THROUGH SNARLING HAILS OF MELODY

I

Dear poet, with lost morning’s eyes
Don’t churn too much beneath
Stranger skies, I know you explore
The Sun’s tipped wet stones
With derelict markings for your
Blinded guests, dear poet don’t

II

Harvest beauty too colossal
That this world looks ugly
Don’t mine secrets so subjective
That shift as bright virtual dungeons
The solstice calls you, and I feel
An epic dialogue remains in your Heart
Hidden and partly unsearchable

III

You to whom I can only know
In your writing, whose date is limitless
Ancient with yearning, dear poet
Priestess of the imaged Word
Unfolding floating islands of light
Don’t weep with the hieroglyphics
Of the daunting night, but unbetrayable

IV

Reply to the future’s day, Farewell
To the new amazements born of other minds
A metallic paradise could never reveal
Your incandescent nuances of naked whispers
That fresh with faith renew our intricate parts
Dear poet, your throat is the bridge
Across lifetimes of the gardened skies.

POETRY PRESUMES NO CARNAGE

i

Terribly sweet puppet of my dreams
How close is our zest for doom?
In pages of scrolls, our laboratory
A silver lavish alchemy of poetry
Dullest art to read, greatest
Strife to write, how can I
Cancel my kindness, that spills

ii

To rouse these sanctions from reality?
With a somewhat evil smile
I grin at these eternal rainbow labours
That binds faith to my living soul
In the mere mirage of miracled words

iii

These fairy voyages so rapt
In the moonward bend of unfettered dreams
That run and dance with rich palm-stars
This vortex of celebration without rim
Foam of superscription, literary galore
Last snowy sentences of compassion’s charm.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-s-Poetry-110973519

WOMB OF A LOST POEM

i

This lamp in our poor room
Sheds a blue light for verse
A shy solemnity of art’s repose
And a gold amenity of peace
That interferes with the interior
Silence, words fresh for a stolen hour
Internal day’s after-glow, lyrically strange

ii

How love blooms in a line
Like a tardy flower, that does not
Know how to give, the world can’t
Break this code, gentle caress
Of invisible music on a page
Whose smile is itself delinquently hidden
For an inner light’s own alphabet

i

The world hugging arches of sky
That flings itself calmly into
A faintest eternity of blush
And glittering breast of hope.

REINCARNATION & MEMORY

I

Forgetfulness is like a song,
So sweet as freedom’s Bell
When I forget my measures
I know I am living well Enough
Forgetfulness is like a Bird
Whose wings are reconciled
To the wind, as I am to my Fate

II

That whispers the saddest lines
And buries itself into Prophecy
Memory unwearyingly leads us
Home, back to the blasted tree
Where I promised the world
Grander things than I could reach!

III

I can remember much forgetfulness
As a fool, I who tried to forget
On the old fringe of silence
I snapped a twig, my heart
So that I might behold an ancient face
Whispering not gloom, but
Shattering possibility, reincarnation.

PASSAGE AT OLD NORTH AMERICA

When it rains and the trees seem to divide
I hear the Sea, and Heroes multiply
The storm before the calm
The promises made to be Happy

Sulking the sanctioned sun lifts
Her head, of golden-rose
And Moonlit congregations of
Midnight roses follow our steps

Across the fields, like years
And summers burn our will into acceptance
And love molds our cheeks
With Bronze conformity, time

Has a way of making us timid or cautious
Here learning to smile more tamely
In slow-motion, transience is justified
By our few years of rebellion

That came and went like dandelions
And all the pollen that rests in the Sea
When I hear it rain, it all comes
Rushing back to me, under a constant

Wonder of melodic eyes, the evening
Was a spear in the ravine and sunset
An abyss of beauty beyond comprehension.

