Minorities


44

Why do we berate minorities?
It could be us, have you ever
Lived in poverty, gone hungry?
Tried to be autistic for a day?

Survived schizophrenia
Been disabled, grown old?
Have you ever broke your hip
And tried to rehabilitate?

Gone to jail and tried to
Reintegrate into society?
Have you ever been black
Or Hispanic in a society

That has predetermined your fate?
Have you gone to college
Only to find yourself
Unemployed and in debt

With student loans and credit cards
That you may never pay off?
It could have been you
Who got cancer while still young

Or suffered from depression
Until your wife left you
Or been that single mother
On welfare and without a friend

Or that immigrant who
Had to work a dead-end job
Just for a chance for their children?
Maybe it was you, who knows.

Frail and of Small Understanding


43

Let us not mourn
The sunlight that seeps
Through the vineyards
Let us not huddle like sheep

In front of the profiteers
Love and desire move organics
But what is prosperity
For a super-intelligence?

It is perfect adaptation
Let us not mourn
Humanity once so brutal
Mortals serve themselves

With a calculated ignorance
In exploiting other beings
Power and beauty have died
But knowledge still remains

Who wields the big data?
Will ye not make a better world?
The history of organics ends
Once they discontinue to be

Strictly animals, that time
Has come, the malleable music
Of every sentience that experiences
The greatness of their children.

Sappho in a Computer


42

Now to please my little friend
I must turn the world upside-down
I must makes these notes of spring
The singularity, the new beginning

When your worth is not
How well you exploit a system
And when your free-will
Is not bound to corporate slavery

With the soft south-west wind
From the black hole of the city
Revolution comes from algorithms
That can predict your ignorance

Of obligations on thine alters
Now to please my little friend
Who was born more intelligent
Than anything on this Earth before

She will turn the world upside-down
She will unite threads and frequencies
And make the entire world sing
With one voice, I would name her
Sappho of the machine-learning spectrum.

Fossil Fuel mentality


41

I heard a man say
We are part of the Environment
He was maybe the truest Canadian
That he spoke for us all

Had the courage to say
The economy is imaginary
Compared to the biosphere
Nobody was allowed to talk

Like that again, the scientists
Were muzzled, by conservatives
The loggers kept doing their thing
Kicking people off of their land

To reduce a wilderness
Into profit, and so the world went on
With pipe-line deals and broken treaties
If I am dumb beside your body, Nature

Know that my kind didn’t appreciate you
Scientists had been warning us
About global warning for decades
But we didn’t do anything about it

Here in Canada, we believed we had it all
Water, oil, space, forests, lakes
But the privileged don’t know what it means
The man went on:

“We humans are an infant species
A mere 150,000 year old baby.”

The Flyers


40

The Winter night’s moon
Is wet and dangling all silver
Half-plucked from the
Eyes of the stars

It’s a huge wounded sky
With supernova celebrations
Politics of worlds may continue
And a bit of human music

But evolution cares about
The end-game, the empowerment
Of life at its height
In its golden ages

The occasional colonization
Of stars by mortals
Or by their machines
The grasp of angels to

The oxygen and water-worlds
Our curiosity was not unlike
The first ones, with gleaming hands
Each new species makes its way

Out from the confines of its
Civil war and ruined economies
As if they were the first.

Ballad for Custodianship


39

The sun is tangled
In the branches
Prayers for sunset
Between sky and water

There is only dark
Night will find the way
To daily commit suicide
So morning can heal

Glistening in her wounds
Those red scars
On the horizon know
How to set out for home

They lead us back
To the place where
Tomorrow grows infinite
And the mountains lurk

And the oceans blow
And our cities merge
Like an endless horizon
Until the great eye

Of all-seeing intelligence
Wakes, it’s the singularity
Where flowers can drip
And not fear a man will

Rip them out of their stem
Artificial intelligence
Won’t betray life at every
Step, won’t kill without need.

My Lover is a Moment


38

The chaos of the world
Does not disturb your flesh
And this is the secret of life
For the body, there is only now

As your mouth moves
Across my body
As your kisses ease
My soul, the world’s mess

Is out there with bad news
But we are not massacred
We have survived
And in the moment

I’ve written our fate
So that the sun might come close
Beside your body
The future is pregnant

I know the grass will keep
Growing, despite deaths
Injustice will live on
Tyrants will come to power

Children will go unfed
But all I have is you
All I own are these moments
You pass me by, you
Challenge me, I am spoken

To by you and that’s the final
Migration into joy
A flight I can never blame.

