| I Dream a Greatest Living Show |
- The Start Is Play -
On green earth in the dark universe,
What is the greatest living show?
There people find their true home,
And in the sweetest dream they roam.
When sinful wars poke all the holes,
But their game points a better road;
To their sorrow days and lost hope
They still can sing a rhymed prose.
From the presence to ancient old,
I swear we never lose our true goal;
Even the night rains strike with cold,
But dawn gonna come in color of rose.
Coz I see petal fly and sticker snow,
From my screens to the front rows.
There the stars fall in heavenly glow
To sing intros for my heroes’ show.
’No more sorrows’ they sing, ’behold
The world gonna become one big hood.’
The cameras flash for their perfect pose,
And their peaceful hands heal broken soul.
The whistle of commander for ref to blow,
It’s made for games and not for gun smoke.
My hot babes and my sweet maids
I cannot refrain myself to gaze.
For their pure face and glamour shape
Shine ten thousand splendors to amaze.
They are the sunshine of my days,
And night rose of my secret space,
Brings me blue sky and good odors,
That the world is not a stinky place.
They stretched their beautiful feet,
Swing their shining sharpen cleats,
So all the cockroaches on my screen
Were swept away, off the wicked games.
They work hard on the green pitch,
And always play under fair light,
Even dive and fault in a honest name:
The chasing of their dream is true fame.
And peace filled their graceful heart,
Perfect shorts wrapped their sexy butt.
As butterflies they dance here n there,
Like doves they circled a ring of light.
Come in with kicking and screaming,
Playing with guts n breaking the balls,
Composing all the greatest dramas,
That even Shakespeare never saw!
Greek heroes of the present day,
Surely broke Achilles’ feeble heel.
Odysseus always had strong arms,
But hey! Look at his weak legs.
Homer sold his Helen’s fair look,
But I do lust for Divas on the stand.
Sun Zi wrote Art of War, for war?!
Oh, No! I believe it is just for game.
And game wheels in movement of life,
As sprinting river clashing waves to the ocean.
People climb high to reach the peak of mountain,
But water streams low as art of my poem.
Generations in current from past to future,
Rolling and waving, pushing and pulling,
As songs and dance shift in tones and steps,
All kinds of fashions, old n new, switching trends,
But our passion for it forever streams.
Days and nights I stare at my TV screen,
Hope all channels show any team’s news.
According to result I drink beer or tears;
But if any rats or flies or cockroach wins,
I’d spit with a tooting fart: "What a damn scheme!"
Yeah, I should quit those; coz gals hate them.
But my fields are invaded by the true aliens,
Who show me their phony cards and tell me I play or not.
And the damn cockroaches sharing my meal
Before my lifetime potato feast is over;
Freaking flies soaring high in the ceiling
To drop their filthy eggs all over my bed;
And vicious rats sharpening their teeth,
Chewing my precious peanuts as concerto;
And I look beyond to my dream field and know:
Before the night is over, my heroes gonna win.
Even though flies set up the fireworks
To make the skies to illume as a short day;
The cockroaches consume all the markets,
Marching in with an overwhelmed number;
The rats of the world drain my only oil jar,
And they dare to kill anyone without blinking an eye;
But I know their works are dust and smoke,
Once my players step in the field, then all dirt are gonna disperse.
So all my players are my heroes and stars
And defending my crappy poetry space-
Where Beauty shines and Hope glows
There my dream rows and heart goes
As the ball rolls that my desire flows
There the gods feed me their shows
In the company of the musical odes;
They chase n woo and fighting my foes!
Their gentle touch n clever play,
And buildup ways make me daze.
Their teasing moves never delay,
Tricked the world into fancy gate.
One and Two they call it Wall Play,
Bring out woohs n aahs in any day.
They patiently wait, as time won’t pay,
And I can’t hold n yell ‘Come on! Ain’t got all day!’
Yeah, what a game! It’s never a shame.
90 minutes length; never 2 minutes fame.
Guys strive for the competition;
Gals always require communication,
But I say, ’Forget about connection,
Just shoot to the goal with passion.
If anyone asks for an explanation,
Just tell that we were caught by emotion and lost in sensation.’
Players stand and start in formation,
Their thoughts of plans are deep as ocean,
And cleansed by their rousing sweat lotion
To push the earth to a perfect spinning motion.
What an inspiration to the world in depression,
When all of us stumble in confusion n frustration,
And struggle to get out of the freaking desperation,
There they deliver our satisfaction -another resurrection.
And I’ve heard resurrection is after death,
And death is after life, and life begins by birth.
Confucius said: "Why one asks about death,
When he does not grasp the meaning of life?"
And Jesus said: "If anyone wants to gain life,
Then one must die first, to receive his true life."
But why I mention this topic in my paragraph,
Maybe I just wanna show I know something, or add on more words.
But let me offer another way for explaining:
The ending of game is after its beginning,
And the game must end for a new starting,
And in it, whatever we are experiencing
Is just eternal struggling in a flashing;
And in the end, nothing remains its glowing,
Nor greatest ranking, nor highest scoring,
If there are really anything, then I’d say playing, drinking n snoring.
But wait, in the game what a suffering for playing!
Physical, I called it aching, like a nail pulling;
Spiritual, I called it battling, like a bad dating.
But these two are always coming with smiling.
And we can do nothing but to skip and running.
When the physical pain comes with knocking,
The spiritual wound is wrapped and covered,
Once our body healed, then spiritual torment revealed.
Pills for cold, surgery for bone fracture,
But what is treatment for missing shots?
Chocolate for girls, sorry notes for wife,
But how can we run away from Own Goal?
Fill up the cups, drink up the whole bottle,
But before we awake, sorrow returns with a stick.
When the body melts, shatters into dust,
Our spiri
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| Author, Laijon Liu |
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