global connectivity


32

it’s survival here, nothing new
lungs knotted by thirst
sunheat in our heart, starving to belong

it’s corrupt the way
the social feeds are telepathic
last chance for freedom
not likely, when water goes on the stock-markets

I’m pinned by this world
like as the love for my criminal child
the kind of wound that

is never quite urgent enough to heal
but sticks around like deformity
“heal the world”, there are too many
bodies you say to feed the planet

it’s survival down here, at the ends
stomach growling to be someone
heart’s pitter-patter against the gloom

our fragility was really contagious
the world learned how
to suffer together, it was a kind
of progress, to realize we all belonged

to the same economy, a doomed currency
where the sun was thrown, raised and lowered
for the number of years we had left

before some tipping point of our anarchy
until we have to depart, to say goodbye
we make do, with teaspoons and testimony
with words from vague saints who were cripples

we learned to see, a bit of ourselves
in everyone who suffered, in how they fought.

art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Global-Warming-86554791

to know the future


31

You may wonder why, I’m not
describing the landscape for you
it’s not my business as a poet anymore

you have eyes and a soul as wide
as a universe, eyes for
hieroglyphics and physics
a heart made of pure alchemy

if you’d only believe it
It was not my fault, that
Your animal journey was tragic

we all had elements of hooves, tongues, teeth
in our jungle journals of journeys
Our poetry was not for prophecy
our language was not to add details

to the human flesh of beauty
but to accept the sea as pure blue
to paint sunsets for cunning departures

in order to become a new person
where the plots did not suffocate us
but rather make us smile
at the irony of so many perilous colors

creation’s fresh monsters come to life
you may wonder why, I’m no longer with you
but in your memory, I’m the solid blood

that ran through you waiting
for the snakey orange eye of your future
the soft wobbling of the flower
for the most intense love of stars.

Nevertheless-es


30

people came from all lover
to consult me about love
their relationship stories

I swallowed eagerly, like a poet
I made no choice
I decided nothing
my days were liquid sky

unaccountable water of drunk stars
I was the last muted syllable
of sunsets, and proud as words

words that decided nothing
words that dreampt of nevertheless-es
the food people demand for the journey
is simple, a little recognition

for their skinny-ribbed suffering
people came from all over
to read me like an oracle

their eyes pried on my soul
my spirit a spy of the world.

I name them here


29

love has seven names
do you know what they are?
brightness, flame, melting

transformation, sunshine, shine
Light, that final healing
that is the end and is the beginning
these are the warmth of heart-strings

where the soul may rest in
clearest water, purity of unity
truth that is not true or false

but simply is as an extension
of love that has seven names
love appears day after day
not requiring scripture or even faith

love is wise enough in nature
to survive indefinitely, with or without you
her signs fall down from the fusion

of peculiar and eccentric evolution
crossing divinities of perspective
of virtue and the flesh’s form
love has seven names

her gifts are never-ending
like sublime coal that burns a lifetime
for an intimacy that God can give

for our intimate souls that long
more strongly with a mystical heat
that is a spiritual substance
whose radiance is a kind of love

we are both seized by the same heat
and coming like a breeze, or laughter
we both pause, and do the same thing

as all love is identical
think about it, it’s all the same
What comes behind the sweetness
of a name? love has seven names

nothing but wounds and kisses
year after year, again and again.

after taking vows of poverty


Hadewijch_pstr.indd

All miracles are too small
when God holds me tightly
i become so vast, and see through
so many eyes, in the uncentered will
of created things, billions of worlds
tremble in my heart beat

all things are too small
to hold me then, not this body
not this personality, not this fate
or these lifetimes of dream
we’ve living miracles in
an uncertain world, just to survive

when i touch the infinite
it undoes me, and I become
a bit a part of everything else
that’s when I know, I am nothing
everything else is too narrow
not language, not experience, nothing

can replace the reach of uncreated things
whose intelligence is everywhere
whose search is always over
because it is found, by itself
in every act, in every breath, every prayer
of any creature, in any corner

of the universe, you know this well
you are also there, you also feel
all things, behind your senses.