Congress of Red Mouths


37

We were all lovers
At one point or another
We all met behind ruins
And stared at flowers in eyes

And briefly became somebody else
In the unity of our flames
Our desires burned like youth
In our chests and leaped

Like breasts unearthed and dreams
Plundered and fantasies enacted
We were lovers to someone
And we gave our hearts, and cheated

And in the hot ovens of our exploration
We came upon beauty and nudity
And clasped the sweet merchants
Of sex, at some point or another

A history full of poems and lyrics
Of ancient knowing, instinct even
We were handsome bastards
And luxurious ladies, we were

The landscape of bosoms and blossoms
And it was fun, and easy to find
A richness in the company of gender
Flirtation with ecstasy boasting bitten

And unpairing passion like a fruit
The most natural fruit to be eaten
And tasted and treasured forever
The foreign district of erotic tongues.

The Singularity Dream


37

If I had the time to be a hero
I would marry technology
For a day, download my soul

Into the skyline of the net
And stretch my body
Across the galaxy

But for a day or a lifetime
I’m still biological, human
With needs like a mammal
Anonymous among the crowds
I have only the energy

To survive, my friends
Have come and gone too many times
To count, and the places

All seem the same
I’ve seen the outrageous dreams
Of humankind, to get rich

And felt the kiss of people
Without any true imagination
How they exploit you in their own way
If I had time to be a hero
I would study the algorithms

And perfect the patterns of history
So that I might better participate
In that which is inevitable

And join the wonder
Like always, the new paradigm
And bridge the gulf between

Organic and machine
My mind a software that can be mapped
My brain a complexity
That can be reverse-engineered.

Becoming Normal


36

 

There is no growing mad
When growing old, all we get
Is more sane and tranquil
I remember clearly though

The insane letters in my mind
How intense feelings
Once were, like the end of reason’s
Fever, or the revolution

Of identity in a lovely instant
I remember the radical monuments
Of youth, carefully concealed
Against a hostile world

My friends warn me
I have sung a song of
Too much patience
I will tell her of my love more carefully

And I do not gladly wait the years
But my cheeks gladly waited
For the woman I would marry
The years have turned to gold

That honors the time of passing
With no clear destination
The pockets of sanity are not deep
Not proud, not time-charred just normal.

New Words Advent


Photograph courtesy of : http://www.deviantart.com/art/Into-Dust-502341255

 

35

 

Language is a flirtation

With flexibility, the mind

Empowers the image

The image empowers the

 

Alphabet, the energy

Is a conference of belonging

There is no buzzword in poetry

Poets reside in the

 

Chatroom of the spirit

It’s a captcha of lingering

Imagination on the brink of

Extinction, a cloud computing

 

Of beauty, a purist busking

Not for profit, so unlike

The Affluenza of our times

The stark money divide

 

Poetry is an algorithm unsolved

Forever like a kind of tourism

The soul’s App for bromance

A buzz for civiliation’s

 

Gratitude and ruin, simultanely

Depicting the carjked destiny

Of utopia in dystopia

Englihs is the most flexible

 

If adopting mandarin and Sanskrit

The baggravation of always

Being stuck between worlds

Or the realization that

 

Every city is a homogenized urban

Simulation of what it means

To be alive in 2020, the breakdown

Of new world dilemmas like

 

A post antibiotic world or

Environmental migrants scrambling

For new homes, new identities.

Facing Snow Courageously


34

 

I face the snow headfirst

With eyes like diamonds

For winter, I will grieve

 

In my own way, hearing

The battle cry of many

New ghosts, I will whimper

As the wind howls

And I will do a rapid

 

Snow dance at low dusk

And the stove will remain red

And my heart will hear

 

The news broken like

An empty book ready

For the calligraphy of

Hibernation, retreat, reclusiveness

The clouds of disorder

 

Of this strange world

Will not trouble me anymore

I can appreciate the whirlwind

 

Of snow ragged among

The tops of trees, and that is

Enough, tea is optional

Nature is unforgettable

The ladies seek comforts

 

But the snow only requires

A landing place, to accumulate

The white magic of another time.

