Video Link

https://youtu.be/n765llO6HGc

Self-publishing project

    For my self-publishing project, I wrote the poem about my trip under the Rocky mountains. I was impressed by the beautiful landscapes during the trip. So I wrote the poem to express my love to the envrionment and encourage people to having a wonderful trip along the Rocky Mountains.

    The pictures are all taken by me while we were travlling. The tall mountains, blue lakes, lush forests, glaciers all became the important features in my poem.

    First, I printed about 100 pieces of my poems. Then, I showed poems to some neighbors. I also put some poems under the doors of my neighborhood and on people's cars. I went to the UBC Campus to share my poems to. I stick my poems on the notice-board and on the door of some buildings. I posted my poem on the UBC bus station because i think a lot of people wait for the bus there so the chances be seen by people will increases. I also wanted to talk to some people on the way. But they seems to avoid me. I feeled embraced so i gave up this idea. After all i made a video and i put it on the YouTube for people to read my poem.

    Above all, I shared my poems to some people but not reach my expect. And I believe next time i can do it much better. I really enjoys this project and I learned a lot from it.

Trip under the Rocky Mountains

A dilapidated bus,

Along the ice melting highway,

Moving faltering.

Mighty mountains

Stands besides us,

Cannot see the end.

Verdant Emerald lake,

Like a mirror,

Large and small.

The rivers used to surging,

Now were covered by the thick ice.

Only the flowing water

Seem to honor the past times.

European-style town

Floppy living habits

Welcoming visitors from all parts of the world.

A dilapidated bus,

Along the ice melting highway,

Moving slowly.

Gentle like a breeze

Your voice sounds like the mosquitoes flap their wings

in a silent night,

like a steam flowing in a peaceful valley,

like a hunter waiting for the prey,

like a calm lake, like someone is holding his breath

in the endless dark,

a broken radio,

a lurking snake

a rusty machine.

Like the wind blowing the twigs,

like a couple whispering to one another,

like students doing the exams, the only sound you hear

is the friction between the paper and the pencil,

an old-fashioned fan

working constantly without any rest,

like the gas leaking out of a bicycle,

like vehicles which moving slowly

across the busy street, like a gun shooting

without any noise, like friends sharing the secrets

which don’t want others hear,

the strange sound when you get lost in a forest,

a raft flowing on the river,

the sound of the rain water hitting the round,

like a painful patient groaning but with no strength,

like a football flying in the air,

like a devout believer

who pray in a low voice

wanted God to bless him,

like a city after a nuclear explosion,

like mother’s comfort when children got hurt,

like the sound I heard when my cousin

reading his text book.

The Rusty Charcoal Grill

                                  -- poetic response to "The Red Wheelbarrow" 

So much depends

upon


a rusty charcoal

grill


give off smoke

fog


on the sandy

beach