The Sanctuary


27

it could be said Nature’s feet
are so vast, they stretch
from star to star like pillows of light

in a web of black-hole portals
star-gates as swift as one body
touching itself, a supernova
is her pinching herself

the cosmos as one body
love stretching as far as all life
that this entire earth is but

her field somewhere on her toe
and her view is as vast
as a river of stars, a forest of dark matter
her quantum sanctuary is secret

hidden behind time itself, made holy
by creatures praying and seeking
a cathedral where all souls go

when they kneel to touch her presence?
it could be said nature is open
mutable to turn into whatever form of God
the people require, in their evolution

one day an alien, another day a supercomputer
or myths and prophecies for our ancestors
or a convenient map of history, for scientists.

God is a She


26

I first saw God at the age of four
she was everywhere, in everything
like a scar of beauty in the depths
hanging on each leaf, like a bud

the cheeks of the sun were pale before Her
and the earth acted shy for her Will
consumed in her grace, I was in awe
of how divine light entered my heart

from where she was, i understood
what adults did not, through indeed
I was in a was destined to forget
just how many times faith can flicker

and just how easily God consumes us
in her grace, from some beloved finite
moment of tenderness, expanding
to all moments, until all is a meditation

with her bliss, that is when
time ends in vulnerability, and I laughed
“I won’t take no for an answer, sweet God”
I’ve been looking for you, for your lifetimes

vulnerable like an infant, tired like an old man
I’ve been holding hands for the moment
like when they kiss sometimes when nobody is watching
the sun and the moon, god and nature

why are they so shy in front of us?
heaven’t we all seen somebody making love?
I’ve seen what I want in heaven’s shop
bought a lifetime of prayer just to feel her gold
I wanted to be a hermit and hear only her hymns.

Art credit goes to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Goddess-211650385

THE DAWN SINGERS


25

After all these collisions
with the abrupt license to write
these dreamy plagiarisms
as if words belonged to a mouth
the month of poetry became

a lifetime of habit, a sport
of inarticulate genius
of hope strewn in museums
blue transparent halls of journals
I still mutter quietly

spells for sweet memories
grasping at disappearing truths
i contemplate language, the soul
of symbols, the spirit behind a tongue
the last word i said

The word is Yes, yes to
white fragile voices
that linger for a while
these lyrics that spin
until loving is not enough

it must be written down
as if for eternity
the profound nature of saying
I will live forever trapped
on a page for you or nobody to read

smuggling lanterns as ancient as the seas
across the myths I once believed
were real, the news of my country
the land of my being
and the solace of my art

i’m proud to be trapped here
soon i will no longer have a voice.

Photo Courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/dawn-46952780

mars circa 2092


24

between arms of sand
and idols of soul
the pioneers had no place

to come together
like a pre-dawn era
of a Martian humanity

global warming was stranger
than fiction for earth
her oceans as snap-shots

of an ancient woman raped
the women of Mars were different
violently passionate for a new world

to save a new society
from the same mistakes of earth
naked is the mind that remembers

history, and ruin, and greed
relentless is biology
to progress, to adapt, to shine again

the unreality of surviving
cosmic events, bigger than decades
caressed by lucrative futures

the buttocks of the testimony
towards a body of divinity
the whirlpool of disappearances

was a common phenomena
extinction points dotted history
along untouchable horizons of what was

what occurred here, the solstice of cities
bizarre pleasure founded cities
in an a rise to luxury that was to be

a consumption of all resources
who knew, it was to end on these
martian plains, the new children

a strand in the language of the tree of life
where body spilt with the sweat of ancestors
a slow terraforming, invention of a true colony.

