- – the wandering sentences are nothing but hell in a poem – địa ngục của bài thơ đôi khi chỉ là những dòng chữ lang thang [455]
- 4.0
- 12%
- 369
- 5 countable verses
- 6 bài thơ
- 7 verses – you stole my thoughts
- 8 Prayerful Odes
- 10 verses – poetry is a mother’s silence
- a black hole [495]
- a broken piece of me
- a few words
- A FIELD OF INHUMANITY
- A frog in a well
- A GAME THAT IS NO LONGER SAFE
- a geese feather tainted with your blood
- a land where even the weed flowered
- A MAN OLD ENOUGH TO EMBRACE A TOMB
- a map in the old house
- A poem about a spool of wool
- A POEM ABOUT NOTHING AT ALL
- a poem or just a rope
- a poem written for a poet devoted to freedom
- a poet died in the trees
- a poet that has never smiled
- a poet’s reward
- a red apple
- A STRAND OF BROWN HAIR
- A very small death – Emptiness – Abyss – I’ve dropped on the spot – Scrap paper – Brutality – My existence
- ABODE 1: FIRE – The octopus from the deep shall
- ABODE 2: WATER – What or where is the womb, can you show me?
- ABODE 3: LIGHT
- ABODE 4: LAND AND COUNTRY – how could they even think of dividing the womb
- ABODE 5: Where resides the graves of young sober men
- ABODE 6: WIND, DUST &MARRIAGE
- ABODE 7: THE HUMAN SPIRIT
- afraid of the virus
- after a lifetime of holding onto your futile tongue
- all poems were in sky blue
- all the women from my past keep calling me
- allegro is the tempo of time
- amongst the dreams
- an amateur
- AN AMAZING TAXI RIDE
- AN ANTHOLOGY of HUSBAND & WIFE – BÀI THƠ VỢ CHỒNG
- an anthology of my solitude
- AN EPIC ODE OF MY HOMELAND A HUNDRED YEARS AGO
- AN EPIC ODE OF SAIGON IN LOCKDOWN
- AN EPIC ODE OF UKRAINE
- AN EPIC POEM SHATTERED INTO WARM RAIN
- an interment in white
- An old lullaby
- and pain is the colour of clarity
- and the colours
- and the dead won’t be able to catch a glimpse
- and the man I saw was me
- and the wind pushes it around
- and you will be my light…
- and your hands have touched, the flower petals, of another summer
- April
- April is a fast passing shower
- as a poet
- as for the 31 souls who love you
- BABY, DON’T BE SO SURPRISED
- bài thơ: “chiều xuống trên bụng nhà thơ”*
- BÀI TRƯỜNG CA VALENTINE [498]
- BÀI TRƯỜNG CA VỀ MỘT NGƯỜI Ở LẠI SAU KHI MỌI THỨ ĐÃ RỜI ĐI [500]
- because poetry is the most ordinary of things
- Beyond the storm and grass
- Big mean huge
- BLOOD – MÁU
- blood and flowers
- blood is no sweat
- Born in the year of the horse
- Bumping into an old friend from med school in the streets…
- CHRONICLES OF A DEAD PERSON LIVING STILL WITH THE TRUTH
- CHRONICLES OF A RIVER
- chừng nào nhớ hết nước mắt?
- cigarette smoke
- coffee cups full of daydreams
- Congratulations to Lê Vĩnh Tài, for writing your first poem in both Vietnamese and English
- CONTRITION
- Corona, the year 2030
- Count
- Dad, where does poetry come from
- damp and wet like the brain, the concept of words germinating
- Damp memories
- Dear lord, sobering is December!
- DEATH
- Death is an angel leading us into darkness [446]
- DEATH OR A CHANCE TO LOVE – KHI CÁI CHẾT ĐẾN HAY LÀ CƠ HỘI ĐỂ YÊU [408]
- DEATH REDUCES US TO SHRIVELLING RIGID SILENCE [447]
- December
- deception is not love
- defensive
- deliriously obsessed were the yellow flowers
- dissolving joy
- Do you need 5 people to love you or 5000 followers?
- does it help us to avoid the need to look at the virus?
