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2011 Scholarship

Congratulations to our 2011 Youth Scholarship recipient Oliver Li.

Oliver Li is what you would call, a Canadian Raised Chinese. Although he plans to pursue the study of sciences in the future, Oliver still finds pleasure in composing various forms of literature, especially poetry. He currently lives in Vancouver, which provides an ambient background to his writing. 


As I look upon the desolate ice-field,
The chilly air greets me,
I inhale a fresh breath,
Which sends shivers down my spine,
Looking beyond the valleys,
My eyes meet the mountains,
Their summits rise high into the air,
Piercing the sky and through the clouds,
As I move forward the ice crunches beneath my feet,
Crunch, Crunch fills the air as I take my delicate steps,
As far as I can see I am surround by ice,
Massive towers of snow and rock,
The only noise that greets me,
Is the noise of shoes against ice,
Crunch, Crunch, Crunch,
My mind is numbed by body cold,
A wind passes through the mountains,
Its cold rays penetrate the insides of my heart,
Looking up once again I see the ice,
Sparkling on the mountain tops,
As the rays of the sun reflect of its surface,
All is lull, it is quiet,
This is cold.

The Other Side

The dark side of the moon,
Of life's hidden secrets,
Always hidden from out view,
Only something we can dream about,
Many of us attempt to create a picture for others,
But the mystery is still there:
What is on the other side of the moon?
Of course scientists can argue,
That both dies should be about the same,
But what if there was another thriving civilization,
Something much like us that was also wondering what lay beyond their moon,
It may just merely be a childhood dream,
But so many times in life the simplest are the correct,
Time after time we watch our moon,
Form being a piece of cheese to part of earth,
Our moon had to suffer these insults,
For once if we could let the moon speak for its self,
We might actually know. 

War and Peace

Maybe it was the thought of victory, 
Or the agonizing defeat,
Maybe it was the fame,
Or the death that some seek,
Maybe it was the glory,
That one achieves after a good fight,
Or maybe it was the homecoming,
A celebration of a hero's return,
All the bloodshed and suffering,
Part of what has taken us so far,
The men and women that put there lives on the line,
For the freedom and liberty of this county,
All the bullets that have been first,
All the deaths that were tolled,
Have been a step to a better,
More peaceful world and we know it today


It gripes me like it does others,
The calm eerie strike of death,
Many heroes and lords have fallen under it,
Nothing can stand against it,
So many have looked for the elixir of life,
The spring of youth, for immortality,
Yet still it prevails,
the strength of it all,
Death the governor of nations,
Death the ruler of kingdoms,
The wise have tired to evade its grip
but time after time it has succeeded.


The Light bulb

I found a light bulb,
Still intact and useful,
Left alone and deserted on the side of the street,
As it lay there resting its head against the ash fault,
I noticed it and moved in for investigating,
On further observation I was intrigued,
By the fact that its filament was still attached,
Ready and able to light up its surroundings,
This piece of plastic, metal and glass,
Is what we use to govern the night,
Every now and then you see a city scape panorama,
Of the night time sky,
Lit up with many vibrant lights,
Still some of us take it for granted,
Assuming that it will faithfully always be there,
Governing our lives, ambitions and dreams,
Ready on command to light up out lives,
And be the jewel by which we shine


Whether for play accompaniments or just listening,
For comforting our moods to deciphering out plans,
Though it is everywhere,
Some do not perceive it,
From the deception of may,
To the triumph of power,
It governs our society and our morals,
Notes interwoven on a piece of paper,
Dots located on a staff or a line,
Harmony combined with he melody,
Is what we really call music,
From century to century, Age to age,
Music has transformed with culture,
From classical to hip hop,
Hard rock back to instrumental,
There is a style for all,
Yet music is always a way of communication,
A style of language embedded in our hearts
Some say we are what we eat,
But I say we are what we listen

by Oliver