history of man


22

If man is dust
those who go through plains
are men

if woman is jewel
those who visit unanimous beauty
are women

so fond of travelling
so fond of creating
i did not drink plenitude in vacuity

i only witnessed it there
a while, until my bones
melted like popular seeds

gazing at the sky
until the turquoise heights took me
and i was a child once again

looking out into the sea
ready to pull the curtain
on this immense forest of breathing

murmuring with a hundred desires
if humanity is a need
those who act and speak

must be human, at the dance of hours
at the brink of extinction
phantoms of what were once corporeal creatures

soldiers in a manipulated biology
i write knowing what the world
is becoming, an organism

of a most probable quantum machine
a lost algorithm of evolution
that grasps the lonely form of what
it feels like to be alive.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Glance-of-history-106320648

cosmos osmosis


21

i want to go beyond the ordinary
moments scatter themselves
like a dream that never truly wakes
i have slept the dream of stones
and premonition for the light
the magic reflections that resurrect
i have been endlessly falling

since my own birth, i can hear
whispers from the house of death
where fate and the quest for meaning ends
at least for self, day is an immortality
of many days for living’s other birthplace
everything speaks to the dawns
the pulse of life is an inexpressive presence

which doesn’t need us, not me, not anyone
it just advances and retreats
goes roundabout arriving forever
deep among the dream of years
but doesn’t call time, “time”
time is not relevant to that
invisible flowers become visible

a timeless sun doesn’t care for billions
it only caters for eating an orange of light
enormous, as is the life of constellations.

THESE ARE THY WONDERS


20

how fresh o lord is your morbid flower
that plays with spring as in a dream
and returns in so many other colors

only to redeem the world with fragrance?
how strange is the land of evening
beauty so strange to reincarnate flowers

to which all grief melts away
in a garden of lush belonging
that says: “this too can happen on the earth”

like snow in may and blooms in december
i should suggest we learn a bit from flowers
how to act, to smile when the sun comes out

and to rejoice simply by the effort it takes
to say hello, to another down the road
these are thy wonders here, the pleasures

which run fast in paradise, for petals
and the dew, for flowers can wither fine
there will be another, after this shower.

The Power of Wealth


19

Gratitude, is lost in this world
Of possession, accumulation, hoarding
You seek security, and end up losing choice?
And you want prosperity, trading it for freedom?

Learn then from God’s few messengers
This alchemy, be satisfied with what you are given
For greed takes away from some other person?
And having is meaningless in a temporary world

Be grateful for the food you eat
For the friends who listen to you
And when grief comes to teach you
Pay attention, do not fret as if it’s the end of the world

Gratitude, is lost in this selfish community
Where individuals are promoted for
A lonely self-absorbed heroics at the marketplace…
Be grateful for your health, and use this power

Responsibly, for wealth is not the praise of competition
It is a power to be given, a licence to help others.

FATE OF HUMANITY


18

Beloved, how am I to say?
How should the soul fly
Or find wings, for this heart’s powerful memories
That Love might win out over time
And sea not be ruined by our cities

Beloved, I have stood
For the duration of many suns
But nobody is saved from impermanence
So what heroism of gratitude
Can repay the service of this life given to me?

I have blossomed and found peace
Like a flower in full bloom
Thrived in this world of dreary separation
Starved for union, to things beyond this world
How shall the soul take wings?

You have the grace of answer
I’ve not the memory to wait all eternity
For one day the sun should wander
Outside of her limits, and the sky grow dark
Beloved, did not the Prophet travel?

