June Wave
Colour of season
Sinks with pollens
Red phoenixes perch
On the verdant sea
Is it time to bid farewell
Or turn a new leaf
Noise in the city
Peace from a late night screen
June wave
Screams with cyclical heat
Forwarding meticulous schemes
And rewinding a past
Full of perceptive voyages
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Cloud
Cloud
Green tea leaves
Read fortune and belief
Seek help in between
Turmoil and insecurity
What holds destiny
Brain soul heart
Or some indescribable myth
Emotion clouds mind
As a natural enemy
Blinding one’s eyes
Misrepresenting objectivity
This path of growing
No one is exempt
Even age has been accumulated
Wisdom increased…
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Green tea leaves
Read fortune and belief
Seek help in between
Turmoil and insecurity
What holds destiny
Brain soul heart
Or some indescribable myth
Emotion clouds mind
As a natural enemy
Blinding one’s eyes
Misrepresenting objectivity
This path of growing
No one is exempt
Even age has been accumulated
Wisdom increased…
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Generosity
Generosity
The line is hard to draw
Concerns about others’ thought
A gesture we all learnt
From virtues and legendary folks
Generosity
What does one intend to see
Give or take
Heart should reign
Every aspect
The more we expect in return
The less we would get at the end
Indeed
That is not easy to comprehend
Written by Jerski Bjorksen
The line is hard to draw
Concerns about others’ thought
A gesture we all learnt
From virtues and legendary folks
Generosity
What does one intend to see
Give or take
Heart should reign
Every aspect
The more we expect in return
The less we would get at the end
Indeed
That is not easy to comprehend
Written by Jerski Bjorksen
Monday, April 20, 2009
Language of whose
I have been reading Bryce Courtenay's “The power of one” for a while. It's a great read and I take my time savoring each sentence and the happiness and sadness between lines of a little boy’s growing experience. The story itself intrigues me tremendously although I do not have full understanding of South African's apartheid. The fact that I haven't read many books about South African writers also shows my ignorance regarding this issue.
My point is while I was perusing lines of agony and amazing surprises hidden in the book, I suddenly had a question. The detailed description of the oblivious environment, cottages, gardens and cacti, the vocabulary used and the way dialogues flew all made me wonder how those could be conjured up from a five-year-old. Certainly the story might be written as an autobiography with the first person narrating the entire story. Yet, a child's cognition and vocabulary seem impossible to represent what an adult conceives and comprehends in society. So, whose language is the author applied in writing? Perhaps it has never been discussed, or perhaps it's not that of an important matter.
So far, I'm half way through the book but I have a hunch that the main character will be going through some more adversary and dilemmas. Peekay was lucky enough to have an erudite professor from Germany tutoring him all kinds of knowledge, especially in piano lessons and botany. Once again that proves if a child receives early training and stimulation in learning, the brain can efficiently absorb massive amounts of knowledge. Question is: Who should be the mentor? Who can guarantee that pride and greed will not intervene on the way of acquiring wisdom and philosophy of life…
My point is while I was perusing lines of agony and amazing surprises hidden in the book, I suddenly had a question. The detailed description of the oblivious environment, cottages, gardens and cacti, the vocabulary used and the way dialogues flew all made me wonder how those could be conjured up from a five-year-old. Certainly the story might be written as an autobiography with the first person narrating the entire story. Yet, a child's cognition and vocabulary seem impossible to represent what an adult conceives and comprehends in society. So, whose language is the author applied in writing? Perhaps it has never been discussed, or perhaps it's not that of an important matter.
So far, I'm half way through the book but I have a hunch that the main character will be going through some more adversary and dilemmas. Peekay was lucky enough to have an erudite professor from Germany tutoring him all kinds of knowledge, especially in piano lessons and botany. Once again that proves if a child receives early training and stimulation in learning, the brain can efficiently absorb massive amounts of knowledge. Question is: Who should be the mentor? Who can guarantee that pride and greed will not intervene on the way of acquiring wisdom and philosophy of life…
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Pure Leaf
Pure Leaf
Journal 1
The light went off as breeze secretly brushed through the silver window. Magic simmered in a pottery vase hidden in the corner. Suddenly a sharp sound caved into the membranes of my eardrums, echoing a familiar yet creepy memory from the past.