- During Isolation
- “đi đêm”
- each layer is a forgotten dream
- Each time the afternoon pulls light into night
- EM [415]
- EM & ME [421]
- Envy
- even your mother didn’t get a chance to breastfeed you
- everything was wrapped in a glorious chill
- everything will be fine, if we never see each other again, right?
- Evident
- eyes, a star & you
- falls apart and die
- finally you touched on the absence of us, the gone years
- first day of school
- four poems
- fractured glass and rotten memories
- Freemann Equations
- from insecurities, we shall radiate glorious light
- garbage
- GOING THE DISTANCE
- Gone is Valentine
- Googling the word “mountain”
- Grass, rarely writes poetry of substance…
- H’MONG
- HEARSAY
- heart
- HEART BOUND IS AN EPIC TALE OF THE SEA | BÀI TRƯỜNG CA CỦA BIỂN TRONG LỒNG NGỰC [487]
- HER FINGERS AND YOUR HAND [491]
- her hair dripping
- HER NEEDLEWORK
- her next door neighbour
- her portraits
- her sunset
- HOA YÊN CƠ(poem)
- HOA YÊN CƠ(short story)
- Honestly when I gave you permission to write that poem [440]
- how could that one person be the entirety of the sunset
- How could you be so oblivious to their strength?
- How can a poet escape the spell?
- HOW DO MEMORIES DIE?
- how do you read the poem, when the poet’s bones are broken…
- How do you snuff out a candle?
- How does one chew to pieces the bones of a man?
- how funny
- how may she love without anxiety
- How O thou art or any being love
- How should one savour a woman?
- Humanised
- hypnotizing patriotism
- Hypocrites make a show of benevolence
- I am dead
- I am not like you
- I am steeped in colour
- I didn’t know what I did can you explain it to me
- I HAD TO LET YOU GO
- I have thrown out all the words in my grasp
- I heard your name [494]
- I INVITED HIM IN
- I miss the room with the scent of you
- I miss you, but you do not miss me.
- I reinvented myself
- I should have enough decency to stop loving her…
- I spoke their language
- I want to turn us into a poem…
- I was four, when I began to chase my dreams
- I was not born a poet
- I will learn how to love the fog
- I’m a nine storey building
- I’m curled up like a ball as the poem begins to fall into bits
- I’M HERE
- I’m still inside my mother’s womb
- I’m terrified of people and loneliness
- I’M WORRIED THAT TOMORROW YOU WILL SAY THAT I’M THE PAST
- I’m writing to you from an empty chair that has been filled
- I’ve been through the wilderness of nights
- IF A VERSE IS TRAPPED, WILL SILENCE BE ITS REPLY?
- if God had a colour, would He be green or red?
- if it weren’t for your heart
- If one can not write, Poetry can be nothing but a dream
- If only…
- if the electrical pole
- if you could go back in time
- if you could read my thoughts
- if you love
- If you see the poem as feathers of a bird
- if you were a poem
- imposter
- in a house full of cobweb
- In another lifetime, you are my home.
- in kisses, she’s proficient
- In today’s time, should poetry be “hard” to read or “hard” to post?
- INCONSEQUENTIAL
- is Poetry male or female
- it turns out you’re a rat
- it’s all in your head
- it’s late, or is there still a chance someone might turn u
- it’s simple, it’s the one by our side
- it’s twisted, hence, it might be the reason why you couldn’t see
- Justice
- kneel
- Knock on the Door
- Learning how to love
- LIFE ON WHITE PIECES OF PAPER
- like how now and then the stocks hit rock bottom
- like the waves in your room, one moonlit night. in waves, rising
- loneliness
- lonely are the butterflies
- long ago in the mountain
- love
- love is no deception
- Mama, now that I’m old enough
- May I kiss you
- ME [417]
- me wishing for more rain
- Mnong
- MƯỜI BÀI THƠ
- mười hai bài
- my country is an old book
- MY LIFE
- never fall in love with a poet
- Night
- NIGHT & THE CONTINUING FALLING VERSES OF…
- they’re tall because we’re on our knees (1)
- a bird in folklore (2)
- a poem disappeared into a hole (3)
- there’s no possible point of view which could surpass the summer (4)
- gosh the green grass, aching at the foot of the horizon (5)
- death aren’t rows of furrows in the field (6)
- not a warden (7)
- days like these, poetry is a scar at the heart of the people (8)
- you will touch the love of this nation (9)
- April (10)
- without the vernacular, the poem has to wave its arms around dancing (11)
- don’t write sad poetry, and yearn for its light (12)
- even the moonlight was something in her imagination (14)
- her heart is so small, it’s a black hole forever sound within my soul (15)
- night is the outside falling (16)
- that’s where the mountain viewed the sea (17)
- listen to poetry as you would listen to the rain (18)
- a pantheon of meaning (20)
- nightfall and all I want
- no one has fingers small or light enough to cause so much pain
- no one has the rights to absolution
- No reform, just a poem for Vũ
- Not a grave
- not because you’re missing in action
- Not just about the Paracel – Spratly islands
- not poison
- Not Us..
