Before the azure sister of spring


61

Before the azure sister of spring

I met a traveller from an antique land
With golden lips and stories of the future
He spoken of love outlasting weary fate

The lone and level destiny we all must face
I would have sung his song
Had I known the lyrics of dreams

These echoes and lights unto eternity
And seasons that pass with a blink
Of tears and farewells, and all

That is beautiful will come yet again
In another body and mind, to be sure
We are all nomads travelling

From one place to another
And we know where we go
Even if we feign ignorance

The rivers have always mingled
With the oceans and everything
Has always been single, by laws divine

And the Earth never could kiss
High heaven, and the birds never stooped
To eat long there, but preferred

To stray among the clasps of sunlight
What is this sweet embrace of youth?
Is it the cry of life or the nudge of death?

By the spontaneous particulars of sound


60

By the spontaneous particulars of sound

When I listen to the sound
Of poetry distilled by centuries
It’s not like poor music
If the poetry of x were music

Well Shakespeare still read well
Sappho still tugs the heart
So it’s wider than philosophy
Their rhetoric is hardly relevant

To the times, Descartes
Did not anticipate binary!
Aurobindo’s supermind < transhumanism
Without understanding

Poetry flows, Emily Dickinson
Will never grow old, no!
Her freedom is in a tongue

All her own, a symbolism that
Becomes a language, a devotion
To a way of observing

Better to live directly
In experience, without filters
Better without an author

To be our own author
Not necessarily to write myths
We live in myth enough already

But some brains reverberate
With the poetic sense, the
Future poetry, and that is enough.

Ghazal Aquarius


59

Ghazal Aquarius

I’m nobody! But strangely
I quiver with the future
A spark lets fire fly in me
I cannot know it the way I do

It lives in me, as others
Follow custom of tradition
They own it, they prophesize doctrine
I’m nobody! Not even a rebel

But the future is drearily awake
In me, like a momentum punch
Of light and change, decades
Fast forward in my brain

Until we are, a new kind of we
And I am embraced by technology
The pain of being separated
From that telepathy and empathy

It’s not something I can endure
For too many years, living like this
In the past, where people are
So separate as make-believe individuals.

The progress algorithm


58

The progress algorithm

After death and dealings
Taxes and bankruptcy
Smiling is madness in its

Divinest sense, descendant divinity
Evolution of plurals
Oneness of connected missions

Assent, ascent, into enchantment
Time is straightway dangerous
But everything to be tamed

After the fall, after morning
What will become of us?
There is no time to hate

Only time to learn a bit
The grave would thus hinder me
When I need lifetimes to

Assimilate the ampler designs
Of industry and a little toil of love
For gains larger than myself

No time to profit, no time to reap
Only the hunger all these years
To dine at noon with algorithms

And by Big data’s decree
Look through windows of prosperity
Where information turns to

Nature’s dining rooms
To transpose a rose, is a rose
Is a golden rose of outsides
That hunger was a way
Of finding technological dynasty.

Singularity spoken


57

~ A Transhumanistic manifesto in a poem:

Singularity spoken

It was not death, no
For I was awake
In all the parts of my being
It was not the night

For the tongues of Noon
Has fallen like my flesh
But I was aware
Of so much more than

Chance or burial would make
Reminded of time
I took a step outside
Of her and her bodyguard of space

Without breath, I felt
Midnight and noon in one echo
Of what it meant
To be tied to a body

I was not anxiety
For I was part machine
Part poem, and all the ticked
Of time had stopped

It was not death, but
Quantum life I know
Success is counted sweetest
When prayers have run out

Like biology’s last play
So clear the victory
Of algorithms and machine-learning
That by defeating death

I became part software
Part virtual author clear
Free-will was transcending
Simulations, and entering

An abyss, of symbiosis
The transhumanistc event
Adaptive and unalterable.

This is descendent divinity


Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Flare-516580147

57

I taste the liquor
Of descendent divinity
What is it? It is like the Tao
It cannot be named and it is

A mystical portion of evolution
It is the spirit brewed in Man
The soul in the girl child
That is too sensitive for life

Life in her cruelty and brutality
I taste the water
Of lifetimes, of the infinite
And smell the fragrance

Of forever, scooped in pearl
Inebriate of air I am,
Reeling, through an endless
Encounter with seasons

That I am so intimate with
I can nearly get drunk
On golden bees and lilac sunsets
It’s enough to be alive

Some days, no need to be a saint
I taste liquor on the breath
Of youth in an old body
Like mine, leaning against the sun!

