Becoming acutely aware of all that I took for granted ##SundayBlogShare #poetry


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Becoming acutely aware of all that I took for granted

Someone, somewhere
Can understand me
I’ll never meet them
Not be loved like they could love me

I’ve so much to learn
About finding the right people to love
God, but life is loneliness
Despite all friendships made

Inspite of grinning faces and passing stages
‘Parties’ with no purpose in truth
Loneliness of the soul well
It’s an artistic condition some

ii

Suffer from it more than others
Like allergies, a more unique brain
Someone, somewhere
Has a brain a little more like mine

I’ll never meet them, but sometimes
Knowing that they exist, helps me
Get through the day, writing
Like an unabridged journal from me to you

iii

It’s overpowering and horrible to be self-conscious
Making up narrative and plots, inventing them
All the time, like spirit-chatter
Why so festive, why so gloomy
Because my inner voice is powerful.

Author’s Note:

This is a tribute to all human beings who suffer from the condition known as “poet’s brain”, please share it on facebook, twitter and other social media. There is some evidence that writers, artists and especially poets have more challenges regulating their emotions, lifestyle, anxiety and subsequent consequences of struggles with mental illness sometimes leading to breakdowns, and even to premature deaths by suicide.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Poets_who_committed_suicide

http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous_poets/suicidal_poets.aspx
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Featured Artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Esencia-Primavera-527848910

The Purple Fat Feelings


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The Purple Fat Feelings

I can never read all the books I want
Never love all the people I’d prefer
Hoping to live and feel
All the cursive of the human palette
I was left feeling horribly limited

I learned not to expect
Nothing from anybody
As the surest means of being surprised

I wanted to be startled by life
And found everything in life was scripted
The outgoing guts and
The ability to improvise
With a touch of self-doubt

I took deep breaths and bragged
Inside my own heart
For taking-in kisses left me feeling

Self-important and in love with everything
That was the Spring’s ingredient
The stars still go waltzing in blue and red

And if all the world dropped dead
I fancy love would still exist
On stars, for sale, for youthful fancy
Perhaps if we ever find ourselves
At peace, it will be because

We are dangerously close to wanting nothing
For now in my own prayer-silence
I’ll dream of books, love and fat purple feelings.

Life is the only real counsellor


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Life is the only real counsellor

It’ s the Spring, a heartbeat at my feet
Tightrope above a feather bed
Looking down on beauty
From on high, landscape, foreign grounds

There are a few ways
Of spreading light
Be the candle or the mirror
And Lo’, beware of monotony

Mother of all deadly sins
For boredom is not evolution’s whim
Give me the tightrope, the short-squeeze
The misfortune of having strong desires

True originality consists of
A new vision of yourself, not new manners
But attitudes that can transport
Your entire life into more necessary habits

For there is time to be inarticulate
But not time to be indecisive
It’s the Spring, let’s get divorced
Marry, and say we are living

The life we want to!
We make our own stories
Hero of the shaky narrative
Good plot, bad blot, matters not!

It’s time to move forwards
For we shed tears in Winter
So we could start again in Spring.

Legacies of our stars


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Legacies of our stars

It’s the Spring, it knows what we are
But knows not what we may be
And everything is possibility
Beneath these stars, this world stage

What part shall we play
In these seasons four, whom we love
But trust a few, doing wrong to none
There is a tide in us that flows

From love to love to legacy
It’s what we do that finally counts
The actions for which a life was made
And words have a foolish wit

For believing themselves acts, they make us witty fools
No legacy is so rich as honesty
Hell is an empty place, with all the devils here
Listen to all, speak your heart to a few
It’s the Spring, it’s time to show another face.

This Solitude of Spring


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This Solitude of Spring

I’ve seen the Moon of April
Mother and pathos of Spring
An evening with out Angels
An inner spirit of so much Thirst

A fish-scale sunrise, a blinding twilight
The passion of anticipation
I sing a serenade to mass meaning
The souls as chief metaphor of celebration

I’ve seen the tip of the fragrance of change
And felt it beneath my skin
My genes mutated to accommodate
Too many references, so many heroes!
Late hymns to West coast muses.