“Who has stolen my yellow tart, not cheese?” said I. I hated cheese- the pungent smell repulsed me when elders offered what they thought as a great gift. I was very little, not more than six years old, living in a white village surrounded by loquat trees.
The yearly harvest festival held at the fall of blue moon in the autumn was one of the biggest events in our hometown. My grandparents would decorate the house with bamboo leaves freshly picked from the field. Red couplets with auspicious phrases were posted on both sides of the gate; and a new loofah sprout was planted in the front yard, signaling the next year’s good fortune and health.
My parents were busy dealing with our produce business as it was the harvest season: peanuts were ready to be dug out of the soil, millets were golden brown, taros were as big as a grown man’s foot, and other green vegetables were showing off their shining colours in the sun. “Yes, this is my favourite time of the year!” shouted my cousin and I at the top of our lungs.
“Ai-yah, how many times have I told you two to stay away from the stove? It’s dangerous to run around while I am preparing rice cake!” snorted impatiently my grandmother. But Jin-Lin and I loved to watch grandma busying herself in the kitchen. All the utensils and ingredients for making our harvest feast had special power over us, not because we knew we would have lots of delicious food but because there was a genuine and unique tradition followed by the big yearly dinner that night…
Journal 1
The light went off as breeze secretly brushed through the silver window. Magic simmered in a pottery vase hidden in the corner. Suddenly a sharp sound caved into the membranes of my eardrums, echoing a familiar yet creepy memory from the past.
“Who has stolen my yellow tart, not cheese?” said I. I hated cheese- the pungent smell repulsed me when elders offered what they thought as a great gift. I was very little, not more than six years old, living in a white village surrounded by loquat trees.
The yearly harvest festival held at the fall of blue moon in the autumn was one of the biggest events in our hometown. My grandparents would decorate the house with bamboo leaves freshly picked from the field. Red couplets with auspicious phrases were posted on both sides of the gate; and a new loofah sprout was planted in the front yard, signaling the next year’s good fortune and health.
My parents were busy dealing with our produce business as it was the harvest season: peanuts were ready to be dug out of the soil, millets were golden brown, taros were as big as a grown man’s foot, and other green vegetables were showing off their shining colours in the sun. “Yes, this is my favourite time of the year!” shouted my cousin and I at the top of our lungs.
“Ai-yah, how many times have I told you two to stay away from the stove? It’s dangerous to run around while I am preparing rice cake!” snorted impatiently my grandmother. But Jin-Lin and I loved to watch grandma busying herself in the kitchen. All the utensils and ingredients for making our harvest feast had special power over us, not because we knew we would have lots of delicious food but because there was a genuine and unique tradition followed by the big yearly dinner that night…
Friday, April 03, 2009
Umbilical Cord
Umbilical Cord
Source of nutrient
Attached
Two individuals
To
Expectation from instinct
Love of motherhood
Yet
Many seem to forget
The moment of birth
It’s also the fall of umbilical cord
A pathway growing pain too much regret
If one does not let go the full-fledged dove
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Source of nutrient
Attached
Two individuals
To
Expectation from instinct
Love of motherhood
Yet
Many seem to forget
The moment of birth
It’s also the fall of umbilical cord
A pathway growing pain too much regret
If one does not let go the full-fledged dove
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Profound Thought
Profound Thought
Says who
A little star
Light upon barren vessels
Fill the empty heart
Eclecticism
The road to various intelligences
Disguises
Profound thought
Even the window of soul
Was fooled
Ultimatum launched
It is still too late to embrace
Because the essence of life
Has been forgot
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Says who
A little star
Light upon barren vessels
Fill the empty heart
Eclecticism
The road to various intelligences
Disguises
Profound thought
Even the window of soul
Was fooled
Ultimatum launched
It is still too late to embrace
Because the essence of life
Has been forgot
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Sunday, February 15, 2009
madam worthy
madam worthy
salut madam worthy
are you always this serious
i've heard rumour has spread
the end of the world is no longer a mystery
salvation is not for everybody
is it true or am i thinking too much
bonjour madam worthy
tell me love is not necessary
although it makes me happy
optimistic or pessimistic
which one shall i imprint
