Selected poems of Qi Xiaoming

Early winter rain

Clock ticks midday,
It's the noon of early winter.
With thunder one after another.
The rain of early winter,
Tiptoes into our world
unannounced
To soak the earthly mud,
or like the tears of God
Speaking sorrow as it falls.
The endless pandemic,
wrenching people’s hearts!
I pray the rain will wash away
the muddy remnants
of our disasters,
thus our town will remain
safe and sound,
And may it be that
their lives will see the sun!

Reminiscing parents

Bygone days
Are riding on my father’s shoulders,
Swaying left and right,
Unaware of weariness.

Bygone days
Are a loving mother’s sweater,
thread by thread.
Worn on the body,
Warm to the heart.

Bygone days
Are life crushing
my brother’s spine,
Arched like an umbrella’s handle.

Bygone days
Are my father’s mantra:
Without bearing a household
One cannot know the price
of firewood and grain,
To treasure a penny
but spend gold savings.

Bygone days,
Are my fathers teachings,
staking a mulberry sapling
straight–

Ode to Bricks and Tiles

Half a lifetime entwined
with mud’s embrace,

only to eke a living off
fragmented silver.

Each tile each brick fuses
with my blood,

Fortune’s gift fails to uproot
my soils.

At my fertile land of canals
and rivers,

The art of teal tiles and copper
bricks is passed on by
adept artisans.

The age of prosperity
arrives with delight,

in the joyful embrace of peasantry.

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