Unread Lyric on a Grave #poetry #wordsmatter


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Unread Lyric on a Grave

If there is a melody of all
Our lives came to
Beneath the gulls of the years

I would know if, through burning love
An echo of you remains
In the dark house abandoned
In the silent grave unvisited
In poetry books burned

I would steal a bit of love left over
From so many lives, from so many nights
Sweeter than the sun raw on my ankles

Cupping the sleepless dawn of my dreams
That we might touch each other again
With our enigmatic bruises of fate
I had long ago chosen to wait
And the seer of years passed by

And brighter than noon, I kept
Secret notes of you beneath my pillow
From a sovereign heart I know not why.

At a certain phenomenon of light #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo


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At a certain phenomenon of light

In the jazz of listening to your jazz
It was a peacock’s cry
It was a re-statement of romance

When you thought romance was dead
And in perceiving this, I best
Perceive and listen to myself
Nor night nor blue, I exchange with pale light
My needs for the universe

I am an anecdote on how
To address clouds, elicit
The funest philosophers to speak from the dead

I am a promenade in mortal rendezvous
That lead nowhere, essentially
Converging upon oneself
In the streets and orchid sellers
In the women who blow kisses with just a look

They are young and do not hold candles
But I can feel evolution’s
Arrogance in their firm bodies

It’s not divine ingenuity then
To take one last look at the lilacs
Or in the hymeneal air search for a fragrance
That might help me remember
Earth, lavender, fantastic star

Looking for a Saturday metaphor
To describe the twenty bridges of feeling
The nuance of how meaning escapes
And time floods like ancient aspects.

I Said Farewell to the Spring


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I Said Farewell to the Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return?
Do you not know I am devoted
To the Spring, her muse leaves
Little open time for leisure,

If leisure be called art
Then I am in pleasure
With the hot sun on my neck
Eaten by mangoes of life

With a full cup, strewing flowers you know
Babbling, not quieted by the redness
Of life, her femininity of shinning confidence
To what purpose, April, for thy sweet command?

My white candle skin burns
On both ends, for the puissance
Of the knowledge that time runs out
The years of bitter loving remain

Loving so much the beauty of this world
As if stricken by the golden bugs
Who in their immortality shall out live us
It’s morning now, and I’m alone

With her jewelled crown, and what little
I have left of the renaissance of youth
So intimate has the Spring
Become to me, I am in love with love

And in love with life, more than ever
Emotion brimmed to the top
With tears for sonnets and silence
And how we will all vanish.

Tomorrow is Today’s Dream 


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Tomorrow is Today’s Dream

March on, do not tarry
Said the tip of the soul to the pen

The pen whose laughter
Could be heard
Across the centuries
Laterally from planet to planet

Star to star
To go forward is to
Be aware of your own perfection
If love is a real force
That surrounds every being
Internally and externally

ii

Would my letters slowly embrace it
Like a witness, of liquid gold
To print cherry fruit fragrances
On the lyrics of my days
March on, do not tarry

Said the tip of the sword to the pen
The pen whose muse was revolution
And could be read
On graffiti walls
In some war-torn future
As if the pain we were exposed to

iii

Broke the shell that enclosed our ignorance
Out of that suffering we stood
Stronger souls with massive
Characters and impressive scars
We wore them with pride.

On Learning to Tweet


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On Learning to Tweet

I tweet my own quotations
Exposed in lyrical Haikus blended together
I’ve hashtags for my own symphonies

Little themes I rehash with ginger-lemon tea
After midnight, with a glass of red wine
I yearn to be defeated by greater
Things than I by myself could access
That’s the synergy of souls
We’re walking catalysts, you and I

Out in the crazy dark, we’re vulnerable
It’s a tremendous act of violence
To endure solitude, we’re not bred for it

I don’t condone you for being platonic with it
But I worry about you, I tweet
My worries about how strong you have grown
And I tried to reproduce myself
Objectively, and failed, and left

Unquestioning of my own subjectivity
Distorted, human, insufferable to myself
I left you there, truly about to sing

You wanted different breaths and
Required an excessive amount
Of space to find it, I learned finally
To let you be.