Whispers form the software of the Oversoul


56

Whispers form the software of the Oversoul

I measure every grief
With an ocean of love
I wonder if it weighs
On other minds like mine?

I analyze every calamity
With the treasures offered
From nature like the privilege

The intangible and extreme
Privilege of having seen what I saw
Of having loved an almost Enlightened

Vision of what suffering and
The heights could mean?
Descendent divinity, something

That evolves in contrasts of
Love and pain, so easily hurt
So often ruined, and gently doomed
I measure every grief

But I cannot always tell
The date and time of surreal surprises
The most unexpected things
A few golden drops in centuries.

Or Not to be


55

Or Not to be

I died for beauty and for grief
As if they were scarce
As if I was in need
When one died it did not matter
Descendent divinity could adapt

For truth and beauty
Belong to the future’s make
In kin I never knew I had
In aliens so similar, it was
Hard to comprehend

I died for beauty and for grief
I lived perhaps a wasted
Satisfied temporary, like an abyss
And my name was not beautiful
But at least we were together

In adjoining rooms, fed
Language, light and breath
A while, I died but it was not bitter
It was the natural way to be
Living until we die
Now that was a beautiful thing.

Serotonin is on her Sails


54

Serotonin is on her Sails

I felt a celebration in the end
Of a funeral in the brain
That was not so much Serotonin

But something else, I cannot say!
Something in me enjoyed tragedy
Or the idea of bare simplicity

Nude in anonymity,
Like the keen peace of silence
Or the agony of intimacy

With nobody, but something else
That’s descendent divinity
The space between one

Season of life and another
The waiting, the wrecked waiting….
I felt a celebration in the dark

Of suffering at her fuel’s end
Where mourners leave the known world
And where lovers turn to go
When all the kisses have run out.

Blessed be in weary time of beginnings


53

Blessed be in weary time of beginnings

Death sets a lovely significance
On all our lives and more
For each ecstatic verse

Was an instant of our mind
Held like descendent divinity
The mysticism in our genes

It’s a future we keep reliving
And a past we keep repeating
For each beloved hour

Has a sharp pang of lost years
Bitter contested failures
And love-eyed private victories

They say we err in front of the world
That cannot remember anything
But succeed in our own merit
In the private judge of a soul’s conscience.

On Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality


54

On Carriage held but just ourselves and Immortality

I cannot stop for death
One man’s heart breaking
Is another woman’s birth
I cannot live in vain

For there has never been
Another one quite like me
Not I, unto the nest again
Descendent divinity shall wrap

All my mortal wounds
Filling me with light
Hope is the thing with feathers
That fly on dreams that dance

At every dawn, at every twilight
I cannot stop for death
But I must risk it all
To live the life I want

Death will not ask me for directions
When it is to Immorality
Of the soul for which I walk
I know no haste, for I believe

In my appointed hour and place
I cannot stop for death
For Fate has me in his civility
I labour past leisure for a cause

Of which all previous acts accumulate
I cannot stop for death
For eternity will feel jaded
If I stop for long for anyone.

Prince of worlds


52

The world is not conclusion
She rides the glory and tragedy
Leaving us behind no doubt
A descendent divinity

History a symphony of positives
In a life of necessary suffering
We have no shame, generations
Of maladies, cancer of the Planet

We have no guilt, ecological terrorists
To breed into the billions
Imagine the height of arrogance!?
As the oceans die, in a philosophy of next

Permafrost is melted into the atmosphere
The world is not a conclusion
She is a star among trillions
Her philosophy is ancient

Extinction is not worrisome for her
She has seen a million species scar her planet
But none like us, none like when
Mars was once full of life

We’ll do it again in no time
But will we make it to other worlds?
That is the love affair with time
To survive, we do what we do

In order to survive, for this
God does not have to exist
Or any myth in fact, but it’s helpful
To imagine life as an ambush of bliss

Heaven but a moment away
For reality is an expensive privilege
For which I have outgrown in labour
It may be a forgone conclusion that

We die, but in piercing earnest
The life after death must be a treat
It’s hard to be surprised anymore
In jest, let’s believe in what we please.

Last Stop


51

There is a last stop in all of us
A place our soul consents to rest
Few were the moonlit nights
That I’ve truly cared for after all

In the alphabet of stars
Time carried me until I was
Completely different
And with a fatigue of thought

I settled on dying a white death
After people were forgotten
There were still my dreams
Dreams I had held on to in spite

Of difficulties, tempests, dishonour
But memory is just a day
When somebody we cared for

Is replaced by somebody else or
The fleeting thing of hours
The turbulent street where everything blurs.

