should be inspiring, a star searing sight
might be symbols for those treasure hunters
may be simple for those simple-minded
is being a pastime for those enjoying free time
but it is not dead
it is just dormant, under the seabed of our hearts
Ventis: Wielder of the Philosopher’s Stone
Under the star-lit night sky
The boy picks up a petty pebble
Aims at a tree
And tosses it
The petty pebble weakly lands onto the dirt
The boy picks up a great rock
Aims at the menacing moon
And chucks it
The great rock heavily crashes over the tree
The bold white circle shoots a spotlight onto the boy
A young aspiring alchemist in the vast land of Aeria
Ventis gathers his belongings and turns back
To his hometown, where there is terrorizing fire
A civilization engulfed in its own creation
Only Ventis can save the day
With his created rock, a rock of creation
Running past the crowd
Ventis breaks onto the scene
With a clench of the Philosopher’s stone
The fire is dissipated and transformed into smoke
But from within the smoke,
A homunculus appears,
A creation not divine
A creation feared by God
But rocks have always been Ventis’ obsession
In his right hand he clenches a hard round rock
In the other he holds a smooth & slippery pebble
With magic the stones bend into weapons
Ventis fights and fights
And the homunculus falls and falls
Only to never rise again
He then reconstructs the fallen buildings
Making them bigger and better than before
After a rejuvenating night’s sleep
Ventis awakens to another fine day
Venturing back out to his usual spot by the river,
Ventis reaches into his plush pockets
For the special rock
For which is not there
No matter: he will create it again
Just like how he created homes,
How he created dreams,
How he created his name
The wind picks up the words and carries them away
Under the sun-lit blue sky
The boy throws the pebble
The boy chucks the rock
The common one falls into the strong tide
While the right one makes it to the other side
Bionote
Allen Qing Yuan, Pushcart nominee and author of Traffic Light (2013), is an 18-year-old freshman of the University of British Columbia. Most recently interviewed by Nostrovia!Poetry, Allen has since grade 10 had poetry appearing in Cordite Poetry Review, Istanbul Literary Review, Literary Review of Canada, MOBIUS, Paris/Atlantic, Poetry Kanto, Poetry Scotland, Shampoo, Spillway, Taj Mahal Review, Two Thirds North and nearly 70 other literary journals/anthologies across 16 countries.
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