非馬雙語詩作〈日記〉

非馬雙語詩作〈日記1〉刊登於《芝加哥時報》2026.8.30 非馬雙語詩作〈日記2〉刊登於《芝加哥時報》2026.9.4 日記1 當年的一筆 流水賬 竟從黑暗的冬夜深處 淙淙涓涓湧出 鳥語花香的清溪傍 一隻招引的小手 正等著相牽 一同走進 一片幾乎被遺忘了的 風景 DIARY 1 in the depths of a winter night the running account of a bygone era suddenly gushes forth trickling and gurgling on the bank of a clear stream among singing birds and blooming flowers a little hand is luring me to join up and walk together into the almost forgotten landscape 日記2 一隻最忠實的 寵物 永遠不會聽厭 你那一筆又一筆 平淡無聊的流水賬 更不會對從你心頭滔滔湧出的 那些赤裸的秘密 臉紅甚至大驚小怪 當然你也別想 它會感動得把溫暖的背 努努向你靠攏 或用淌著口水的舌頭 嘖嘖舔讚 DIARY 2 like the most loyal pet it would never get tired of your dull daily running accounts nor blush nor be shocked at the naked secrets pouring out endlessly from your heart by the same token neither can you expect its warm back pressed against you nor praise from its drooling tongue

七夕特刊（三）

七夕特刊（三）让七夕走得慢一天 再慢一天‖他们在世界写诗‖干饭只需一日三餐 浓情必然心心念念 https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/83X3MEJwGXKa3QpLHBYIGg

非馬雙語詩作〈孤單1〉

非馬雙語詩作〈孤單1〉刊登於《芝加哥時報》2026.8.21 孤單1 有你的日子 我不孤單 有詩的日子 我也不孤單 有你有詩的日子 我更不孤單 而在無你無詩的日子裡 我只顧側耳倾聽 你輕盈走近的詩意脚步 渾然不覺孤單 LONELINESS 1 the days with you I don't feel lonely the days with poetry I also don't feel lonely the days with you and poetry I certainly don't feel lonely and in the days without you and poetry I simply prick my ears listening to the approach of your poetic footsteps and forget all about loneliness

錢鍾齡詩作〈讀非馬的畫〉

錢鍾齡詩作〈讀非馬的畫〉刊登於《秋水詩刊》209期，2026.10

非馬雙語詩作〈光與影〉

非馬雙語詩作〈光與影〉刊登于《芝加哥时报》2026.8.14 光與影 童心未泯的 太陽 一個早上 就這樣 張眼 瞇眼 閉眼 張眼 撩撥詩人 寫一首關於 生命的 詩 LIGHT AND SHADOW young at heart all morning the playful sun just keeps opening his eyes squinting closing his eyes opening his eyes again and enticing the poet to write a poem of life

英文詩〈同大海辯論〉

英文詩〈同大海辯論〉刊登於《高地公園詩臉書頁》，2026.8.11 William Marr’s poem, TO ARGUE WITH THE OCEAN, published on Highland Park Poetry's Facebook page and Instagram， 2026.8.11 https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1655942812788446&set=a.579194347129970

非馬英文詩作〈Why I Write Poetry〉

非馬英文詩作〈Why I Write Poetry〉刊登于《芝加哥时报》2026.8.7 WHY I WRITE POETRY I don't know why I write poetry all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich enjoying -- not possessing the ever-expanding universe without fear of inflation in the sky -- white clouds singing larks whispering wind the tender moon and twinkling stars on the ground -- mountains hills plains gullies lush green red brown yellow oceans streams lakes ponds splashing gurgling burbling the blooming flowers the vacillating leaves children's innocent laughter cats dogs chickens ducks birds jumping chasing croaking singing all are parts of my life's fortune of course, there too are ferocious dark clouds harrying eagles howling storms withering flowers roaring guns and piercing screams the shadows that lend dimension to poetry and life In fact, I don't write poetry poetry writes me