on the page of searching
it's not that i never tried
but sometimes life is crazy
listen to me madam worthy
i don't think i can rewrite history
there are reasons behind
can you understand
my flesh my breath and my sensibility
can you comprehend
my heartbeat my prayer and my individuality
written by jerski bjorksen
salut madam worthy
are you always this serious
i've heard rumour has spread
the end of the world is no longer a mystery
salvation is not for everybody
is it true or am i thinking too much
bonjour madam worthy
tell me love is not necessary
although it makes me happy
optimistic or pessimistic
which one shall i imprint
on the page of searching
it's not that i never tried
but sometimes life is crazy
listen to me madam worthy
i don't think i can rewrite history
there are reasons behind
can you understand
my flesh my breath and my sensibility
can you comprehend
my heartbeat my prayer and my individuality
written by jerski bjorksen
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Apparition of Guru~ Chapter 2
Maybe it’s time
The road turned red
Monotone droned
A heart bled
Bei-Nan river meanders through the thick forest with low-frequency sound. Watermelons lie ripe in the spacious sand field as fireflies hover around. The silence of night hunts the corner of an oblivious scene-a tomb stone with faded characters. Lin Chung tosses and turns in his bed and decides to get up: “I just have another dream, the same one over the last three days. It’s a man wearing an interesting outfit but I can’t make out what exactly he looks like though…”
“I’d better sketch it down on paper so I won’t forget the next day,” says he. He pulls out a piece of A4 paper and starts to draw. The image is so vivid in his head, just like a movie playing closely in front of him. Silk clothes embroidered with blue dragons and phoenixes shine brightly. The man looks like a middle-aged man but his face is not clear because there is a blur of moonlight around. And the odd thing is that he wears a pair of modern leather shoes, the kind one sees at the luxurious stores.
As Ling Chung imprints the picture on the paper, the image becomes larger and larger. Finally it reaches to the utmost scale, showing a spot of the man’s clothes: a turquoise symbol of Chinese ink stone.
To be continued…
The road turned red
Monotone droned
A heart bled
Bei-Nan river meanders through the thick forest with low-frequency sound. Watermelons lie ripe in the spacious sand field as fireflies hover around. The silence of night hunts the corner of an oblivious scene-a tomb stone with faded characters. Lin Chung tosses and turns in his bed and decides to get up: “I just have another dream, the same one over the last three days. It’s a man wearing an interesting outfit but I can’t make out what exactly he looks like though…”
“I’d better sketch it down on paper so I won’t forget the next day,” says he. He pulls out a piece of A4 paper and starts to draw. The image is so vivid in his head, just like a movie playing closely in front of him. Silk clothes embroidered with blue dragons and phoenixes shine brightly. The man looks like a middle-aged man but his face is not clear because there is a blur of moonlight around. And the odd thing is that he wears a pair of modern leather shoes, the kind one sees at the luxurious stores.
As Ling Chung imprints the picture on the paper, the image becomes larger and larger. Finally it reaches to the utmost scale, showing a spot of the man’s clothes: a turquoise symbol of Chinese ink stone.
To be continued…
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Apparition of Guru
Apparition of Guru
Verdant bamboo trees slashed the thick air of mid-summer eve. The shabby houses next to the school district were flicking dim yellow light. It was a Wednesday night, a usual time for owls to catch preys and feast upon their dinner.
Lin Chung, a fifth grader, sat in front of his desk, trying to compose a story for his Chinese class. The pot-scraping sound from the kitchen filled the quiet house. Wu Yuan, a mother of three, was doing dishes. “Damn!” said Wu Yuan, seeing blood oozing down her palm. She quickly grabbed a tissue towel and pressed it on to her left hand. “What is going on? This is the fourth time of the week…” as she murmured to herself, the blood miraculously faded and eventually was gone.
“Mother, are you okay?” asked Ling Chung. “Yeah, I’m fine. Keep doing your homework,” said she. The other two children were already in sound sleep. Lin Chin, a third grader and school boy scout, likes to play yo-yo and draw. Lin Bin, a first grader and happy girl, always thinks about the mysterious figurine appearing in her daily dream…
A mundane world it seemed but latent turmoil was about to emerge.
Verdant bamboo trees slashed the thick air of mid-summer eve. The shabby houses next to the school district were flicking dim yellow light. It was a Wednesday night, a usual time for owls to catch preys and feast upon their dinner.
