In Praise Of

I think heresy is the only

position that makes sense.

Of course, so much utterly 

depends on orthodoxy.

                       It is as if an

inverted influence has been set

loose and I, and those like unto me,

can't get away from.

                             Nor is the speed

it teases us with deniable,

so seductive to be irresistible.

So I, following as I can, the greatest

heretic of all who has become

common fodder by a few words

love my enemies as my brothers

and sisters, pray for them but

not too much for who am I

without them?

-Byron Hoot

No More

There are three things

to pursue:

food, shelter, love.

How rich would we 

be if we pursued 

these three.

How regal would

our acts then be.

-Byron Hoot

Overture Of Spring

Who fell down the score
of Spring Goddess?
all stave rain poured into
our dormant hearts and 
the yearning frozen land
after a long long hibernation.

The lightning, sharp and bright,
beamed down his spotlight
on our waiting stage while 
the rumble, a distant thunder,
drummed for the overture
of this cheerful season.

The wandering winds blew 
their horns now and then.
So spiritedly!
Rain played her piano
up and down the steps 
from dusk to dawn.
She was devoted!

As glockenspiel echoed,
children's laughter lit 
the first glimmer of dawn;
Verdure and pink dotted here and there,
that's musical notes scattered 
in our deserted garden.

Whose fingers brushed the harp?
ripples quivered across the still pond.
Graceful performance!
Branches swung gently
with their hands in hands.
Sweet dance!

How fresh the scent of air is!
it lingered about
like the soul of the cantor.
And come on, awakening birds,
join our grand ceremony please,
sing your favorite for yourselves and us,
Oh, what a gripping song it is--

It's joy!
It's hope!
It's fantastic!
And it's just-- 
a prelude of our gala concert
in this magnificent universe!

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Spring 2016

Under Sun

Under Sun
Petrarchan Sonnet


The Sun proceeds the mountain’s sky in kind;

As long traveled a trail is trekked to gain.

A life prevailed upon, journeyed to feign,

Like some ancient clockwork refused to wind.

The whole of truth, with which we hold in mind,

It’s what we base ourselves upon, be lain.

We must remember all that may pertain,

Or find we are among the deaf and blind.


As like Autumn’s dead leaves discard the trees,

And mountain peaks resound without reply.

We live our lives thru all with aim to please,

But there remains, of hope, hopeful retry.

To gain the chance to change, as like the breeze;

Be warmed by Sun, upon which we rely.

Philip Kent Church
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Winter 2012

Writing Verse

It is such a wonder, to write in verse.

Learning to write metrical, is much put.

A spell one falls under, could be a curse,

To wax poetical, with measured foot.


One finds in writing, there’s more than rhyming;

One makes a start, and inscribes a keen line.

It can be exciting, but takes timing,

Wrought from the heart, and recorded real fine.


Make a good showing, writing prolific;

Give more than seems, with all of your writing.

Reveal your knowing, something terrific,

Speak from your dreams, can be exciting.


There is no strife, only the elation,

Bringing to life, your own mind’s creation!

Philip Kent Church
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Winter 2012

A Sleeping Tree In The Lake

For a long time
I stare at your slim and white* body
of a tree
which is sleeping deeply
on the bottom of the plateau lake.
The mysterious blue lake water 
is so ice-cold that
keeps your beauty completely;
the sunlight filtering through the water
makes you a little dreamy.

Your negligent figure 
stretches in the clear water freely.
Neither the lithe waterweeds
nor the smart small fishes
can awaken you a little.
The gravel on your side always
guards your secret in a mute way.

In the solitary mountains,
the wild flowers are luxuriant
and the woods are lush.
The twittering of birds is heard occasionally
far or near.
while the protean clouds shadow into the lake.
The starlight from millions of years ago
is twinkling.
After the autumn tints are splendid,
the pure white snow frozen over the lake
brings everything back to the silence.

Your voice seems to be heard sometimes
in the quiet nights.
Your somniloquy- like song raises
from the deep bottom of the lake,
as a slight smoke lingers
over the lake and 
echoed in 
my rippling heart. 

How many generations have you been staying 
in this chilly and lonely place peacefully?
I ask both you and myself / dumbly.
Away from millions of miles,
I stare at your lying figure 
which is on the bottom of the lake
for a long time
like staring at my own
deeply sleeping soul.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Spring 2016



* Tree trunk becomes white in lake water because it has calcified for centuries.

2016年4月29日

A Dark Night with Clear Air

It’s one of those nights where the sky is ink behind stars scattered so thick the shapes of constellations are obscured. Tonight, I lie in the grass; starlight is the only light, insect song the only sound. Tomorrow the moon will flirt below the horizon, the air grow heavy— humidity will spray a dull wash across the arc of planets— the march of the Zodiac will be veiled 
and the howls of the coyotes seem closer, as if they are just beyond the nearest ring of trees.

-Patricia Thrushart

One More Kiss

I will not deny what I know

though there is some knowledge

laced with history and dream

that hangs like Spanish

mpoeoss off oak trees.

Who has not known that

which is and lacks all

acts to be what it clearly

is but will not leave,

cannot go away?

"After such knowledge,

what forgiveness?

After such knowledge,

what forgetfulness?"

So that which I know

I will not, cannot deny

nor yet do anything

with.

       I think to kiss it good-bye,

but as always

one kiss wants another.

-Byron Hoot