- November yellows flying
- now and then the poet must ponder the state of the nation
- NYE
- often by the sea
- oh heavenly Father
- Oh Sleep
- ONE CLICK ON MY MOUSE
- one lonely hand
- once they have learned how to love
- once you’re ready to shine
- only the sunrise was a diluted orange
- or has the wind turned you into tears
- ORDER IN PLACE OF NOTHINGNESS
- our sensitive nature, might, pride
- out by the river
- Out, from isolation
- “out of nothing is nothingness…”
- over the weight of an ellipsis
- pain is a metamorphosis
- past seeing to fear
- perhaps
- Perhaps it is her way of warning you about what you can / cannot get from poetry.
- PERHAPS I’VE SUNK SO DEEP INTO THE SEA I’VE LOST MY MEMORY
- photograph
- Please return the stars back to their rightful place
- POEMS IN A YEARBOOK
- Poetry
- poetry did, in a hotel slept with a man
- poetry is like the idea of nothing, a waste of time
- Poetry. it’s the accompanying shadow
- Poetry waiting for a merit award
- Poetry is like a rose
- POETS ARE NOT PHILOSOPHERS
- poverty is black
- practising line breaks(create the enjambment):
- proclaim me naught as mother
- pulled out
- pungent is the allure of a storm
- rain
- rain and sunlight home to hum the melodies
- rain, the ceaseless rainy days
- raindrop
- rapid antigen test, an edifice in paradise [492]
- reading Vietnamese poetry
- red roses, steeped in blood
- reformed
- REMINISCING IS ALL I HAVE LEFT WHEN I CAN NO LONGER DREAM
- requiem
- resolutions without a limit
- Return when, the un-besieged written verses?
- sadness – nỗi buồn
- scattering ambulances amongst the howls of the dead
- scent
- SHE BUILDS A VESSEL FOR THE FLOOD [416]
- she is a happy ending
- SHE LENT YOU A BOOK ONCE
- SHE SAID THAT SHE STILL HAS A MOTHER…
- she took her shoes off
- She untied each and every ridiculous knot in Poetry
- sitting corpses
- Slander
- sleep, sweet dream, sleep – BÀI TRƯỜNG CA EM
- sleep tear(s)
- Slowly, Poetry is dying
- so far it’s impossible to know
- soldiers sleeping
- solve the mind boggling sum
- “someone walked past the door possibly”*
- sowing the deletion of the past
- still a dollar in my pocket
- still causing twists and turns in each night’s dream
- Summon the rain
- tám bài thơ
- Tears are as old as the trees
- TẾT
- THE APPEARANCE OF A STRANGE CREATURE IN THE FIELD
- the body part factory
- the book of poems lost in Saigon
- The centuries of karma
- The Chư Mang Vernacular
- The concealed circling darkness
- the dark thoughts
- the discarded votes of a nation
- the dissertation of a rose
- the evidence
- the faint yellow of sunlight from the past [497]
- the finite and the infinite
- the formation of a drop of blood
- the leaning tower
- The leaves lying around on the ground counting the nights in red
- the light
- the light dawning on your face
- THE LOGIC OF A DREAM
- THE LOST SCENT
- THE MAKING OF POETRY IN JANUARY [499]
- the moment I greeted my mother to say goodbye
- The Moon, She
- the morning after pill
- the muse
- The Nation shall call upon the poet
- the ode
- the old
- THE OLD COMPUTER
- The only guiding light left is Kindness.