Lin Chung, a fifth grader, sat in front of his desk, trying to compose a story for his Chinese class. The pot-scraping sound from the kitchen filled the quiet house. Wu Yuan, a mother of three, was doing dishes. “Damn!” said Wu Yuan, seeing blood oozing down her palm. She quickly grabbed a tissue towel and pressed it on to her left hand. “What is going on? This is the fourth time of the week…” as she murmured to herself, the blood miraculously faded and eventually was gone.
“Mother, are you okay?” asked Ling Chung. “Yeah, I’m fine. Keep doing your homework,” said she. The other two children were already in sound sleep. Lin Chin, a third grader and school boy scout, likes to play yo-yo and draw. Lin Bin, a first grader and happy girl, always thinks about the mysterious figurine appearing in her daily dream…
A mundane world it seemed but latent turmoil was about to emerge.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Spirituality
Spirituality
Azure sky catches
Pure white trails and summer green
Leaves of tranquility
Warmth of alpine cliffs
In the sun
I seek
Spirituality
Mantra
And the origin of happiness
Dancing light on the grand surface
I believe
Every footstep has its meaning
The air fire earth and everlasting sea
Body will deteriorate
Thought can captivate
The power of prayer
Shall never forsake me
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Azure sky catches
Pure white trails and summer green
Leaves of tranquility
Warmth of alpine cliffs
In the sun
I seek
Spirituality
Mantra
And the origin of happiness
Dancing light on the grand surface
I believe
Every footstep has its meaning
The air fire earth and everlasting sea
Body will deteriorate
Thought can captivate
The power of prayer
Shall never forsake me
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Again Paris
Again Paris
A pleasant conversation
Rings the bell of a trip
Cobblestoned alleys
Patisseries and museums
The misty veil of cloud
Wears millions’ beliefs
Freedom of speech
I hear at cafes down the street
Again Paris
My veins release
Happiness love
And unforgettable memories
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
A pleasant conversation
Rings the bell of a trip
Cobblestoned alleys
Patisseries and museums
The misty veil of cloud
Wears millions’ beliefs
Freedom of speech
I hear at cafes down the street
Again Paris
My veins release
Happiness love
And unforgettable memories
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Lunar New Year
Luna New Year
A moment of bliss
Spring light shines
A lily
Reincarnated spirit
Latent dream speaks
Luna New Year
Reunion and mysterious beings
Laughter I might have
Encounter I just need
A step has already set
Between you and me
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
A moment of bliss
Spring light shines
A lily
Reincarnated spirit
Latent dream speaks
Luna New Year
Reunion and mysterious beings
Laughter I might have
Encounter I just need
A step has already set
Between you and me
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Cicada
Cicada
Symbolism of summer
Reaches high
Two steps rush into one
Breathtakingly green leaves
Slash
The blue sky and turquoise sea
Cicada
Noise or merriness
After a long latent sleep
Awaits others’ judge
Shell beneath
Net swings
Life and death are in between
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Symbolism of summer
Reaches high
Two steps rush into one
Breathtakingly green leaves
Slash
The blue sky and turquoise sea
Cicada
Noise or merriness
After a long latent sleep
Awaits others’ judge
Shell beneath
Net swings
Life and death are in between
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Heart beats
Heart beats
Sound of construction
Broke the silence
In the morning
Bitterness of wind
Outran stagnant thought
Above my sanctuary
The smile of rose
A secret no longer simmers
Thumbing through images
Embedded stories release
Life’s resilience
Heart beats seemly logic
Downs vanish
Ups emerge
My mind is at peace
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Sound of construction
Broke the silence
In the morning
Bitterness of wind
Outran stagnant thought
Above my sanctuary
The smile of rose
A secret no longer simmers
Thumbing through images
Embedded stories release
Life’s resilience
Heart beats seemly logic
Downs vanish
Ups emerge
My mind is at peace
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Light of the light
Light of the light
Beginning of the year
On a surface
Crumbles a thought
Prairie of the past
Hovers over
Light of the light
Upon the rock
Green sleeves
Spiral out
Trying to reach
The roof of the unlimited
My spirit froze
In an abyss of blast
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
Beginning of the year
On a surface
Crumbles a thought
Prairie of the past
Hovers over
Light of the light
Upon the rock
Green sleeves
Spiral out
Trying to reach
The roof of the unlimited
My spirit froze
In an abyss of blast
Written by JerSki BjorkSen
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