Dream Snatchers of Ghost Month


147

We tried to give them happy names
These our white fists of old
We cried in shame for how

The clean water of our dear dreams unrolled
Love, love, and well – pure tiredness
With fires where we wept

The sweetest common tears
And thought ourselves alone
We tried to give them satisfactory homes

The poems we hid in cringes
When nobody looked, we spied the world
Holding the hands of bodiless owls

Our soul crept her gaze into the heart
Of all vulnerable things, like melting subtle
Understanding, compassion so smooth

That our letters to death would not rattle us
We found peace in those slow aching years
Like a dumb fish, blindfolded

We led ourselves to the infinite
A carbon bird that would flutter and glitter
To lick all melodies back to stuffed expression
The red last burst of our own particles of doom.

poetry courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Tell-me-your-stories-393048281

Tell Me What you See In It


106

All morning the sky was high and blue
Free as the taste of strawberries
The total in my notebook

Has amounted to a grand surrender
Of plans, of desire, of attachment
But here I am listening

To the breeze
It leaps without a care
I reach among the leaves

With a practiced devotion
For the thumb of foreigners
For love, in those familiar places

All evening the sky was tinged a yellowed-bronze
Free as the shimmering of the ocean
With cataracts for God’s lonely eyes

The total in my notebook
Still reads: “lyric of love in orange and black”
For the holy book always had

A white ambiguity to evolution’s template
And here I am watching
How whispering tattoos melt on tangerines
That smell like the loving life.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Summer-evening-392913856

Voice


105

Now I feel the leaf of voices
Nothing mightier than the Trees
The sky where no word is spoken
But the speaking of life; sun & earth

O what is it in me that lusts for voice?
Language, the hoping neurons in me –
Now I wish the water of voices
That traces the blood of perfect organs

The soul of ancestry that brought me here
Now I feel the crypt of voices
My temples struck by the depths
All wait for the right voices, for whose melody?

The water follows the moon in my
Ancient feeling, with fluid steps
Forever ready, as if to sing –
The ignorance of words is so so clear

The non-duality from which every utterance follows
Trapped in time, but it is still beautiful
To feel poetry in nature, mysticism in the wind.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/resize-me-392917067