A Pentasyllabic and a Heptasyllabic Regulated Verse Celebrating Xiaoren1's Banning from Guoxue and Guxiang Forums

I.

Rain ends, the long sky clear and pure
Set sail departing from the distant bay
Vast waves ten thousand miles away
Shattered sun stirs golden shimmer
Clouds dry on trees at heaven's edge
Wind shifts the mountains on the sea
Come drink the ocean's boundless wine
And sprinkle once to intoxicate the mortal world

II.

In August, treading the waves across the grey-green sea
Whale-surges, cruel waves swallowing the distant sky
Raging dragons crack stone, clouds spew ink
Startled steeds overturn carts, the sun loses its red
Since ancient times, heroes have had fire-blood
Today's personages are all gold and bronze
The great Peng spreads its wings, embracing the cosmos
Through ten thousand kalpas, heaven and earth are shaken in one tremor

Henceforth departing — no longer a caged citizen

Death is illusion as life is illusion — who would torment themselves over every affair
Even dharma-marks should be abandoned, let alone non-dharma — the oars must be left behind, how much more the ferry-boat
A thousand carts of yellow scrolls still blind the eyes — that single point on the spiritual terrace has nothing to do with conditions
Within the bounds of Great Tang there is no knowledge — when has the bright mirror ever hung outside its own reflection

In August, treading the waves across the grey-green sea — whale-surges, cruel waves swallowing the distant sky
Raging dragons crack stone, clouds spew ink — startled steeds overturn carts, the sun loses its red
Since ancient times, heroes have had fire-blood — today's personages are all gold and bronze
The great Peng spreads its wings, embracing the cosmos — through ten thousand kalpas, heaven and earth are shaken in one tremor

"Yi Hu Zhu" (A Goblet of Pearls) — On Leaving the Internet for Half a Month Because of ICM2002 (Some may want to write "Seeing Off the Plague Ghost")

Fog thick, mountains broken
The setting sun spits blood, tumbling at the cloud's edge
In the human world, August, sky-fire flows
Beneath the feet, the Long River
Ten thousand miles, the azure dragon locked

Beyond the trees, half a torn blossom of red cloud
Flipped over to make a pillow, lying on the cliff's peak
The clear breeze has nothing to do, idle as I am
The Palace of Ghosts, the Court of Dragons
Are merely wrapped in dust