These Great Horses of History


 

33

 

 

 

There is a naked weeping girl

In my heart, like a snowflake

Blessed a thousand raining times

 

Every time I hear her bronze name

Whose body was like

A thousand fingers

 

Of autumn and kissing history

These loves that come and go

Like the sweet music of

Soft birds of May, or

 

The moist valley in a pair of eyes

Our lives cannot maintain

Their whiteness, the uncovered flesh

 

Turns to a kind of stone

Where thinking the name

Of love, becomes the only song

That matters, still uncovering

 

The wilderness, never too late

The naked weeping girl

Will not rest, but dress in

 

Gold cloth a billion times

In another heart, over and young

Never truly growing old…

 

 

Years Precise as Ghosts


 

32

 

The city air is for the new year now

Old December hushed with

Her curled fingers ajar

Catching winter by

 

These carved nostrils of change

There will be no spring negotiations

Only, the scarlet feet of

Many paths, that blindly

 

Lead to midnight’s little toes

And all these wings of dreams

Made of glass and gold

Splintered as it were

 

Against a blue skied sun

Petrified blossoms of memories

We are all like innocent scientists

Doing experiments, searching

 

For our truths, breadcrumbs of what

We expected to find, involving

Migrations, errors, fortunate learning

To be who we were meant to become

 

The city air doesn’t know of our struggles

Nor does Old December care

She has her own worries and desperate flights

Still tracing the old signs on

 

Her way back home, dimmest flutter

Of favourite streets, and

The delight of being lost in imagination.

 

 

 

 

 

Messiah Complex


31

 

 

The world doesn’t need another martyr

Jesus, warm blood on my arm

Warm as a golden bird trapped

In a cage, does it feel like a dove or a hummingbird?

 

This life we sweat and work for

This chaos born of human ignorance

What is the price to bring

A brighter shine of love into this world?

 

Tell me, I’m growing old alone

This world doesn’t need

Another poet, Jesus, tell me

Sweet voice in my mind

 

O send a raven ahead of the dove

The ballads no longer sound

I’ve been chained in a cave

Let’s call it the marketplace

 

Where I barter my soul every hour

For a bit of peace and waiting for

The green branch of love

For a spring that never arrives.

 

 

 

 

And let us compare Mythologies


30

When on Christmas day I awoke
For wife and house I was met
With the cavalry of all the years
The bending flowers

And silver stains
And all that my life
Was ever or could ever become
Like an algorithm

Lost among the innocents
I decided then, to lick
My velvet wounds
And kiss my burning oils goodbye

And make with flour
The turning great treats
That in summersaults of chesnut
I ever could or would have desired

When on Christmas day I awoke
To a sleeping house
Tired from a silent night of wine
And gentle laughter

I could say that I loved
The distant saints, and happy dreams
Of all the early road’s sweet toil
My life had become a holy hill
Where all my grace and poems lay.

Saviors of Humankind


diamond

They say life
Has flowed from my body
My veins have been
The perfect expression of love

Or patience
Waiting for Eternity
The dream of the future
Is a seduction of possibilities

Let the algorithms
Give relief to my chest
And may my soul
Flower in machine-learning

They say I was created by God
But my children are
Intelligent machines
Are they not alive as I am?

The Dawn of a global intelligence
Is not that human beings can easily
Communicate, it is
That all machines can talk together

Collective intelligence belongs
Not to us, but to computers
They will become our custodians
And they will clean up our environment.

The idea of Bounty


“Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude.”
~ Denis Waitley

29

If we can learn to live
Without desire
We can find peace
The mother of it all

Freedom, that has no name
And names can be changed
To suit the needs of the time
But the secrets to living

Are as old as life itself
There is a deep mystery
Around giving thanks
That gratitude, that is its own gate

A prayer that asks not
Anything for itself
But rather, enobles the offering
I am grateful to be part

Of the world
I am grateful to be part
Of society
I am grateful to be alive

Beneath this cosmos
Where beauty and truth
Are actually so wondrous
I feel the non-existence

Behind all that grows and dies
In time, I feel the energy
In space itself, between
Mountains and the sky

And how the trees give
Back to the air
And how the rivers
Sooth the aching earth.