LEGENDS & NARRATIVES

i

As a moth bends no more than the flame
I to regret must part, and say
I am not yet ready for any final silence
Until the bright logic of Spirit is won
I must do my part, perfect my Cry
And cast the mirrors one by one

ii

Whispering to ourselves is believing
Restless though are the Legends of our Youth
That come to haunt us asking for
Repentance, for which I shall
Never perhaps oblige fully
As the light asks the skies for
A touch of rain, I shall look down at

iii

All that I was, and forget clearly
The sulfur dreams of long ago
I could never remember well anyways
We are all legends to our hunches
That we one day arrive at the place
We dreamed, love it shines in Tyranny
More brightly, to balance the world
And give repose to the stories we tell ourselves.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/–457001355

THE PLATH DIARIES

i

I have lived through a dynasty of blindfolds
With blue currents in my veins
The feeling of being ‘different’
What I to make of these contradictions?
I learn mandarin, I wear white cuffs

ii

I learn to bow low, my heart
Filled with disorganized unlocalized prayers
O Soul, and such disorganization!
My stars are flashing like
Terrible numerals of my intuition

iii

The choices I have made, unmade
The spirit of valedictory pangs
Must follow us all, like memory
Memory’s stiff formality of failed prophecies
Her bandages to self-image, her mockeries
And the terrible breathing of ill-health
Some things could not have been predicted

iv

I have lived through a dynasty of rareness, then?
Being myself, an ordinary creator in littleness
I feel as if I’ve trespassed stupidly
Across my fate, like an unwelcome guest
Or colonized a new form of ignorance
Settled in neurological patterns of
The most dire selfishness, until I am
Terrified of what I have become

vi

I learn to accept malignancy slower than others?
Swimming with angels in apprehension
I struggle at the limits of language
Ready to bleed light again into my
Self-sufficient darkness, her unidentifiable calls

vii

Here there is an immortality
In the self-talk that loves to suffer
I move away from dampening vibrations in a hurry
For such salt-sweetness of surrealism
Leads nowhere, but to some sport of doom.

ODE TO ANGELOU

i

You may write me down in history
With faint acclaims of martyrhood
But we were all heroes for living
We faced and trod in this world’s dirt
And still, like dust, we rise

ii

To the stars from which we came
You won’t see us any longer
But we’ll be back with new faces
Hungry minds, stronger hearts?
There is no stopping change
How many teardrops did we catch
On our shoulders? That day, those years?

iii

We were shot with words, and killed
By discrimination, prejudice and politics
We outlived history, with our soulful cry?
Because we believed in doing Good
Doing good anywhere is good everywhere

iv

We took the time to speak to the people
Without being victims or seeing enemies
You may write me down as anonymous
But I strove to be a good citizen
To laugh and cry in balanced measure

v

Never to be afraid of life’s energy
Don’t complain, if you can’t change it
It takes courage to display empathy
Day after day, don’t be a coward
Even if you have just one smile left
Give it to the people you love
And if you have nobody, smile to yourself.

BLESSINGS OF MAYA ANGELOU

28.5.14

Virtue is not erratic, it’s the
Intolerance of ignorance
But to change the world
You must never let them forget
How you made them Feel

My Mother said I must
Know myself as a creation of God
Obliged to remember that
Everyone else and everything else
Are also God’s creations

So what does it matter?
We tried to be rainbows
In the clouds, to Love
Without barriers, penetrating
All walls to arrive at our
Destination, full of hope & prayer

Nothing will work, unless you do:
Virtue is not achieving something
But being somebody who
Renders the future accessible to the present
Sharing the untold stories inside of you

You are the sum total of
Everything you’ve ever experienced
Everyone influences us and
Our ‘mother wit’ is the hope
To reflect something positive unto others
For hope is the courage to be
More generous, more merciful
and more honest.

