Wrought & Found

Original poetry and found images


–By Mia Sara



Close Shave



Not all fun and games anymore, no shivers up the spine,
goose-fleshed and expectant, matching thrill for thrill,
not candy floss cyclones after hopping off the carousel,
a little lick of sweet to mask the taste of the bitter pill.

The cheerful slap of creation does not prepare you for
this sucker punch, these shackles, and this twisted rope
around your throat, balancing tiptoe on a two-legged stool,
counting sheep as your kid plays hide-and-seek with dope. Continue reading

Wrought & Found

Original poems & found images

–by Mia Sara

Barbie in ground

Breaking Ground

Designing a house is like a road trip with Action Barbie and G.I. Joe,
in The Country Camper with the picnic set, and the fold-out tent.
Endless miles of opportunity ahead of you and ample storage capacity
for all that baggage you thought you’d left behind, but didn’t.

There will be oversights, bumps in the road. Too late, you will notice
the internal structure is missing some vital parts, like Barbie, and Joe.
In the enthusiastic effort to compensate, Barbie will lose one sun-kissed
fully pose-able leg, and the wheels will come off the camper, tossing Continue reading

Wrought & Found

Original poems & found images

~by Mia Sara

Coffee Santa

Santa Saves Los Angeles

The Santa Ana winds
Dessicate good cheer.
Old roots and memories
Once freeze dried,
Lose their sap,
Withering the prospects

Of our Christmas tree.
The needles fall,
Not one by one, but
In steady showers.
What a fragrant corpse.
This Santa Claus Continue reading

Wrought & Found

Original poems and found images

~by Mia Sara


brooklyn-bridge-ca-1980Lost In Brooklyn, Found

Submerged, sunk deep,
On the silty bottom, as
Sandhogs, heads splitting
Inside the airless caisson,
Digging for, and never hitting


Moonrise on the East River,
Under the bridge on a pile of rubble,
We pass the bottle,
Spring fevered, wiseacred,
Brooklyn kids,

Tit-flashing Manhattan. Continue reading

The Lightning Room With Changming Yuan

Changming Yuan like a leaf, like water, like a building seven hundred children tall.  (see Changming’s Skyline in our Jan issue)

1) I thought I recognized your name and then I realized you’re one of the first people I published when I worked with the Exquisite Corpse. Reading your bio, I see you’ve been published in almost 600 publications. So I guess it’s not that much of a coincidence. How has your poetry evolved since your first publication?

Thanks so much, dear Ed. DeWitt, for this opportunity to talk about my poetic work, and I feel truly honored! To begin with, poetry seems to run in the blood of my family. When my father died in January of 2012, my mother revealed that he had always wished to be a poet, though he never got anything published during his lifetime. Growing up in an impoverished Chinese village, I fell in love with poetry and dreamed about living like Li Bai at the age of 14 when I had my first exposure to poetry of any kind. Although I did make dozens of poetry submissions in China, I never got even a rejection slip. Luckily, many years after moving to Canada as an international student, I had one of my first English poems published in the summer of 2005 and, ever since then, I have been writing and publishing much more poetry than I myself imagined – thus far, my poetry has appeared in nearly 700 literary journals/anthologies across 26 countries. Also interesting is perhaps that at the age of 15, my teenager younger son Allen Qing Yuan began to publish poetry worldwide, apparently under my influence: Every time I receive a contributor’s copy, I ‘force’ him to take a look at my work and, after much reading, he has turned out an actively publishing poet in his own right. Now we have formed a ‘father-son comraderie in poetry,’ as some editors like to call us, to publish our own newly-started literary magazine called Poetry Pacific (poetrypacific.blogspot.ca), which has been developing surprisingly well – by the way, all poetry submissions are welcome at yuans[at]shaw.ca. While my elder son George Lai Yuan, a busy senior engineer in Silicon Valley, had his first poem published early this year, my poetic work has finally begun to appear in Chinese media since last winter, but ironically only after I became an internationally widely published practitioner of the art.

2) How is your Skyline different when someone else reads it?

For me, every reading (of the same work) is a new poem. Each time my Skyline is read, it may look more like a monster’s mouth, a dream vision, a meeting line between sea and coast, or a limbo between hell and heaven, depending upon the reader’s frame of mind.

Continue reading