We are the same


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We are the same

우리는 같은 정신을 가지고
(or we have the same spirit)

I cannot become the love
I eternally wanted to be
It wasn’t something I could understand
Get my head around, get my heart into

It wasn’t something I could feel all the way
It wasn’t something I knew
Totally how to give, or get
They say love is like the Tao

It’s a well that can never be dried up
It’s also like the eternal void
Full of new births, infinite possibilities
I meditated with the traces of it

Like lives with a spiritual tracing
So that I might inundate
My entire being in it
And If I disappeared for a while

It was only to complement
It’s omnipotent alchemy
And be submerged in its power of peace
I knew somehow vaguely that

Love was everything that exists
And also knew, I was more herself than she was
I was whatever our souls were made of
And hers and mine, well we were the same

We are the same, and sometimes
That’s all that can give me strength.

Addiction 탐닉


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Addiction 탐닉

I am addicted to the sound
You make in my mind
My ball of fire, my branded rite
My April fire-cracker

The cranberry tears of holding
Onto something so dear
It’s a dream I had, but it’s
Other lives who will lead it

Spring has returned with Vengeance
And I am green, and
Everything is about to bloom
Two solitudes sing in me

Recklessly like colors at their core
And I’m an unbelievable shrieking
Of heart into the naked night
I’m the lyricism of miracles

Laying low, bowing low, being humble
All the soaring of my mind
Beings in my blood like lion’s breath
As if everything terrible that happens to us

Is in its own strange sense, something
Helpless that wants help from us
I’m addicted to the purr of the wind
The whispers that you are near

And temptation as raw as the rain
Everything in me is feminine when
The secret thing in poetry is revealed to me
The only journey is within

The only now is internal
The only event is the silence that resides in your soul
And if your daily life appears at times poor
Blame yourself that you are not poet enough

Not brave enough to love enough
For one human being to love another
Is the only thing truly worth being addicted to.

Lullaby After Brief Words


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Lullaby After Brief Words

간단한 단어 후 자장가

You are a walking anthology
Of all that I love about poetics
Mysterious, clever, shrouded in unnecessary caution

A kind of secrecy pervades
Your literary movements
Your characters are arcane

Your plot is twisted like icebergs
Of your childhood misunderstood and
Seeking retribution against

A bedrock of lovely tragedies
You are a walking anthology
Of youth, the desire to be great

The discipline of perfection
A quest that never ends, does it?
Not in my heart, at least

You are brave, braver than they give you credit for
I’m at a loss as to how to console you
I used to be more gifted at listening
When my mind was not flooded with poems

I’m an emotional thing, when I read
Too much into you, like an octave
In too deep, as romantic as any reader
Enthralled with a good book.

http://magis.to/zmRaxEZh

The Flowers in the Mountains 


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The Flowers in the Mountains

산에 꽃이있다

It’s mysterious being nostalgic
For that which you cannot place
I’m going on adrenaline
Into the dark, it’s poetry

For a little bit of ink
For the whipping girl
And the boy without a publisher
My pen is exploding with

That Korean language that looks
Like it was made up by kids
Who were speaking about
The book of the dead

And needed to translate it in a hurry
It’s mysterious to crave
The next book, by our own hand
Like love written on a leaf

That nobody saw, as they walked by
Plants cannot move, poems are invisible
So I hush, waiting
For the world to write through me
It’s like land, in the morning calm.

To Ancestors #blogencore #poetmuse


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To Ancestors

I’ve taken the time to tattoo
A gun that is a pen on my arm
In remembering from where I come from
I find the inner voice again

I summon it from my belly
From my back that aches
With the years of long hours alone
Yes I have been alone, writing

Where have you been?
I travel the circuit and speak my mind
My ears and throat are sore
From the suitcase of free books

I have accumulated without error
I’m doing all that I am supposed to do
This is, the love of my life
Every word, word count, line, line count

Are the symbols I was created to write
I can feel the fieriness of fate
In my throat, hot like a tiger
When I speak, maybe you hear it too

Maybe one of my ancestors
Was a jester at a royal court
And I take after him
Maybe one of my grandmothers had a grandmother

Who was a prophet, and I take after her
Hot blooded I am here
Priestess, shaman, princess, scribe
My hands, they have silver endurance.