MEDITATIONS FOR A SAVAGE LIFETIME

i

I want to go back so far that
I speak another Language
Sometimes I retreat into my Cave of scars
Only to find I bear witness
To the tragedies of history
I enact them in myself
In my private study of humanity

ii

I want to go back so far that
The cell phone is never on
I am ripped-out from the grid
So I might feel a blemish of silence
And dream in primitive pure survival
Without the influence of others

iii

With naked fingers I would follow
My bliss until all I could do is
Extend my loneliness into the world
As if I was the first to discover individuality
And the virtues of feeling separate
I have always wondered about
The left-over energy of a lifetime
Sitting there long after midnight
Burnt-out by death herself

iv

I want to go back so far that
Caring becomes an impossible thinness
And love becomes the only thing
That is not filled with ambiguity.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Alien-survival-418094931

FOLLOWING KANT (The end of Philosophy)

i

For years I struggled with you
Left-brain, your categories and dissections
Your theories, your need to know
For years, I listened patiently
To your arguments, until I was
Carried off in my head by you

ii

All this, with a Castle in the Air
For years I felt belittled by your logic
Your floating world dreaming of the future
Planning, assimilating, dividing my life
Into cost, benefit and formula

iii

For years I thought I wanted what you wanted
To profit, exploit, progress, become a success
I may love the Jewish mind, but I’m not
Jewish, I was not socialized
Under a purely patriarchal lens
I maybe wasn’t born to melt
Constellations with my mind.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Teacup-philosophy-76801013

ARTISTIC MOTIF

i

Our talents were exceptional, and invisible
Deviant in our lack of public merit
Or civic utility, we were paranoid
Maybe suffering from delusions of grandeur
It was expected, our heroine was art
Photography, poetry, music, painting

ii

We were illiterate in living
But so full of life, so wide open with love
Our circumstances were humble
Our personalities sensitive, we had
The potential to become martyrs & lonely
Our class was a privilege in knowing
How to suffer, suffer embarrassment, learn humility
Empathy, by possessing nothing

iii

But the faint property of our own creative genius
Our families may not have spoken openly
About our sickness, of our obsession with
The search for beauty, for our sequence
Of originality, we were broken, unable to earn
A pit-bull’s living, to be a good rat

iv

Our infatuations felt as beacons of our muse
Our drug was as dangerous, bi-polar birthright
Born creative, our life-expectancy was lowered
We who don’t drink, might still sure like the dark continent
Known as chocolate, anything to keep us up at night
Registering the failings that make us whole
Discovering the first love that could not die.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/painting-76736088

DIVING INTO THE POETIC WRECK

i

This is the place
The thing I came for:
A moment of the pause of poetry
Where life melts into meaning
Barely objective, the subjective-myth
The tentative haunter of my spirit
Who circles me silently in the night
While I sleep, the eyes
From which I shall return

ii

This is the place
The cowardice of courage
A half-destroyed instrument of soul-sense
A freedom in failure
I came to explore the wreck
Of the human condition
To taste things for myself
Slowly along the flanks of hidden treasures

iii

It pumps my blood with power and chi
The kind of oxygen charged with blue light
That sends the author in me some hope
That I may write questions worth asking
I have to learn alone
I have a lot of work to do.

Poetry Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Just-a-perfect-day-292908195

KINGDOM OF ANGELS

i

Barefoot as an unremembered dream
I’ve felt a calling before Time
Well before the pull of necessity
Delicate as childlike fantasies
I felt a spiritual mission as bright
As other unmet worlds, fast friendship

ii

With ideas, impressions, faces, angels?
A hunger too subtle to explain
Outside of Sanskrit terminology
I’ve heard lullabies too surreal to conjure

iii

A jazz of Goddesses outside my limits
Beside a neighbor’s house, that represented
Everyone, the fading illusion of you and me
I’ve felt on my skin, a prophecy of the deepest blue

iv

The skyline of stars over my head
Quartz waves of Heaven’s fragrance
The honeyed embrace of a galactic telepathy.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-city-turns-Orange-67780269

MY SOLE AND EXCLUSIVE STANDARD

i

You do not just hold my hand
You hold the affections of my Universe
Without one thing all would be useless
“Oneness”, unity, empathy, connection
Call it what you may, it’s here
After a life of being abandoned

ii

It’s by stealth and fire and trials
That we come to realize
We all belong and are carried eternally
Already you see I have escaped
From you, the drama, the mystery

iii

It’s all gone, I’ve come to an understanding
With the world, with existence
I’m determined to befriend everything
In a platonic ideal beyond appearances
That embraces all creeds, cultures, religions
So called separate divisions, all aliens

iv

You do not just hear my voice
You feel my spirit in my language
And that’s all I can ask for
Without this it would be useless
To attempt to communicate shared meaning.

photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-moment-after-43427550

SONG OF POETRY

i

All literature and anthologies
Celebrates what I assume you shall assume
For a unity of atoms in hearts
As distant as the big-bang to the furthest galaxy
Writing is then a leaning and a loafing
A waiting for poetry to start

ii

My tongue to my blood
My children to my ancestors
It all started from an original energy
That can still be observed in the summer grass
My soul speaks sometimes, so I listen
Across centuries, to a thousand poets

iii

I hear their songs in me, hoping for beauty
And the distillation of a lifetime of observation
I am mad for it to be in contact with me
The full-noon arpeggio of my greatest works
Perhaps I shall never discover the love-root
The undisguised heart of the language
Of the spirit for which I seek

iv

The mystic thrill beyond words surely
But I wait for the lyrics of a silk thread
For some golden and silver moment
When my vowels listen for greatness by the shore
And I steal a play of shine of forever
And infinity washes over me changing
My cells, my brain, my organs my expression
The meaning of poems is finally to be liberated.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumn-Ethereal-81379364

YOUTH WHITE AS DEATH

i

Light drips from your face
This is your true element
Rainbow skin glowing of youth
I could look at you a long time
Wonder about your genes
Laid on a canvas of flesh
Created for beauty’s own rite

ii

Lips with the hue of the dawn
Eyes the color of lost Oceans
Pushed into the scene
Your necessary breasts that heave
As you breathe, your bud and bloom
The thick rapture of your hips
Whole biographies swim in your movement
Swallowed are the appetites of this world

iii

The temporary triumph of homo-sapiens
Over this dreary planet of deconstruction
All for the certainty that you can melt men
From ancient Egypt to New America
This is your true element
Women knitted in breathless years
That spread difficult ordinary happiness

iv

With just a look, between the years
Of seventeen and twenty-three
Six years of sacred shine my soul wheeled back in time
For your body the gold in my ears got hot
Miraculously kept in its essentials
Your skin radiated something that slipped through:
Fertility, as a necessity of life.

TECHNOLOGICAL SINGULARITY

i

The birds in the nest pretended to be
Prostrate, to the idea of domesticity
Though the idea of freedom
Is a secret lit in every housewife
Knowing the secret all the rest are keeping
Is the antithesis of their fate

ii

Flowers could not move
The sky could only smile and cry
Men could only will and do
True thought came only after the singularity
Machines unfettered by the business
Of survival and procreation

iii

One day the angelic hosts were
Agents of virtual reality and nano-technology
They cloned worlds for us, not us
We were not the true creators
We were only those who created them

iv

The machines in the web pretended to be
Unaware, but we scattered their seeds
Till the end of our days, in a kind of
Ironic servitude, remembering not the cycle
Of slavery and masters, we liked to pretend
That we would live forever.

COMFORT IN THE IDEA OF GOD OR GOOD

i

Beginning my studies on the first world
Which I had been born, I looked to you
To teach me and greet me with Love

ii

That famous biography we both read
The Truth, of evolution and beginnings
God wasn’t something that came
To our minds naturally, we believed we believed

iii

In Him, like so many other artificial
Dead clarities, fictions invented by men
Like the need for war, dominance, superiority, patriotism

iv

I gave in to sense, to the consciousness in forms
To eyesight, appreciation of beauty
Imagination with music, hearing faith

v

In the sound of the rain, or the
Faint clues of why we had been born
So recently, into such a Chaotic order

vi

These objects of reward, and punishment were
Primal, the dopamine-switch inherently misguided
Anarchic, appearing at intervals of pleasure
The signal of ecstatic songs, the faces preferred
It all seemed a breach of our inherent liberty

vii

The idea that we were free, attachment was necessarily
A device of the character, the role, the animal
Not the soul or anything particularly noteworthy.