Smile to make me believe


Smile to make me believe

When you smile
lift me from breathing
conquer joy so I can submit
to the eternal feminine and the grace
I am tired of man’s world
of war, politics, corruption, smiting enemies
so dear make me dizzy
with thoughts of intimacy, children, the home
arch me with your gold decoration
that I might feel young again
lead me to small feminine laughter
where you cradle the shining sun
and my life becomes the blue body
of freedom, the skies and the ocean
when you smile
realize, please, the influence
of how the spring submits to rain
of how my skin was made to
let your heart in, like laughter
and the foreign verse of beauty
I being a man, am so alien to it
When you smile
cry for me with the inexplicable
for I have no tears left
numbed by cruelty and maybe defeat
smile for me, like unconquerable music.

Wrinkles on our dreams


35

Wrinkles on our dreams

I woke with marble in my hands
What does it mean?
I am descendent of centuries
Not independent, not autonomous

I am a falling into dreams
Of generations and pupils of elders
It would be very difficult
To think of myself as separate

I inherit euro-centric bias
And I take part unwittingly in patriarchy
I live in an economic simulation
What does this mean?

It means reality is not culture
Social conditions is only a layer
Of existence, my hands disappear
In my dreams, for I know my ancestors

Committed murder, waged false wars
So a few could profit
And the many would remain slaves
Feudalism never died, it only

Masked itself in a homogenous
Globalization of pretend liberties
I wake up with dreams of my own
That I’ve likely been programmed for

My desires are the software
And I am the obedient application
I labour, I do what I am told
How can I innovate in a world

In a world where strangers
Are competitors and scarcity
Is a growing concern of failing economies
I haven’t seen myself in the mirror
Where has my soul gone to visit?

Introduction to burning manuscripts


Introduction to burning manuscripts

The new poem will contradict
The old poems
And that’s the way it ought to be
Language needs a Spring
————————————–

For words have a barren
Way with winter anyhow
As a poet unfond
Of their own speaking voice
Forced to talk to themselves

By virtue of necessity
I to the past poets must cry
The tears of other words
For I no longer have the breath
To erase the margins
To edit the voice
————————————–

Whose possible meanings
Are so many
There’s always doubt

On the tip of the tongue
Maybe everything stated
Is completed erased in our subjectivity
In the time it takes

To be expressed and
The time it takes to be read aloud
When it no longer rings true
The new poem, let it hang there
A ghost, an extract, a fragment

For forever, I don’t read
Old poems, I only live to write.

49

Memories of earth


Memories of earth

It’s time to die together
In kisses before sunlight
In the nude nuptial dark
Our flesh is one body now
———————————–

Can you see it?
Breasts and thighs and lovely lovers
Walking life together
Doing what they do

Groaning and crying
Trembling and thawing
Bursting with the heat of
Years of loneliness released

In a mortal touch, the fire
Of frequent faith in unity
Unity that transcends physicality
Love that mimics biology but
—————————————

Is more, like a psycho-synthesis
A bio rational urge to share
The reciprocation of so many
Memories of pleasure that pulsating

Of pulse, breath, sweat and symphonies
Or orgasms and rises and falls
And little deaths of being together
Of the passion before the fall

Of the joining before the parting
That’s it I guess, it’s sex
On the dreamer time of fantasies
Fantasies that never die
Because they are of the Earth.

———————————–
48

moments


 

47

moments

I don’t believe in poems
I believe in people
People who must

Reinvent themselves
Every day, to keep up
With the future

The future arrives each day
At every hour
With every change

Change is the information
We breathe, the life of the times
For sure, always, certainly, I bet!

I don’t believe in pleasure
I believe in moments
Terrifying, eventful, moments

That transform consciousness
And change perception
Points of reference are mutable

The selected poems of our lives
Are these moments right there
Are these moments right here

Relationships are the
Catalysts that made moments
Special, memorable, unforgettable.
———————————————

 

Too poor for activism


46

Too poor for activism

Pretty words are not enough
They were never enough
Sometimes, they were just
All we had, without actions
————————————

Like cowards, we wrote
We tripped on beauty
Lyrical, sweet, like pretty
Necklaces of lace lit

By the lanterns of our moons
We cherished our pretty nothings
Calling them precious, we
Stood in our own myths

Self-aware of ourselves only
As the center in our own game
We crafted what we could
On Earth, like a soul on a mission

Pretty words are never enough
Revolutions are rare and bloody
For the majority of people
Have no courage, no true inspiration

To fight or stand up
For what they believe in
We are all watered down
Moderates, shy to go against the norms

Where women are raped in India
Where women are hit in Mexico
And women are killed for family honour
In many places where marriages are arranged

And here, where the internet
Is being monitored and our privacy
Is evaporating in regulations
Of the firm resolve of a police-state
That likes to call itself a democracy.

