Elizabeth Ip Xin En
Elizabeth Ip Xin En can often be found practising in rehearsal rooms, viola tucked under her chin, or advocating for inclusion through exploring her experiences as a hearing-impaired individual. A participant of the Creative Arts Programme Seminar (2018) and Mentorship Attachment (2018-2019), she has honed her craft under mentors including Eric Tinsay Valles. She hopes to give voice to others like her, and bridge communities not so different after all.
Hong Kong I am on my knees
Hong Kong bloody
is still contingency plan. Hong Kong bruised,
a refugee’s wet dream.
Hong Kong you are still my beloved,
for when you injure
a mystery moves in me, parallel pry of my ribs;
so I medicate on images of battleships
bathing in the harbour,
until the sky turns back to oil.
I gargled as I crossed that sea,
annulling your sweet heritage. That
was my only grievance; not the libertine soil,
nor the adultery
of foreign weight in my mouth.
Be you strength of my heart? Be you
my portion forever? The prodigal may make
their bed someplace else
but the bed in their heart be undefiled.
I remember you, terrible and rising
out of dark waters—I remember. And the Atlantis
I left behind.
Were we destined to always come back to this
sensuous violence? Animal to animal,
ruin is never far
with such murderings in our histories;
often I fear the last island will catch up with me—
how the dream will end.
Beloved we weren’t built to last,
but surely, surely you can bear another reclamation.
You’ve moved mysteries—resurrection
is all I pray for. O Hong Kong,
will you make your home
as was made in you...
Mike Stone was born in Columbus Ohio, USA, in 1947. He graduated from Ohio State University with a BA in Psychology. He served in both the US and Israeli armies. Mike has been writing poetry since he was a student at OSU. He has published five books of poetry, a book of essays, and four science fiction novels. Mike has lived in Israel since 1978.
Walking a Poem
When you walk a poem
Make sure you take off your shoes and socks
So you can feel the cool grasses and loamy earth
In the footsteps it has made to fit your feet
And take off your hat because
There’s something in nature that hates a hat
And let the breeze whisper through your hair
Lifting one strand and pushing aside another
And if no one else is looking
Take off the rest
And let the poem sing to you
And rock you gently against her breast.
Our Worst Intentions
Do the skies above your country stop at our borders?
Are the skies above our country afraid to enter yours?
Do the rivers flowing through your land dry up at our borders?
Do our borders refuse admittance to your rivers?
Is the wild grass at the edges of your fields reluctant
To spread over the edges of our fields?
Do the grasshoppers on your side decide against
Hopping over our imaginary lines into our
Breeze nudged grasses or having hopped
Decide not to hop back home?
It seems there’s something in our natures
That disdains our borders and boundaries
Despite our worst intentions.
"Walking a Poem" was published in The Hoopoe’s Call.