Sing Your Little Heart Out


39

Heart, have you not sat
At the feet of other hearts?
Do you not know the pain

We all bear a part, our share
Or more, gilded to our golden tenderness
If you have suffered, know this:

To become more sensitive is a gift
To possess new vision for compassion
And more pearls for empathy’s sincerity

Heart, without your scales of highs and lows
Who would we be? Just another
Organized machine, artificial winner of what?

But Heart, don’t wander too long
Out in the market full of exotic perfumes
But focus on one intoxication, one purpose

That your secret parts might come to fruition
And you art of miracles, might manifest
Something genuine from your humble services.

Children from Zones of Paradise


Sørkjosen

The Stars express around
Our fates like dwindling destiny
The Sun and Moon make their haste
Across our skies of personality

Why would that which is within
Not be without, and visa versa?
Of finer famines, I do not know
Astronomy and esoteric astrology

That points and shows, cosmic datastreams
That life’s nutrition is a matrix of relationships
Aspects, conjunctions, transits
These were the silver chronicles

Of the poor & far, patterns of our hearts
The veins and tissues of our baselines.

Final Harvest


20

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so
Love is dying in a different way
Being let go, like yesterday’s memory

By someone we still love –
‘Tis living, the ambush of little hurts
That aren’t so shrill if we make

Bliss, our mortal baseline
And bow to everything, and learn
‘Tis not that dreams pass too slow

It’s that we have a set number of choices
We can ever make, hitting Reset
Is not the same as an involuntary rebirth

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us much
Life is not the mourning attachment it once was
When our heart is broken forever, by one final episode
That allows us to live another way.

Like a Mother of Fasting


38

Close your mouth to bread
Open your heart to water
Acquire a delight without purpose
In you thrives majestic Silver

Look into the gentle faces
Ignore the sugars and soldiers
Take the wheat of the spirit
And play it like a harp for harvests

Of feeling, Eden of humanity
For Utopia is not a place or a time
It is a state of being, the green-gold mines
Of living, fasting and moistening

Giving without bartering
Finding freedom without grasping
Close your eyes to discord
Seek out intoxicated signs of harmony.

With the Language of the Birds


37

There is an order of love
That knows no boundaries
It’s the serving that affirms existence

It’s being out of the senses
With gratitude, conversing with compassion
Where devotion is sustenance

And the Beloved is formless, and thus
Present at all peculiar times
The sagest source of moments

I’m half heart, and spirit
I’m half clay, and water
I met the Beloved last night

In an open field of dream
I was told to live like a drunken gypsy
That my true income was measured in Bliss

So I wobbled left and bobbled right
Not knowing how to do it
Until I let myself go a little mad
To live among strangers & lovers.