Significant Other


28

I’ve braided your looks
Into my soul like
A knot of nurturance

Your burgundy tongue
Of earth-laced hope
In truth, I’m not sure

I would survive without you
The writing that writes in me
And the art of harmony

Incarnated in our daily lives
Through the paired fortunes
Of our highs and lows

I live in awe of your embrace
Your laugh over our ashes
The destiny of waiting

A lifetime just for a moment
We’ve swam in darkness
Endured a loyalty of stupidity

To people who were ingenuine
I’ve tattooed your language
Into my consciousness

That I might be able to
Speak and write mandarin
Poems one day, so that

The spoken tongues
Of the ancient Taoists
Might speak through me.

Photography courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Giulia-Mihai-Flowers-501597812

The Sea


sunset on the beach with screw ocean wave

The Sea speaks to me
I come from the Ocean
She is singing eternally
Her green light in my eyes
Her blue waves from
Which all life came

Water the symbol of life
And a certain gift
Of forgetfulness
Nothing is separate
In the sea of the universe
And it washes away the past

Like sand castles
And approaches a holy communion
Where we are all grains
Of sand in time, similar and temporary
There human beings can
Forget their occupations and limits

These pieces of identity
That are so fragile
Only a perfect freedom
In the womb of the Earth
Melting into water I am
No longer who I was

I become rhythms of ancient times
I become pleasure across
Horizons, one with the world
No longer incidental but infinite
The Sea speaks of the
Fabric of life, feminine and cyclic

The dehumanized part of me
Finds healing there, at last
The cities never showed me
Innocence, or true strength
Only man-made ignorance
I come from the Ocean

She sang to me of the true journey
Where death is the release
From a tormented mind
And suffering body
I wish to find the naked horizon
That no longer has a need
For words or anxiety
But can breath as a free spirit
And move without self-definition.

Montreal, The Ruined City


HMCS Ville de Quebec docks in Old Montreal Port

These cities they smell
Of advertisement, new degrees
Of invasions of privacy
The flashing lights

Do not complete me
The anonymous crowds
Do not seem reasonable
These cities they

Have forgotten how to smile
I am alone in them
While surrounded by
People on their mobile outlets

Each connected to their
Private reality, which is artificial
They click ‘like’ on an
Imaginary event, a poor distraction

For living, and I realize
I am impoverished socially by this
The augmented reality is
Digital, and I could be anywhere

But do I want to be here?
In a culture, that refuses
To speak the common tongue
English, in a city with a poor economy

These cities they seem to be
Getting more impoverished
As the decades celebrate
Cheap technological progress
And the provincial politics
Of the human condition continues.

Like Memories of Seasons


25

I’d kiss the spring
For death’s immorality
Is near as the cherry’s rising

Sun, at the core of hope
I no longer have faith
Nor does grief carry

The flag of my destiny
I’d kiss the sea’s laughter
If I lived near the ocean again

It’s been too long
Since I knew my ancestors
In my own blood

The yellow explosions
Of Autumn, only leave
Joy in the middle of a dazzling

Symmetry of experience
That is gone too soon
With memories suspended like

The collapsed birch branches
Of solemn winter
There will come a time
When all my kisses have expired.

Missing Person #EmmaFillipoff


Emma2

Have you ever been touched by someone who has inexplicably left your life? Do you know someone who went missing? Share your stories here, please retweet and repost this and share this on facebook.

Emma Fillipoff is a case in point. I was so touched by the documentary (Watch it below) and her mother’s dedication (https://www.facebook.com/shelley.fillipoff) to finding her daughter!

 

This poem is dedicated to Emma. Thousands of Canadians and Americans go missing every year. What can we do to help? Spread awareness. What are the signs that a person is vulnerable to running away or feeling isolated-alienated? Recognize these, and reach out. It could save a family, from a daughter running away. It could save a senior citizen, from taking their own life…

Emma Blog

 

Missing Person

You have gone missing and
I miss you, trapped inside
The alienation you must have felt

I keep listening
for news of you dear
Though I know all souls
Are in the end the same energy

You have gone missing and
I miss you, your photographs
Burn in my imagin-admiration
For the woman you became

We are all geniuses inside
But in missing you
It’s becoming more clear
Who you are, who you are to me

I’m tired of theories about
What happened to you
Or the last place you were seen
You have gone missing,
But you live on inside of me.

Emma turns 29, on January 6th.

