After A Heavy Snow

                                                     By Parker Po-Fei Huang

                                                        A bank of whiteness


                                                           Is all I see. Have I

                                                       tossed away the world

                                                         or the world me? Or

                                                           is it just a single

                                                      moment that I stand on

                                                          a sheer precipice

                                                        with clouds passing

                                                               through me?

                                                      Some mists sweep the

                                                       sky. Some stars elicit

                                                         serenity. I feel that

                                                         I am gathering the

                                                      reflections of a flower

                                                     in the water and that of

                                                     the moon in the mirror—

                                                       no scent, no motion,

                                                        yet I sense eternity.

                                                       I stop breathing lest

                                                       I wake myself. From

                                                      where, of what world,

                                                       have I come here? I

                                                      turn my head and see

                                                     there are only footprints

                                                             that follow me.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Doris Frank-Liu Memories

Ben, I read the Blog and commend you for writing such a wonderful story and expressing it in a most inspiring and beautiful form.  I have such fond memories of playing card games with your father when I was young that I decided to write a poem about it this morning.  It is a family poem but I think those who read it will enjoy it on the Blog, as it expresses a real light-hearted frivolity that none others had ever experienced.  I hope I will be able to read it at the service as well.  It is in Iambic Pentameter style which I have always written all my poems.  Chris has probably already printed out the program, but I will ask permission to say a few words.

Cousin Doris Frank-Liu   


Here is the poem:



By Doris Frank-Liu


When my sister Ellen and I visited Uncle Parker back then

He was teaching at the Army Language School in Monterey to men


I remember Salinas was cool and foggy and Alan was three

Nighttimes Uncle Parker taught and played fun card games with Ellen and me


There was a real easy game to teach others to play called "The Nose Game"

Uncle Parker told us that the way we were playing was rather tame


Since he recalled that some got so excited they'd punch their nose to bleed

We laughed so hard because he would act it out as he noticed the need


And to this day whenever I teach that simple card game to my friends

They all ask, "Where in the world did you learn this fun game that beats all trends?"


And then I smile and proudly say that it was Uncle Parker who did

Prompting me to act out the players he told of when I was a kid.

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