Eulogy to Poetry


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Eulogy to Poetry

Think in the morning
And poetry has died
What would you say to her?
First language and eldest daughter
I saw you in grains of sand

Your love trapped in wild flowers
I set the seas to your lips
And burned a thousand dreams
In your skies of velvet pink
I knew you as infinity of evolution

Guiding me to future hours
The trees cried flowers because of you
And the sun made songs of her Spring
You never know love of language
Until language is gone, like Sanskrit

An exuberance of many ways
To the say the same dear familiar things
Which to another generation, might be unknown
That’s poetry, a rare bird going extinct
That’s poetry, a strange magic being replaced

That’s poetry, the kind of book not published
That’s poetry, the kind of soul that can’t be bought.

The Harp Weaver #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth


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The Harp Weaver

I will be gladder
Than the gladdest thing
Because you are here

I will touch a hundred flowers
Just to feel your grace
With quiet eyes and more than a little wonder

I will wait
An entire lifetime if need be
I will see the grass rise

The greenest of new spring
And the Moon floor
The Ocean up to the tides

I will learn to love blackness
As if the unpatented light
Will not spread without horizons

Into morning, I will be still gladder
The day you arrive in my life.

Showers of Spring


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Showers of Spring

Spring, do you like to bring us pleasure?
As I delight in bringing
A woman to the brim of the sun
When I am in bed
The pleasure I bring exceeds all
The joy that is my own

For sense is a spiritual thing
Of feeling through skin the knot of love
Now and then, Spring, I think of you
And how your drops of water
Moisten me as an embroidered flower
Needs the rain and the sun equally

Both tasting sweet and orange
Bother materially required
For liquid sunshine of a fragrance’s urge
I too know the feeling Spring
Of tongues kissing the world
In reunion’s nest of sighs

There is an erotic measure
Between the days till you Spring
Ultimately you were the paradise
That emphasized all anticipation
The future in the myth of pleasure
The pleasure of the future’s offering.

Henceforth I am my own Good Fortune


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Henceforth I am my own Good Fortune

What if, there were as many
Truths as there were lives
Let us celebrate them here
Whatever satisfies the soul

Is a kind of truth , then
My body is also divine
The beauty of independence
Walking, moving, smiling

This form that convinces with a presence
With senses as a human body was given
Evolved and sacred
When I give, I give myself

To celebrate the hour
The indiscernible freshness
Of living, here my voice is a poem
And I am curious about each one

I say to mankind, be not curious about God
But of each other, for
The Goddess of her is more intimate
Than the God of invisible salvation

Ever was, be merry
Satisfy the needs first
Then speak of metaphysics
A spirituality that loves the world

That is the audience of congregation
Those are who witness the miracles
Now I know the secret of being
To love, is the real artist in humanity.

That it is Enough


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That it is Enough

I have learned
That to be with those I like is enough
To be loved as little or as much

Simplicity is the glory of enough
I do not seek more, or I would falter
My soul stands cool and pure
Composed as if for thousands
Of reincarnations

And to believe that
A leaf of grass is no less
Than the journey of stars

That the glow of oceans
Is no less than a miracle of
Being at the right distance
From a sun, that is the right magnitude
I have learned to view freely

To watch the years slowly
Not as myself, but as all life
Do I contradict myself

I am large, I contain multitudes
I am not one self but
A collection of neurons
My brain is a hologram
Of all of humanity

If I exist this way, that is enough
Stranger, if you pass me
Give me a look with the

Fragrance of sunrise and I Will know
That we walk undisturbed
With lessons of beauty at every turn
That is enough, so here I shall
Dismiss all that has offended my soul
And empty myself at the end of each new day.

Proverbs for Others #poetry #adverb #quote


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Proverbs for Others

It’s a long life
And I am at the beginning of knowledge
There is a way that appears to be right
Above all else, guard your heart
For everything I do

Flows from it
I take refuge in the universe in it
Every action is flawless
In that, it brings us closer to God
God that is the nature

Of the galaxy
Where there is no revelation
I shall wait, I heed
The instruction of people
The people that universe

Sends to me, surrounds me with
Eat and drink, but always be kind
The kind person is always
Thinking of the heart of the other
Store up the loving words

Until they become commands
Of silence and empathy in silence
If you look for silver
You will miss the hidden treasures
Loving being more pleasant

Than having success
It’s a long life
And I’m at the start of empathy
In all your ways remember
There is a way that appears to be right

Above all else, do not condemn another
But find the faith that is compassion
For that is the health of your heart
To believe in a community
And to share the pain of others
As if it were your own.