Whatever author doth yield to divine love


44

Whatever author doth yield to divine love
*
Like a small boat
Carried down the river
Of mystical Voice
I followed my way
*
Surrendering to
The poetic content
I was given, the few
Paragraphs I would write
*
That would be written
Through me like the last love
Of the little love I
I could give
*
To die of love
Beneath the veil of all bliss
Is listening, silence, stillness
The truth of no-language

And a music of nature/
Without symbol, duality, information
No binary code to ruin
The blank page, the white

Page that is not white/
Like a bubble on the lips
Of the river that carried me down
I wanted to be drowned

By language and arrive/
At the suffocation after idea
Where words buried themselves
In the silver bottomless sea

Of universal energy/
That is the end of poetry.

Creation as a Spiritual Experience


43

Creation as a Spiritual Experience

I do not judge
For I learned rather late in life
That we are all the same
We must be living mirrors
Of the Beloved
———————–

Nothing else truly matters
And if, this world turns
To desolate ways
Let us remember then
The Supreme beauty
——————————-

Which resides like a lotus
In the human soul
I do not judge
For the inner eyes
Sees creation in the lives of men
—————————–

The Spirit of God
In the seasons
An inner child
In the cycle of things
With tears for too much living
—————————-

We must learn to forgive
With tears for too much truth
We must learn to feel gratitude
I do not judge
Because it’s not part
—————————–

Of the delight
In the poems God wrote
In my soul, that were
Mine to share, like spilled
Divine mysteries
—————————–

The ecstasies to which I grow
The ecstasies from which I came.

We should die except for death


We should die except for death
42

We should die except for death

Life whose caress lasted this long

Months of thoughts that followed

——————————————————–

Like a tide of the simplest words

Question led to other questions

Empty hymns, humble revelations

————————————————————–

Quiet secrecy between

Our brain and our soul

We should die except for death

—————————————————————-

Time is the measure of all things

And sing eulogies and hum enlightenment

All fortunes and errors crumble

———————————————————————

So never be afraid of failure

We should die except for death

And we do, without hesitation

——————————————————————–

On a golden morning, some years from now

You and I my friend, will be no more….

One unexpected delight


41

-Wanting Qu bridges cultures, namely Vancouver and China, and I have to admit, I’m a bit smitten of this song (that inspired this poem).


One unexpected delight

You exist in my dreams
Like an intimate breath of hope
A radiant inexhaustible humour

That becomes a voice
And when I see you in the world
A voice whispers in my mind
That we are all connected
If you had the desire

To do good or beautiful things
I know you will, even as you live
In my heart, like a shade of light

Not like a stranger, but a feeling
That needs no explanation
An unexpected delight
That has a queer power of destiny

In the grace of your eyes
I see the youth of everyone’s dreams
Like an intimate sign of

How the world is big and small
The fate of all the worlds
That becomes a voice
I see you in all life

A voice whispers in my heart
That we are all connected
If you evolve to find a way

Out of selfishness, remember
The others who stood by you
Were not always the expected ones
Where the moon can set below
The Pleiades and familiar stars
You exist in my dreams
Without any hesitation
So I leave you there until
I am able to perceive you
In the blessed days ahead of me.

—————————–

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanting_Qu

My unsad heart likes to overflow


My unsad heart likes to overflow

I don’t how to be truly sad
Nor do I know how to be truly happy
My range is extraordinary

In moments, and unexpectedly so
But in general, I’m
An emotional lie that walks
I don’t talk very much
But my face has a heart

And my sleeves have flowers
But finally there is no difference
Emotion is a social conduit

Fine, it’s trampled me asunder
Like a poem that never ends
All these faces remind me
Of phrases I haven’t written yet
I’m alive in florescence

Unified in theory, divided
In the shyness and immaturity
I don’t know how to be truly social

Nor do I yearn to be truly
Not alone: it’s hard to define identity
Like a uselessly full glass of ourselves.

40

I love new


39

I Love New

I
Love
New
More so than I love you or me
Because having encountered wants
I found desire
Only accomplishes a plan
Through change, so I’m a bit
Romantic when change is near
I call out
To the heart at once
“What’s new my love”
The sunrise treasures it
The seasons admire it
And the mystics praise it
I know the future intimately
I
Love
New
After all, repeatedly, under my breath
But everything is sweeter
Tomorrow, so wait till tomorrow
And let yourself arrive kindly
At the end of the beautiful road.

