英语诗歌

Sunday

I load my 92 Pontiac with discarded clothes
And drive to the beach near the city’s Window
Where breakfasts are served and music played
And homeless people enjoy their coffee and then go

It was years ago I discovered the place
As I rode my bike along the pedestrian path
Now I visit the “Hungry? Join Us” every Sunday
Bringing with me clothes to donate

My intension is to downsize my home
But it turned out that I was transferring
Others’ clothes to this place
And my house still full of my own s junk

Familiar faces I see every Sunday
Whose names I do not know
But it is like a weekly party for me
When older I alone grow

Poetry

Everyday I have 30 minutes on bus
To decide If I should throw away Poetry
Taking one book of verse from my collection
And reading to see if they make sense

I find most of them unappealing
Lengthy and without the beauty of words
Many topics are so insignificant
Plus nowadays they do not use rhyme

So I wonder why they bother to write
And yet got so many awards
Who would bother to read them
To kill their meaningless time?

I think English poetry died
As modernism took the pen
The bard has turned into dust
Silent under cold tombstones

Now they just rearrange a prose
Into the appearance of poems
If you string them together
It is no different from a paragraph

The only thing suggestive of poetry
May be the lines of syllabus around ten
And sometimes the up and down rhythms
Like Pingpingping zeze, zezeze pingping

"Poetry" is quite funny! The good part of modern English poem is that it's quite short.