- the pain never budging
- the poem
- the poem, a knotted mess
- the poem has an inessential “yet”
- the poem, it will always surpass the aptitude of the poet
- the poem, it cried
- the poem, it’s already the past
- the poem, it’s not an owl
- the poem reacquainted with the lies
- the poem you’re coveting
- the poet
- the quiet
- the reality of transpired journeys
- THE SACRED DEER [445]
- the scent of old books
- the scent of you
- The sea asked the writer
- THE SEA IS STARVING AND I’M DROWNING
- the sea of dreams
- the sea talks about everything else
- the second hand on the watch
- THE SHORTEST STORY
- THE SMALL THINGS
- the smell of rats, mice roasting
- the smile and tears
- the solemn poem
- the storm in us
- THE THICK WOOLEN JUMPER
- the things he took with him
- the unhealable open wound
- the unimaginable, dust, I will become
- The United States will always be the United States of America
- the verse creating a storm
- THE VERSE THROWING A SHOE
- the virus’ ode
- the virus doesn’t care
- the watch
- THE WAY A STRAWBERRY BLEED
- the way baby poses in the middle of the night…
- the white clouds’ last dream
- the world, now small in your eyes
- the words in gold
- THE YEAR BEGAN WITH A SHORT STORY – TRUYỆN NGẮN THÁNG GIÊNG [460]
- The year coming to an end
- the young poet
- There were only two people in isolation
- there will always be more of the poor than the rich
- There’s still one way
- THEY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT [496]
- they held your hand and kissed you on the lips
- this is not a poem
- this world is a cave
- Thơ ngày 6
- those amongst you have disappeared into the dark
- those are the reasons the haiku has forever doubled in length
- Threats
- three pillars turning into one phallic symbol
- TIBET
- timelessly love shall belong to us
- trilogy
- TRUTHS YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN, LOVE
- two poems
- UNSPOKEN WORDS AND LOVE LOST
- useless aspiration
- vessel of death
- Virus
- we all know our feet are grounded
- we have turned into one lonely night
- we open the door and welcome the ghosts
- we will return
- we will ride the waves
- we write in silence
- We’re the uneducated adults
- WHAT HAS FALLEN APART, DAMP AND WET LEFT BEHIND IN THE DARK
- What would be considered as a tragedy, to a poet?
- When he’s quiet, he’s thoughtful. When she’s quiet, she’s plotting something.
- when loneliness is a ghost
- when poetry ignites
- when sadness is still too young on Christmas eve
- when she dies slowly in her sleep
- when sugar is no longer sweet
- when the birds bark
- when the clouds are weighed down by pain
- when the poem isn’t essential
- when there’s no one at home
- when you look in the mirror
- WHEN YOU’RE ALONE IN YOUR ROOM [454]
- when you’re a poet, you’re a thief
- When you’re fifty eight
- WHERE IS THIS POETRY
- where people are born
- Who should I be?
- Why won’t it hold more?
- Why not you, my love, but Sapa?
- winter’s eve
- within the aspirations of the rain
- without a voice
- words of a wheat field
- wrapped in a sheet of plastic
- writing poetry is like splitting wood
- WRITING TO VỸ AT THE END OF THE YEAR [493]
- wrong
- yeah, the end of the year is exhausting
- you and him, the rain and sadness
- you are a fearless failure
- You are my nicotine addiction
- you enjoy watching me
- you have been living in a dead body, now your body is alive because of me
- you have tattooed on your chest the letter F
- you made the mistake of turning darkness into light
- you put up with a grain of sunlight
- you saw the beauty of the young woman
- you think I’m done
- You’re a fungi
- you’re a poem, unlike any other
- YOU’RE HOME AND A VERSION OF THE POEM SNAPPED
- you’re like a pair of wings a sad butterfly
- you’re not a butterfly
- you’re not an alcoholic
- You’re washed away. Along with the past.
- your beauty resides in tears
- your lips bloomed like a flower
- your lips, mine
- YOUR LOVELY BATTLE WITH THE LUXURIOUS LIFE OF A SAD BILLIONAIRE…
Lê Vĩnh Tài, the poet and translator born in 1966 in Buon Ma Thuot, Daklak, Vietnam. The retired doctor is still a resident of the Western Highlands and a businessman in Buon Ma Thuot.
Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm 
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