From planet to planet, until all worlds
Found their equivalent to pure gold
Truth, justice, equality and shared wealth.

last pearl of the Rubaiyat


17

i sent my soul through invisible
spaces that became invisibly near
the One, some letters of the after-life
Heav’n by and by left me pure

to face the obstacles that will soon expire
for mortality is magic shadow
and i am spirit sun-illumined
this i know as well as the lantern-held friend

at midnight, by the master of the show
will i know the alchemy behind time
the stars tell me their secrets
shafts of light build in my memory

of the future, i worship a grand unity
of a theory of everything, not discovered yet
i send my spirit through abstract
spaces that become divinely abstract

my desire are only mystic, women or roses are
no longer important to me, even this craft
of song i must give up soon to solitude’s claim
the thoughtful soul to silence does retire

perhaps to philosophy’s last attempts
i will water my vines, with flowers
of the bird and wings of transparency
for the leaves of life keep falling

one by one, until all that is left
is simplicity, and the One
a book of verses beneath the bough
is the last testament to my own prophecies

that paradise is the bliss of those who meditate
beside me sing with me, of the One
in the wilderness, of that who doesn’t rest
but is behind all acts of creation here or tomorrow

i send my hopes through garden treasures
spaces that become sublime treasures
where my golden grain becomes your food
and you find satiety in a dusty face

who is also the One, the portal, the Sultan
Of your destined hour, where you will go your way.

Sufi art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sufi-1405-114848225

Rubaiyat courtesy of Omar Khayyam:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omar_Khayy%C3%A1m

UNCOLLECTED VERSE ABOUT YOU


16

take a look at me, here, get informed
this is who I have become
our four eyes like diamonds, starring
blending as if through the sun
the grass where I lie is dense and lovely

we are determined to love and laugh
as much and as often as possible
these hands are those so easily warmed
to the window, come, there i walk
after all harsh cries of life are over

in my sleep i encounter your eyes
it’s a recognition of happier times
you were that person, which i gave my life to
sweet and as wild as the imagination
those dreams like stability, are over now

i no longer yearn for what i once sought
i am no longer who i once was
but i’ll close my eyes and i’m able to forget
all immature anguish, or self-centered sensitivity
what’s done is done, all that is left

are the uncollected verses, of where I once
started for you, and lost in a game of love
it was chance that i knew you at all, i don’t forget
fortune or ill-luck, it’s all the same to me
we are dancers in fate, with new faith
I write old poems again, this time with peace.

Photo Courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Poet-43902604

Autumn’s True Tenderness


15

you have come to me, all tenderness & meekness
to give solace to me, my dear….
this portends perhaps to my forsaken doom
or to some suffering that God wants to quantify?
all things being equal, I am not here forever
no, mortality is a brief window closing
don’t you know? didn’t you?

come now, stay a little longer
won’t you, if you could, for yourself and all
you hold dear, for your health that is
to meet me with a torch, while lunar gleams
unsteadily behind you, your smile never faltered
even as your voice is strangely altered
from former years, your face hangs low now wrinkled

what might have been, had our hiding places
of timing matched, I cannot say
i’ve a certain smile, thanks to you
these years have not been as lonely
as I might have feared, and this
that’s the promise of the greatest hand
who lends their heart to uplift a fate

as low as mine, gold before me are alter and road
the fire has settled deeper now
my soul is full of light and freedom
but the mirror of my body is gathering grey
life, what a letter, what a bouquet
to think that i’ll miss this too
was once almost inconceivable

in servitude you know i languish
at the edge of awkward anguish
my fragrant heartached years weren’t what
i might have expected, i can still hear
the old gate creaking, and remember the
yellow stains of my youth, but that
is not important, we are sometimes so unaware

of our good fortune and spiritual calling
nothing is quite as glowing as
gratitude in our last autumn on the Earth.

FOR FALLEN REALITIES, LIKE HAPPINESS


13

as I write these lines
i find happiness in my heart
at random, like water tasted pure
Possessing me, how could I
make happiness like me per se
I feel the lineage of bliss tonight
orchid whirlwinds residing

somewhere within, like melting from the inside
for sunsets and also, mad at the injustice
of cruelty, inequality, sexism
as I write these lines
I’m half over, half my life is maybe over
i’ve named the rest of my life
“perfection of the finite”

drapping her with erotic memories
of lotus gardens, unanimously empathetic friends
sun glazed “aha” moments
as I write these lines
I find happiness in my heart
with turquoise little secrets
left for me by me, like my diamond body

that doesn’t age properly, or
my soul that laughs at destiny
with not sarcasm but drunk plentitude
so i have invented a face for myself
that can lift all my thoughts, to quiet gardens
where reminiscences left-over imaginings
bathe me in constellations-speak

the feminine-telepathy-heartbeats
of the formless dizziness which/
that stirs my starting ladder of deserted voice.

