Poetess Yang Geum-Hee was born in 1967 in Jeju, Korea. She has published two collections of poetry books, “Happiness Account” and “Ieodo, Island of Legend and Existence”, as well as one collection of essays titled “Happy Companion”. She was the first president of the Ieodo Literature Association, the editor-in-chief of the Jejuin News, and worked as a research fellow at the Society of Ieodo Research. She served as a researcher at the Jeju Sea Grand Center at Jeju National University and a specially appointed professor at Jeju International University. Currently, she is an editorial writer for the New Jeju Ilbo, a special researcher at the Institute of Social Sciences of Jeju National University, a vice-president of the Jeju Regional Committee of the Korean PEN Center, an Executive of the Jeju Institute for Korean Unification, and an Executive of the Korean Association of Ethics. She has won seven literary awards.
No matter how much time goes by,
Wind never getting older
Even though Wind doesn’t have a mouth,
Wind always say something What have to say
Even though Wind doesn’t have eyes,
Wind never lose her direction
When Wind face an angular face,
Wind always blowing somewhere else,
Without scratching or hurting
Wind Never stay,
even though face soft face
When can I run on the crooked road on the earth,
without asking for directions
Happy account,
Which is in the Heaven
Needless memorize password for Account
Even at night,
Shining star lights fill in the happy account
So, don’t worry about bankruptcy
Even though it’s a cloudy day
Believe that the clouds do contain happy account,
Behind of their dark clouds
When you see blue sky,
It’s a day,
You transfer love to happy account
Withdrawal is Always Possible
The happier,
The interest rate is high
Nests of Birds
 Birds do not build their homes
for themselves,
but for their young ones
They build nests in bushes or tree holes
and share warmth with each other
With that strength,
they become the wind,
they become the clouds,
to open their way to the sky
Knowing their destiny is to fly high,
birds do not build nests to stay.
When you get discouraged,
I call you a crape myrtle
Hoping you might be full of life,
As a flower tree red for one hundred days,
A crape myrtle.
Named like that
Your appearance, withering with heat,
Might recover subtle aroma and
Rosy color again,
And for one hundred days
 You may put out prink buds,
I call you
A crape myrtle,
Pretending as if I don’t know your name.
The yellow winter jumper,
Received as a gift long ago,
I lost it.
Much regret follows
As much as fondness
For the lost things.
Where did I put
The bright color of purity
On the gray pavement?
It is so clear
My days of chick’s downy hair,
Spring time it was
Lost, so remaining forever in my heart.
Soil is the mother of all living things
Giving a Belly to bear seeds
Giving warm hugs for raise
Giving fond look to the tender buds
Hold trees which is swaying in the wind
Permit its root deep into her flesh
Regardless of grains and weeds,
Treat them without discrimination
Ants and elephants,
Neither the wicked nor the good,
All step on earth’s back and walk a long way
 Peace and rage, war and love
All equal on the ground
All beings
Crumble on the soil
When all things turn to dust and lie down
Earth Hug warmly and tightly

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