Poems to Utopia


Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.
~ Plutarch

59

I cannot mistake poems
For my children, they are
Applications for the ability
to feel completely alive!

And I know it, to compensate
for days when I can barely
be fully productive, why
I cannot often celebrate

Looking at alphabets in a new way
Wrinkled poems lost to notebooks
mandarin glyphs studied fullheartedly
i cannot marry art, though it’s not

for lack of trying, hoping after
orgasmic quotes, divine lullabies
whine in me, divine mouth
of foaming ink that devotes

so many of my hours, so much
of my time on this planet.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sangklaburi-471314522

Hallelujah poetica


58

i have a rendezvous with rhyme
with only the lyrics of this orchestra
my cadence is only for rhythm
free-verse in its purest ingenuity

I ache for quarterly submissions
of my essential need to write
the autopilot poetica of my

last kaleidoscopic vision strange
a musical hopscotch of surrender
a mystical milking it of thirst

muse & fate here relaxes
for a final teasing and tasting
of the plump record of odes
and the promise of exhaustive cadence

that reaches humming pentameter
stares organic pink into utopia
requesting documentation from the stars

in how to be a poet, as legends burn
martyrs in their alien worlds
a last dynasty of awkward prayer-rituals.