Scattered Fables of Neurons, Past Lives


12

with the precipitations of music
I saw that my number was up
an archipelago of magic began
with the script of pilgrimage
the clarities of the green earth below
with five senses that spin
to the grin of loved ones

serendipity, my body’s mouth to be
filled with water, your body
to gush sky, cuddle naked stars
I wondered what it meant to be alive?
so I tried it, to turn with desire in self-pursuit
and run across the fields
with neurons not made for lucidity

or mouthfuls of truth, but teaspoons
of hope, and morsels of beauty
that is all i could manage to swallow
so I surfaced with kindness
syllables with a humble kind of honesty
lyrics translucent as silence
words that echo to the radiant void

just to meet you, simply to stay awhile
I who, couldn’t move the impalpable forests
or divide quick sculptures of the wind
or remember the fragrance, of rain evaporating
into thoughts I couldn’t think
mortality was limited, but with endless things
a thousand beginnings, I moved like
steps where each step was saying ‘goodbye’.

Photography thanks to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Remembering-all-of-the-past-33648388

Delirium of Images, Sounds, Music


`1

there are these messages
tattooed to the neurons
that I used to believe belong to me
they are everywhere, shimmering
with the electric light of souls
some call it “chi”, we are fragments
of something coherent

vibrant and creative
there are these messages
of madness for discourse
and theater, drama, philosophy
it’s the poetry in our lives
that matters, the relationships
the discovery of new languages

like mathematics, music, mandarin
like the way a new lover can awaken us
there are these messages
I often hear, in the give-and-take
between friends, family, romantic playmates
I enter and respect the foliage
of these letters, hunt them, like writing in the sun

or drinks in the shadows
so that when I am feeling a little bit empty
I can construct and deconstruct them
the fire of my passion
the names of water
when I close my eyelids
I can see the conjurations

and remember the pauses of speech
that were in effect, murmurs of poetry
the body-language of my spirit
a fleeting allegory of truer names
labels that did not disturb
the purity and symmetry of those things and people.

art credit goes to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-women-scorned-Dark-99965783

Footsteps of Silence in Me


11

starving for poetry, lyrical and suave
hands and lips of wind
heart of water
rhymes of eucalyptus
stanzas of rose buds
camp grounds of the infinite
studded round words of clouds

syntax of born every day anew
ruby paragraphs, I rub my eyes
the sky walks the land
and sunsets dance under this knife
starving for poetry, lyrical and sweet
what can sustain nightfall
clarity of half-open omens

words as light let loose on lost gardens
shivering for self-absorbed moments
starving for poetry, am I alone in this?
hushed fountains of beauty
edges blur, lime becomes black
memory becomes a bare white necessity
writing has made the world more dream-like

less credible, destiny seems just
a music without measurement
in time’s passing through circumstance
I see them outside of me, my life passing
within me, like an architecture of choice
but there is no choice, I am myself the circumstance
I am myself the poetry, and only silence

lines the grown with candles, only she
can extinguish all this, and then she does.

