Hor-ming Lee

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Hor-ming Lee has been writing poetry since 1992. He is a professor of traditional Chinese medicine teaching Chinese herbs in the Five-element Center in Victoria, Canada, BC; as well as in Shanghai Acupuncture College of BC, Canada. He is a translation of TCM and a lover of Chinese poetry. Hor-ming has his poems published in a series of anthologies by The National Library of Poetry. He also published Chinese Messo-Theray; the symptoms and treatment of Leukorrea; bone fractures with Chinese-herb treatment. He is a member in good standing of ISP; a Distinguished Member and recognized for support of the society's principle; he was awarded the ISP Award of Merit in 1995 and Editor's Choice Awards for 1996 and 1997 presented by NLP; elected into The International Poetry Hall of Fame in 1997. Hor-ming states, "I would endeavor to bring the world into a big family by way of poetry, and living through the mutual cooperation of East-West medicine. I have been greatly influenced by ancient chinese odes, Tang, song and Yuan poems.

Fleeting Autumn

The earth’s blossom spell is all finished
Beauteous Beaver Lake scenes seems vanished.
Confused petals, disorderly oak leaves
Heavily brushing over the house eaves.
The hiking of Double Ninth Day’s ebbing
Mountain climbers dispersed and departed
Morn till night the biting north wind buzzing
Front and back doors remain doubly locked.
In an eye twinkle autumn to nougat comes.
With the drizzle two missed cats return home.

The Shadow and Swing

At dusk the wind and drizzle end,
Leaving the air cool, clean, serene.
The neighborhood is so silent.
As the Remembrance Day draws near.
Wilt petals, leaves are soon up cleared.
I sleep a deep sleep with no fear.
Of the old cathedral the chimes
Awake me and mail out my poems.
On the neighbor’s swing moonlight beams.
With clouds and wind shadow moving.
It perturbs me; Shadow and swing;
From dim to light, life like a swing.
Shadow; substance; life; illusion
From reality to delusion.

Butterfly

I recall when we first met
At the West Tower banquet.
Twin butterflies embroidered
On her fine, white wool sweater.
Her cheeks slight rouged and powered;
Her thin make-up fine and clear
Like a rosy spring flower.
Well proportioned and pretty
In her symmetric body,
Praised as a slim waist beauty.
She came down from mountains quiet.
Her step so ethereal and light;
She seemed through air fluttering.
Her body brightly glowing
With orange clouds of sunset.