Feng Wenjun Ancient Poems: Roaming Taihao Mausoleum (plus two others)

Touring Taihao Mausoleum (and Two Other Poems)

Feng Wenjun

Before the Great Cold of 2020, I invited a friend for a drive to Huaiyang to see the sights. We brought pork, beef, and chicken, and the common folk in the marketplace prepared for the New Year's joy.
Before the Taihao Temple, a grand portal hangs, Famous couplets and cherished lines adorn the columns, Primordial chaos parts, appearing before the eyes, The light of China, its meaning enshrined.

The cypress trees on the earthen mounds are old, and handfuls of yellow dust cover the ancestors. The moon gate, the winding path, the courtyard is well-kept, The sound of the stick and leather drum is passed down, sound by sound.
Misty lake blends into the sky, arched bridges and covered walks hidden in fog, Meridian Gate buzzes with a clamor, an old woman loudly performs a ritual.

My thoughts drift, nonsensical and rambling, my words flow out in a torrent of tears. I pray to Fuxi, asking about the common folk, but at the Taihao Temple, the gods are spiritless!
Pitiable people have difficult lives, and worldly affairs are unpredictable and fraught with hardship. May I give up my hair as a witch, walk barefoot and draw talismans for peace and safety!

The weather is cold, may you be warm in your clothes. Creaking, drive your car home. At dusk, the sun turns red. In the twilight, I long for the moon to rise.
Generations of talent emerge, but who knows the suffering of the common people? Resigned to fate, they drift with the wind. Even a mournful song and eloquent prose lack feeling.

Note: "Hongmeng splits open" and "Light of Huaxia" are two inscribed plaques.
20200119

Light snow and haze (New Rhyme)

Heaven knows not the body's chill, nor the mind's cold; Light snow's harsh wind carries deep mist untold.
Distant mountains shrouded in mist obscure the road, Near water, shadows conceal the woods.
In my dream, I woke with a stuffy nose, and at midnight, my neighbor's throat crackled.
After days of contemplation, I've become a drunken guest. On the Jade Pond's couch, I depart from the mortal world.

Early Winter Rain (New Rhyme)

A sudden, cold night rain arrives in early winter, washing away the frost and entering the stream.
Fallen leaves drift and scatter, no thoughts linger. Withered flowers are silent, hiding their news.
The cold river flows far, aimlessly departing; New wishes suddenly arrive, I hesitate to speak.
Who can understand the sadness of Miss Qi's longing for green, the northern wind approaches again, bringing back old clothes.

Feng Wenjun Resume
Feng Wenjun, born in Shangqiu, Henan in 1967, has 30 years of experience in the financial industry. She loves literature and is passionate about ancient poetry. She cherishes the teachings of her mentors and admires Su Dongpo. Even when Su Dongpo was demoted and exiled to Hainan, he remained optimistic and open-minded, full of enthusiasm for life. Who in life can be completely satisfied? Look to Su Dongpo for inspiration. Time, how difficult it is to hold on to? Only through powerful prose can we capture it. She began living in Toronto in 2023. She wishes for friends who love literature in her life and expresses her emotions through poetry. She is currently the Finance Manager of the Chinese Writers Association of Canada.

Appendix: Three Poems on Wandering Alone with Wine, Reaching the Dwelling of Xian Jue of Si Li: Wei Hui

Su Shi [Song Dynasty]
Half awake, half drunk, I ask the dark woods, Thorns and vines obscure the path at every turn. I search for cow dung to find my way back, Home lies west, and west again, of the cowshed.
Three or four young children, with hair tied up, blow on onion leaves to bid farewell to the old man. Don't have the feeling of being a thousand miles away, for by the stream, there is already the dance and song of spring.
As I age, how can I resist the passage of time? My youthful complexion has faded, and my temples are streaked with white. I often envy the young woman next door who throws her shuttle, and I only meet the dream-weaver of spring when I swap fans.