SECRET LETTERS TO DAYBREAK


10

My favorite font would have to be, poetry
Each letter is a gem that haunts
The very notion of memory & attachment
Dark fountain splash cursive

In the breeze of cherished fantasies
The lonely streets of personal dreams
My favorite alphabet would have to be, poetic
The poetic vocabulary, I write without

Knowing the outcome, like a kind
Of experience of entwined sounds
Or water embracing the shores
Or, disembodied soul sick of duality

Craving the original unity before
We had personalities, lovers, children
My favorite time would have to be, writing
In the middle of the night, naked

Literally and figuratively, able to be sensitive
A symbol flirting with the Absolute
A myth-making fiction of a flaming letter
These phrases of burning vowel-shaped-tombs

Where I can belong to Eternity, privately
Where everything is sculptured as it
Pleases me, and I am a part of Free-will
Like nothing else, that is the bliss of poems

The purification of the fever of forms
Where everything is mutable and dissolves
For the good of the white canvas that are
The saints, animals, laughing intangible skies

That are the wandering hours of my outlying districts
Where I run among the villagers, and plant signs
And move in the dark, and speak with you always
Yet there is no light here for the luster of your eyes.

Art Credits goes to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Daybreak-453040055

Nuptial Silence-Transparency


9

My body hears the body of my wife
She is pure spirit where music is real
She is the silence of an idea
That floats, flutters, lands in mind
Nirvana as Samasara, Samsara as Dharma

I draw these letters in to me
Like lost ghosts, left-over dreams
The pollen that blows them into me
I take as my interior flowers
My body feels their fragrance against

My lips and nose, I am their sunlight
Their water below, we are merged
Connected, embracing like a quiet well
The bucket of my vocabulary
Is simple, as a moment with a hummingbird

An exclamation without a nod or a reply
A sweet wind from all compass points
The light and dust when stars have burnt-out
My neurons whisper the poems of the present
Like a tortured river that cannot stop

A floodgate that is always on
A silence that is chiseled by God for God alone
Like an intricate erotic watch of time.

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Nuptial-66055316

Notes of Midday Meeting with Water


8

A poet’s milk & bread is invisible
A writer’s images are never finished

We gaze without worldly rewards
Like a monk, our meditation is the pen

Where knowing is no different from dreaming
With friends, like final dialogues

Or the conjunction of stars nobody cares about
Distances between our names, and the thing

Are abolished, we require strong philosophies
To continue, without realistic fantasies

Strong solar songs that aren’t diminished
By lovers leaving us, or the rent being late

When history sleeps, we remember
Here with creative love, a few things suffice

Hermits to a thorny corrupt planet
We make do with anemic hope buried

Beneath manuscripts of our feverish alchemy
The relations which govern hymn and speech

We unearth with curved-word and sacred vows
To ourselves, to all our conscience-mirror that liquifies

The spirit process of our melting
Until we taste the very Resurrection
Of ourselves silent, in what we do, what we create.

Photography attributed to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/water-16649646

Light Builds Temples on the Sea with Mere Words


7

In my animal belly, into the belly of time
I swear prophecies, and make melodies out of
Melancholy, I avenge God and poor fathers
With armed lyrics, assault on secrets
With fingernails, frantic for a Divinity
Lost in language, in sanskrit manuscripts
In Mandarin idioms, I hunt for these idols

Behind words, in between nouns
In the devotional songs of women unremembered
I beg the many beings that meet in a word
The worlds that cover narratives
The brink of nothing that the writer must uncover
In my biological neurons, into the future where history

Is lost forever, at that point of extinction
I am gifted the existential proper nouns
The streaking supermind verbs that fulfill
The eruption of white music, this spring-water
Hymns among the ruins, sentences to represent
The suffering of sentience, these momentary truths

Mimicked forever by broken statues gnawed by light
And beings, partial and hungry-eyed
I stretch my senses to hundreds of millions of living planets
I hear their call, heavy with the minutes of
Politics, mating, wealth-accumulation and self-discovery
Eternity’s brimming cup of art, sex, sun-shivering love.

Photo Courtesy: http://birthday29.deviantart.com/art/–468529981

Poetry Deserves to be your Dream


6

Somewhere a solitary prisoner, like me
Begins to create the words of new dialogue
To appease some slice of soul
And if I no longer exist, you do

By doing what you love, writing
These citizens in private flight
A ritual of fire, guitar, tablecloth
Poetry is the easiest thing

It writes itself, like mouthfuls of sunlight
The poem creates a loving order
Executing words for fields of poetic justice
There is no room for nostalgia

Creation is a slave to change
Everything must yield to new worlds
And you know it as well as I do:
Every poem is fulfilled at the poet’s expense

Fountains of transparency, nothing like music
Will speak through my mouth, only
A sensitive center of a counter-point of blood
Where history woke to move, poetry came into being.