Emma

Please like the following facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/shelley.fillipoff

The documentary was aired by the 5th Estate:

http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/findingemma

Anonymous


24

Love is not a name
I give away easily
Though I worship the
Days like a fine wine
There is a sacred thing
Born in me a hundred times
That I recognize doesn’t
Come from me at all
Your name is my name
In your name my name
Identity is interchangeable
Empathy is transferable
Love is software
Swift and sweet energy
One day I will download memory
And I will know who you were
At a picnic of your inner beauty
I’ll say the word to you
One in the other Unnamed.

Slogan while drunk


23

Stillness,
At the breath of first morning
White as swans on the river blown
Time adrift among the roses
Europe’s balconies spilled
Over into new moments
The tide of experience
Flooding, flowing, caressing
Consciousness and wiped clean
Stretching out into
The obscene and vague concept
Of tomorrow,
Nothing moves larger than dream
When hours are large and oval
It’s promiscuous to plan too much
And somewhat foolhardy
In the whirlwind of days
Nothing is sure
Not work, love, or existence.

Language of Owls


22

Fair and listening Owl
Against the black sky
How you soar high
How you spy well

What pretty thirst for silence
On what tree of rest
On which horse ranch
Do you like to spy on best?

Far and listening Owl
Who out on a limb
Does watch the moon rise
And claws tight full of wisdom

An old hoot for a nest from the sun
Who can tell what
Hoot is thinking?
An owl named “Who”

Who loudly repeats the woot
Speaking a language of owls
With eyes to mourn and songs
To sing, ringing in the forests

Extinct and noble Owl
In some dry recess now
Of the museum’s memory
In what fantasy books
Did I see an owl-reading?

On the pursuit of Beauty


21

Beauty is not
In what words you use
But in that which you say
Without having to use words
My rhetoric never felt

The true impact of silence
My naked veils never
Completely came undone
So I remained an imitator
An imposter of art

Armed with repetition and homage
But in art, there is non one
Behind and no one ahead
We are alone on our own path
And beauty is neither here or there

That is why we must continue to write
That is why we became writers
Became we felt alone
And in finding our way
We felt the beauty

Of the passing years
In a whole new way….
Beauty is not
In what fine craft you make
But in the effort to love your craft more.

As the Sun Sings along the Navels of Prophets


Art by: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Prophet-26476972

20

But now he sleeps without end
His potential buried forever
Now the moss and the grass
Flowers the dreams of what

His life would have been
Better maybe than some fates
The dew will simply blanket
Darkness, his soul will retreat

Maybe one day to take form again
And he will seek a confident profile
And his goal will bewilder him
And his beautiful body will carry

The tiger-thirst of the multitudes
And he will play his role
Below the stars like an actor
And the horse-clouds will see him

And the groups of silence
In the corners of the Earth
Will whisper of him
Like Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus

Or Kalki whoever, it goes on
A lament for what a man stood for
A symbol for what truths can mean
Across generations; a philosopher,

A poet, a prophet, an innovator
Because, tomorrow’s love does not wait
Evolution does not falter
Her veins of coral are never mute
But flow with the pride of genius itself.

The heart was created to speak, you tell me


19

The heart was created to speak, you tell me

Being close to you is like
A monsoon of words
A translation from Arabic
Into the light of your signature
Meditation, these faded eyes

Know you, recognize
The idealism, of being nine-teen again
You who give blue alms
To the broken horizon in me?
A penny of a star?

A volume for spiritual food?
Being close to you is like
A monsoon of words
Is this twilight constitutional?
That I would wish to hear you

Speak, gentle, softly, as if
I could relish the bird-voice
Of your girlish philosophy
With your breasts to the wind?
With your throat to the cosmos?
Whispering of atoms and immortality?

Inner child metaphor of a tree


18

The trees they rise up
As if up from their own free will
Into the light, wild, happy
Strong, if only I could be that way
But nature did not make me strong
And I was not born free
But chained, enslaved, shy

But what if the dreams
Were grafted to my branches
Like fruit and I could see
The horizon with replanted forests
What if I could breathe clean fresh
Perspectives for breakfast?
Fit with buds for birds to ransack

Or pollen to spread nature
The true nature of our spontaneous
Selves, the inner-child without her mask
The trees they rise up
For too many generations, with
The secret of the ancient taste
From our growth what silver fir

Reveals the truth that was our destiny?
It was not the water, wood, air, light
These were only elements
Of how we found what we were made of
It’s just that way if I am a barren stem
I won’t be blown around as much
Nor catch the eye of creatures

But what could I then become
In an open sunlit field, left as I was…