Wangromito / 王羅蜜多
Wangromito（b. 1937）, a MA of Religion of Nanhwa University, moderators of news poetry and prose poetry in the Chuei-go-chuei poetry forum of Taiwan Poetry. He had won the first prize of modern poetry in Taiwan Literature Front, 2015, and 2015 Ministry of Education Taiwanese prose social group’s First Prize. He had published poetry collection: “Ask the Way, With a Poem”, “News Poetry Collection: Typhoon Stream of Consciousness” and “Uncharted Flight: Poems and Paintings Collection of Wangromito,” etc.
Car Washing / 洗車
Before floods came, I withdrew all my antenna, tightly
curled up in a transparent parentheses. God passed by
carrying a string of indefinite images, the delightful body
fluids flowed, ah, a neutral, an ellipsis between life and
The floating metaphor was like a maternal-fetal afterlife,
made me dizzy, tired and fell asleep like a comma. In my
dream, God read out an ambiguous midwife’s words with
lip reading, patting me outside.
The antenna extending once again was a long long sigh!
I found several ancient characters, vaguely, pushing out the
dashes, ready to start over again.
Taste of the Sea / 海洋的滋味
Thinking of the taste of the sea, I remember that
When I was young, I was trained to be a four-legs-soldier
(a frogman) at Tung-in Island.
While I was thrown into the sea
I found the seawater be so bitter as the bile.
At that moment, my tongue was trembling,
And the whole island was trembling, too.
This is the first time that I denied the taste of the sea be salty.
After retired, I often go to the seashore of Anping to take a walk.
The sky is the same as it was when I was young,
The sun is the same as it was in my grandpa’s days,
Only that the waves of the sea are shaking
As the taste of Cola.
I doubted that the bottle must have seen the odd way of swimming
When I was thrown into the sea. In it was full of ridicules of the sea
And the laughing also included one turtle’s, which I thought to be
A water-ghost (a frogman) of the mainland China communist.
Now gradually I’m getting old,
I notice that the map of Taiwan on the wall keeps turning around,
Sometimes it faces to the sea, sometimes it leans to the ocean,
sometimes it stands erratically
and sometimes it is like my tongue which grows bigger and bigger,
Moving to the left, there are tunas, licking to the right, there are Sea seeds,
Only that it continues lapping waves, and says, oh the ocean,
Sometimes the soup is sweetie, and sometimes it tastes a little bitter.
Certainly one day I was enthusiastic and participated in a prayer group,
Using their tongues, they lapped their naturally lives, with complacent,
They were in their ecstasy, speaking in tongues though not so fluently,
But with their tongues they were shouting frankly, in our sea
There’s a taste of Taiwan.