Aphorisms to the Anonymous #PoetryMonth #proverb #aphorism


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Aphorisms to the Anonymous

If you can get answers
From asking the wrong questions
Then it proves you have lived
If you have fallen in love
Then you know

Short cuts make long delays
The journey is when
Everyone helps to hold up the sky
The one person
Does not become tired

So is it with art
We all give a piece of ourselves
To the color book of humanity
I’m going to write a poem
Forging a tongue on truth’s anvil

Because I never found
A good teacher, so
I read a lot of books
I having a generous eye
Was blessed with the appreciation

I gave the bread of my soul
To the poor and became a beggar
For more spirit than I could
Ever consume or unite with
I’ll sleep for myself
But I will dream for others.

Ovation of Ecstasy #Sufism #Mysticism


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Ovation of Ecstasy

i

I want my whole life to be a prayer
Even after all this time
Of forgetfulness
Something in me meditates
With white-fire for soul-eyes

An awake heart is like
A sky that pours light
And that’s my mantra
I secretly try to give something
To each person that I meet

ii

Like a hidden clause
Ready to burst out
In times of adversity
From every angle of darkness
I accept my humanity

With beautiful dimensions of trust
The spirit can be a lonely place
Remembering God, quenching
So much freedom
All a sane man ever cares about

iii

Is giving Love
It takes a lifetime to accomplish
Properly, as citizen, partner, friendly stranger
If I could just
Start seeing everything as God

I’d have a secret
For the rest of my days
And through the eyes of angels
I’d be amazed
Not for the God of names

Or the God of don’ts
But the feeling of silence
And playfulness
“Come Dance with Me”
My mystical partner would sing.

Freewill Written in Verse #Wordsmatter #Quote


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Freewill in Poems

Our poems were mirrors
To inner states of freedom
They celebrated solitude
A loving solitude that extends

To nature and all unity and uniformity
Our sweetest songs told
The most shared thoughts
It was bliss to share the pain

A poet is a nightingale
Who sits in darkness to sing cheer
Like crickets, dawn, the spring
As if it’s expected

To wait for inner light
Gloom has a way of breaking free
Sadness hopes to realize its infinity
Change is certain, love is decreed

If you have drunk deep joy
It stays with you for a lifetime
Soul meets soul in your memory
Lovers’ lips tonight, gone tomorrow

Our poems were mirrors
Of our study in ignorance
To lift the veil from the
Hidden beauty of the world

Everything became a familiar sign
Of nature’s design and genius
And even familiar acts
Because beautiful through love

Experience was a revenge of naked idols
Coming to life, the soul’s joy
Lies in doing, our spirit commanded
And we obeyed, that is why it is said

Love is free, and our poems
Were the record of the best
And happiest moments of our lives.

Psalms of the Organic source #quote #refuges


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Psalm of Souls

The spirit is a beacon
And the righteous run to it and are safe
Among those whose faith is pure
How fine their company
Trusting in what is sure

The universe becomes a world of understanding
Our path becomes straight
The world strengths and helps us
And our righteousness is reflected
Back unto us, for good deeds multiply

Do not let your hearts be troubled
For in giving peace, peace may you receive
But take heart, even unkind men
Have a glimmer of hope
And nations in strife crave the faith

Benevolent acts are our refuge and our warmth
In giving we become free of our own troubles
Therefore focus on the on high
To make thy will pure with ease
Look upon the mountains and the skies

We were not given a timid spirit
But a spirit captured by the power of love
And the heart of self-discipline
That was born to love all creatures
And do good works unto this world

In bonds of mutual faith, good works become
Doing our spirit’s will and lifelong salvation
It is found in shouts of joy and bearing
Witness to the small victories of others
As if it were our own, how fine the company

Of our sisters and brothers in this place
The fraternity of all souls is my refuge
A community as large or small
As my heart is willing to bear
I preserve life according to words

Words that are my sacred weapons
Words that are my soul’s quality
Words that stream forth in amazement
Words that embrace and answer me
With the kindness of others
And the tenderness of life’s many wonders.