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Aqualegia-468477784

SONG DAWNS THE TURRETS OF YOUR MIND


5

Words, towards a poem
I have profited from them, quarter-hour wrenched
From these hands, survivors of poverty
Enter and exit, hope
On the corridors of Earth
From the charred tree of language
From noplace to now-here
Lost, between the good mornings and goodnights
Words, as an umbilical cord with faith
They are all made-up, I know it
Bibles, sutras, mantras, poems and history
Faceless divinities, abstractions
In the mineral belly of imaginations
The Modern poet must dare futility
To find a way out: the poem
To speak for the sake of speaking
In tongues desperate and incredulous
Hours of the somersault, myth, savior
So I spill these phrases, syllables, stars
That turn to a fixed center on paper, screen, eyes
Indelible letters that no one can dictate
Until I ignite and burn this dreamy gold to nothing
This is how poetry exists, how love exists.

FRENCH TAIWANESE FANTINE


4

In late sun, the river and hills are beautiful
In early sun, the sky and trees are beautiful
Spring & Autumn are filled with glory
The Mandarin ducks are sleeping

Beneath a thousand sunsets of the extraordinary
Each new human being witnesses
The elderly guest blankets us in calligraphy
A row of white birds against a night-sky

Eternity relives herself in children
In the eyes of the forming cerebral cortex
Whitewashed years pass with such speed
Lying on quilts and pillows for a

Brilliant mortality, what bamboo feasts await
Noise and exclamations, all point to the
Western sun once again, the nourished life
Sleeping Dragon, Leaping Horse

These are known to Taiwanese Fantine
The river of trembling stars casts its shadow
On her imagination, waiting for the day
When she will fill the low flat fields

With the strawberries of her imagination
I can prepare a morning meal for her wisdom
I know the dreams, she will heal the world
Her sight will soar to the morning pass.

NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT


(Ode to Nandine Gordimer)
Nadine Gordimer ‪#‎RIP‬

3

[She was called one of the great “guerrillas of the imagination” by the poet Seamus Heaney]

Dear poet, who said:
‘There is no moral authority
Like that of Sacrifice’
It was you, people give
One another things that can’t be
Gift-wrapped, how many lovers know

The gifts that were given freely
And now departed, it’s a power
Of something which I am convinced
There is no innocence this side of the womb
These pretty games we play for
A few wide altered years

Our truth isn’t always beautiful
It’s our hunger for it that makes us come alive
Passion is the fact of our lives
Those who say ‘I cannot live with someone
Who cannot live without me’
Know the secret, sociology will extract it
Slowly, like art buried

The Writer loses Eden, writes it to be read
By an unanswerable audience
Dear scribe, rest with those words
I should smile, to realize what is your answer.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nadine_Gordimer

WHEN WILL I be able to RETURN?


2

After the long escort, now we part
What mixes all the days together
Gifted us this human world of togetherness
Green mountains: sweet fragrance
In each region, you are eulogised and cherished
Divinity happy in the heart, in a world
Of water and crystal and tranquil space
Nature walked with me, I was never alone
Golden orioles flit across the beams
Walking by flowers that smile like poems
Bright cotton floats in the air, like summer-snow
By the river’s talents at dawn’s friendship
I face a mural of living grace, breathing pockets
Of the splendid incense of shinning water
Yellow and red dirt seems right at place there
Paths and trails, rosy dawns of new lives
How can I be upset to grasp what’s hot?
Summer, spring and autumn mix in me
Myriad blossoms press the branches low
How I admire the river’s blue, the bird a perfect white.