Kinsley Lee

In early morning, whenever open the eyes,
It flows that the unrecoverable old stories, suddenly.
The autumn airs are whirling like the spring tides,
The regrets and sorrows surges upon to me.
...

Dong-Ju, Yoon
The white washcloth is wrapped the black brains.
The white rubber shoes are hung on the rough feet.
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Dong-Ju, Yoon

On the night of the day when I came back
At same room, my skeleton was running after and lying
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Yun-Mi, Lee

I've a mentor whom I can't forget in my lifelong
When I was at the crossroad in a life or death,
...

There's a big zelkova tree on the hill,
Long ago, in my child days at home town.
Under it my grandmother waited me on the hill
Whenever I visited her house in home town.
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Sang-Cheol, Han

On the muddy flat,
At dusk, a girl digs out clams,
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Sang-Cheol, Han

The dishes in cupboard!
She is feeding butterflies,
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Sang-Cheol, Han

Shaking Butterfly!
A wild Ume flower, fallen
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Sang-Cheol, Han

Thoughtlessly tramping,
The ice columns on the field
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Dae-Mun, Park

The sky is high.
The hill is high.
...

The winds blow on the green field, so the blue river is crystal clear.
The stars set on the azure sky and the white clouds rise higher, higher.
A fisherman has the heavy hands because the fishes are fat.
At daybreak the lights are reflected by the scales so the water glitter.
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Jang-Sung, Chu

In some place where faraway the coast.
I was looking for your traces which dispersed.
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Jang-Sung, Chu

Midwinter, at the evening when it's around the sunset.
Uneven and gray-black clouds terribly went down as if touching the dark sea.
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Jang-Sung, Chu

Off Seoul,
Take on the eight round-trip lanes freeway,
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Sang-Cheol, Han

The silent, in the old dynasty's pond
Where it's been breezing by the light wind.
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The cicadae's chirping is withered in the trees,
But the dragonflies're fluttering and the light winds breeze.
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Chong-Suh, Kim

On the peak of the Mount Paek-Du we plant our colors,
In the Tomoon-River we wash our mares.
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It's the many faces along the way
From Yong-san to Yon-nam, brooks and grasses
Between the woods, not ending way
Linked to the buildings and stores, the masses
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It's full of autumn tints on the way
To the Yong-Mi-Ri, the leaves began to brown.
To the hills and vales it's not long, the way
Was off the city streets and town.
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Sihn-Kyung Lee

The mist goes down
And drew a sheet of drawing
...