God employs several translators #poem #wordsmatter #blog


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God employs several translators

More than kisses, letters
Alphabets of musings, mingled souls
I to writers, for writers, must watch
The scripts are for minds
Such as them, and verse

Like love built on beauty
Soon beauty dies, we have but
One small voice, one timid note of Spring
These poems be it said
Were as my own personal serenity of heaven
ii
That drip, drop, sunsets in my mind
To bathe in harmless greatness
With enlightenment, nature’s masterpieces
May your words, be thine own palace
Thy own lover’s make, repeat

These mantras that God employs
In us, we are but translators, preachers
Of the doctrine of the universe
But I do nothing upon myself
Yet I am my own celebrator
iii
Since you would read none of me
I will bury my freedom here
In symbols of pleasure derived
And delivered solely unto me
For myself as kisses, letters

Alphabets of song and ruin
Pleasure diversified, words not ignored
For God’s sake do not hold your tongue
But speak your part to the world’s
Brittle make, not often is a poet born

The days will break, but not thy heart
And a thousand poems be born form thy pen.

Poems for Pretence #Writing #Amwriting #wordsmatter


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Poems for Pretence

They say print is dead
Our poems are stuck to the left margin
A self-published hoax

A charm of unread blogs
Liberty means we set our own price
Freedom requires we write
In obscurity, floating words

That aren’t sustainable
The memory of poems
The pain of going unread

How much does Amazon take
Skim off the top, and publisher’s?
What does it take to print a book of poems?

Luck, an MFA, friends?
If I never see a book of poems
Crafted in my own heart
They say what you wrote

“Your poem” was enjoyed
By the writer, the guidelines of copyright
States it auto-deletes in a few weeks
For humanity cannot be allowed

To keep their soul
They offer us to submit our poem again
However the analytics proved
It was not original, not state-approved

The best the staff can do
Is read it, sincerely, the editor
Please understand that you won’t
Be able to write poems any longer

The audience has died, the young
People do not read text more than three lines.

Experience #Poetry #poem


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I Bask in dreams of Experience

The cure for the incurable is experience
It always is, even if there is
No cure for curiosity

We have to follow
The majesty of the heart
How many do not listen
Lying to yourselves

I want to build a resume of sincerity
Authentic to myself
In youth, it was an easy thing

So sure to live my own theories I was
But now the things I know I know
Are not the things I do or know how to do
And if you do not like me so

To hell, of course, to hell with you
For why would I stake to please
The people that do not care
The people who are not close

The remedy for sanity is dear experience
It always is, even if there is
No cure for experience
I hate having written, but I love writing

Don’t read this poem with that tone of voice
Tell God I was fucking busy—or vice versa
I’ve lived enough in poems, to fill a few brains
With envy, content, and sufficient champagne

Curiosity and freckles, if we are talking of youth
If I didn’t care for life so much
I’d probably not amount to much
But brevity, is the soul of dreams

Mortality, the sinner of hope
Regret, the grandmother of art
And if my heart became scarred or burned,
The safer I suspect, to find love in poems.

The morning of Clarity #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo


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Narcissism of the meek

The light is clear like an avocado this morning
I am alone with myself
It seems we are all cheated
Of some marvellous experience

But I can accept anything about life
Even my own mysteriousness
Partly because the orange tulips will rise
Partly because I like secrecy

O god it’s wonderful to be out of bed
Before eight, I am the least difficult of men
All I want is a boundless love
Today, I shall find it, as April turns to May

There’s something so spiritual
About being happy, you can’t miss it
Because it doesn’t last
If pain produces logic, I will remain

The most illogical of creatures
I will stay the dumbest of men.

Keys to Living #NationalPoetryMonth


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So as to be crazy for living

You may forget but
Even in Spring I remember
Someone in some future time will think of us
Their heart will remember

How to grow and serve the Muse
And never hold on to grief for long
Stand and face me, my love

And scatter the grace in your eyes
For love drives us all on
In bittersweet fate and

From those maladies that nothing can be done
Although only in breath
We pledge our mortal command
In diviner world there may exist

A longing more profound
You may forget though
The Spring will let all beings find this degree

Love will shake them
Like the wild on the mountain
Like the wind in their sails

And cool their burning desire
With the melodies of life
Send someone quick
To come and crazy for me

Help me understand why love
Is said to be a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables
I want that dream, where floods
The sweets of youth, the lace of full-robed moons.