Mythweaving our way to happiness


Mythweaving our way to happiness

Where are the ornament of joy
Are they hidden from us?
Of all the stars most beautiful
I cannot convey
——————————–

How difficult it is to view them
Here, in the city
Where men walk over other men
Who lie sleeping on the ground
——————————–

We put the dazzling dawns
In our pockets
And forget them there
So rushed are we to
——————————–

Achieve our goals
Like, saving up for retirement
Or, planning our next trip
Meeting someone to make us happy
———————————-

Cloth dripping
Gold exposed
Parents dying
Numbness all around…..
————————————-

Where are the clues to learning?
Have we forgotten how to change?
Of all the silver slips of space
I cherish most
————————————

I cannot convey
But I am not someone
Who likes to wound
Rather, I have a quiet mind
————————————–

We compete in this world
And I converse in my dreams
With the desire to do good
In a world as helpless as this.

the heart grew cold


37

the heart grew cold

I am the punctuation of blame
I carry glorious embarrassment
Lyrics of shame
———————————
So beautiful I dance in my own darkness!
I am thus arranged
Flawed, figured, curved in cursive
———————————————-
Space of blessedness
Syntax of struggle
Heart
Absolutely
I can
Write, having been stained
——————————————–
By a shine in your answer
Pan
To tell
The tongues of tales
Of men
I am the waiting, patience, sacrifice
———————————————-
Of women, mothers, having worked
Their entire lives without
Poetic justice or reward
Maybe only
The ever-after
Of what children might become
————————————————
We all grow and find
Pity
Trembling
—————————————————-
In the flesh of regret
Gone astray would I
Mostly love to sing to you
But that day can never come
For you are gone
And I am trapped in poetry.
———————————————————–

https://soundcloud.com/intemasolutionsinc/poetry-the-heart-grew-cold

We returned through dying


36

We returned through dying

the stars held our memories
as we returned home broken
a bit more broken each day
that was us growing old

the pinning for the shores of energy
with mouths cracked
and limbs incapable
and a heart blue from winter nights

this carved relief of humble art
so that our private drama
could begin again
so very much having passed

in the space between our years
and so little known about
the universe scattered like
a marathon of light and the curved face

of galaxies and that collapsed
worlds that once were in time
all was mystery, all was sinking
with altars destroyed, friends forgotten

the harvests of our travels were now gone
our youth has punctured our souls
and our spirits raced
into the eyes of strangers

in the future we barely recognized
maybe descendants, maybe ourselves
reincarnated with different stories
wounded by my soil

her fingers against the blue scarf
of decades, the pomengrante
that broke was full of stars
skies, people, poems, poetry
a single gull cried in evening.

Wind passes and we forget


2

Wind passes and we forget

the wind is blowing tonight
too hard to be able to rest
it’s blowing so I become the wind
i become the night at the ocean
perhaps the thing in my soul

———————————————

grows weary of the earth
my spirit a free-child without limits
I sense a delight of a far-off place
that’s come upon me now
regardless of life and circumstance

——————————————————-

body, neuron, mood, wealth and mate
profession: a hard wind is blowing
it’s taking me, to invisibility
transcendence, judgement, reckoning
in extinction and non-dual being

———————————————————–

it makes my soul ache with a calm
how strange, I become the night at the ocean
at the edge of the galaxy, where stars
they are dim and dipping over
inside-out and there God thanks us

————————————————————–

for being born and having lived
in most respects, quite ordinarily.

————————————————————–

Verses that obey universal laws


flowers

 

The language of love
You know, we’ve hunted it like
Diamonds in the oceans

———————————————————

I’ve wanted to express it
Like something through me
Like jewels spilled on the floor of my humility

————————————————————

My humanity of heart
Hidden, burdened and opened like a bud
I want my verses to shine with forever

————————————————————-

Able to endure the far future
Not daunted by freedom, technology
Change, it’s a matter of fact

————————————————————

The language of love drives us
A progress of extension
Into a purely symbolic universe

—————————————————————–

A virtual playground of possibility
We’ve perhaps never known
How quantum our reality was all along

————————————————————–

The language of love
You know, it’s spilled, cherished, given away
Like an act of altruism

——————————————————————-

Or a drink from a fountain of art
Loves never dies
Art never fades
Artists and lovers are born every day.