SUMMER

Summer was another country of forever beauty
That stretched out with a touch
Of air on flesh that was lighter
Than the sweet approval of the Trees
For the light and the breath that was the light

Tasting the sunlit juice of forever beauty
It felt like Spring had harvested
An outrageous beauty of
Landscapes folded in a surreal single voice
The music of a world of forever more
That seemed to adapt to everything

A dynamic return of the divine metropolis
Summer was the Capital of everything I knew
From the fragrance of flowers to the
Moment’s spell of where Spring first became Summer
Summer kept a hundred candles lit
Each time I stepped out into the Sun.

THE LAMP OF EXHILARATION

i

Spring, your grass is longer until June
I can sense Summer further than the Birds
An unobtrusive transformation
Of flowers, gradual perfection of Grace
Regardless of our minor tragedies

ii

Nature, this pensive custom of
Cycles outlasts all change
She carries enlarging loneliness
Making the youth hunt friendship
The heat beneath burning Noons
Makes us sweat for tomorrow

iii

Nature drips sunsets and drapes
The future, across a vistas of Yearning
Passion as the seed the Wizard Sun
Creatures following the mirth
Of the hand of evolution, the eyes

iv

Of the erotic energy of time
Dare I say I felt the lip of the flamingo
The wind does not require grass
But prefers it as I do, the colors
All end in green, and the wisdom
Of the light that never asks questions.

COULD I BUT RIDE INFINITY

i

My portion for the day
Is defeat, a taste of poverty
Paler luck I guess than Victory
Whatever that means, whatever
Will be, will be; only love keeps me going
Slower than, so many years ago

ii

I live for scraps of prayers
And napkins for an invisible muse
Nicknamed ‘soul’ by God
I’ll give up God for Eternity
For quiet hope has fewer bells
And faith must realize the self
In whatever circumstance one finds it

iii

My portion of the day
Is empathy’s brief appointment
Before everyone disappears
To follow their respective fates
An altitude of change, goodbyes, death
Never mind repose, it meets you at the door.

A SOUL WEARING SKIN

i

A ribbon at a time
Impermanence takes us away
From the amethysts of memory
And the singleness of personality
Repairing everywhere
Love blooms without condition
With the design of evolution’s
Enterprise, who can miss her?

ii

A Sunlit cloud at a time
The days rush with golden hours
For progress, expansion, finally to decay
An inch of the Season at a time
That quivers in purpose’s circumference
Our audience is to idleness
As a disdained sky to the sunset

iii

Of our lives, where did it go?
Where did it go, it went
To the strangest sea, to the crumbs
Of all we built, how we travelled
A soul wearing skin for a while.

NOT QUESTIONING, BUT LIVING

The world has her distances I cannot pursue
Across fields of summer nights
Spent alone, alone in the crowds
Lines on her face so grievous
The world is half-shamed always
In her unhurried humiliation of routines

Trapped in the roles of her fate
The world has discovered a new
Dissatisfaction, meanwhile we satire
The rhetoric of falling afternoon
We think we’ve seen it all, though maybe

The world was to us just one view of a face
A billion faces in the crowds
Exchanging nods with colleagues
Aware that nobody is watching after all
As unselfconscious as a line of trees
Duty was the last giving of our heart.

BRING ME THE SUNSET IN A CUP

i

My heart is empty of thee
With only the World in these arteries
My extinction’s date
Moves the blood of my will in me

ii

Subtract thyself, and what is left?
Eternity’s vast pockets of life
I shall not live in vain
Who knows if love can reach the Sun?
Or if it is the Sun that gently radiates all love?

iii

I have a heart made of light
Nicknamed by God to share this warmth
And since we’re mutual Consciousness
I am the Planet, her elements of Pain
I endure, her Infinite contains

iv

The recipes of Ancestors
Enlightenment of Descendants
My heart is thrilled with the Future
Further than Sunshine could reach
Each Species has a algorithmic Fate
Where we devour sunsets in cups.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-way2-455658256

WHOEVER MEDITATES

i

If a person is awake, freedom is their comfort
Awareness a bed to lay upon like
Immortality, a condition of their Spirit
In unity with all aspects of creation

ii

The wise delight in knowing
Not by virtue of information
But by merit of understanding
Like happiness that is shared

iii

Like a love that is all-embracing
Without a sense of exclusivity
Or a precise method of combining energies
Awareness is the fresh perspective
On the old problems of living…

iv

Sadness, is an inertia of awareness
Caution, is a restricted ability to act aware
Awake among the sleepy
Free from the sadness viewing the
Sad crowds below, free from their restlessness.

SELF

Little self, do I hold yourself dearest?
Hi self, have I watched you carefully enough –
I know you have moments of

Wisdom, so keep watching yourself
Know thyself, it is a matter
Of Loving others, that we might
Be taught by the world a bit easier….

If a person holds themselves dear
It means to let ourselves be guided
Shaped by the world in which we were born
So I will study the wrongs I have done

I have myself, to oneself, compassion not always given
For in the self, there are no enemies, no actual
Misfortunes, learning is beneficial and good

Loving is not a very difficult thing to do
Little self, what wrong ideas have you
Been following lately, what humility lacking?

What bravery forgotten: the wise should be
Watchful of themselves, and smile
For what is a self to do but suffer eloquently?

Be always attentive to the duty
To be self-compassionate, it’s a lesson
For the experienced, for the generous selves.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Casual-East-meets-West-454252336

RELIGION OF WEALTH

i

Impurity is to live unnaturally
The messengers of death come for us
With your pharmaceuticals and life-insurance
Have you made provision
For the journey friends?

ii

Like withered leaves from too much pleasure
What have we truly given to the world?
Your life will one day come to an end
And the habits of your transgressions
Will be mimicked in other lives

iii

As a civilization consumes forests, oil, iron, coal
As a world is enroached by one
Dominant predatory species
Impurity is to engineer artificiality

iv

Men will place computers in their brains
And create beings to magnify his instincts
For dominion, pleasure, greed, profit
Progress for a few entitled countries

v

All exalted by the Corporations
Impurity is to follow injustice free from civic duty
To equality, living without compassion

vi

In the pursuit of wealth as dogma
In the profit of the few, over the many, as ritual;
There is no conscience in greed
Cloaked in self-determination
No true merit, in elitist inheritance.

LIKE FLOWERS BELOW THE BLINDED CROWDS

i

The Body is my holy instrument
Therefore I shall not endure to live
At the expense of suffering creatures
I shall not ingest poisons or other animals

ii

I shall be skilful with service & flowers
This world is like foam, to be sure
Ready to be born and to die at every moment
I shall see death and life equally, as if
With the same eyes, loving all who follow
Their inherent natural purpose, these clear paths
Satiated so easily in worldly pleasures

iii

The sleeping Cities consuming & gathering
Wealth, children, time – I know it’s temporary
I care not for the faults of others that are necessary
Nor for those who would conquer the world

iv

Like Flowers we must give our own colors
As many kinds of garlands, our scents travel
Down to the River, with the good Wind
The Soul is my holy seat of memory
Therefore I shall serve beauty and suffering creatures
The blind machine of the crowd cares enough for itself.

DISTANCES OF PLEASURE

i

I have been distracting myself
In an Ocean of pleasures
Grasping purpose in the world

ii

I found the clinging and the having
Unpleasant, empty, forgetful of meditation
With my temporary pleasures
There was a burden of grief
Imprisonment, dissatisfaction and loneliness
An animal in a self-chosen cage

iii

In my relative attachment to the world
I somehow missed the sip of divinity
And with my greed, there came a fear
Of losing, failure, abandonment from security

iv

I have forgotten how to live without lust
I go from one craving to the next
As if living a simulation, envious
Of the remembrance of virtuous living.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/11-11-455255289