The Pleasure of Poetry II

What is poetry?
Poetry is a painting
That requires not logic
Or sequence, it is
A painting heard but not seen

It is the vowels that are
Fully oval, that heave learned
To find inspiration
In tragedy, poetry
Is a reset button in the brain

It is magic and dreaming
Half-awake, in the author’s
Trance, it is the fragrance
Of verse, brightly lit
On a surface of pain

It is the white page
Begging for a lesson from faith
It is not rap, it is not spoken-word
It is not clever lyrics
Poetry is aesthetic, intelligent

Intellectual, asking us to
Redefine who we are
At every breath, it does not
Simply mimic, or repeat
Poetry is that life

That we could not live
That we did not dare to realize
In everyday course of events
Poetry is the mirror
To the inner life, and door

To the very psyche of the author
It does not require audiences
Fans, likes, or even acknowledgement
It’s the journals of the Earth
The earth that is never dead

But will keep writing
As long as the human heart beats.

Pleasure in Poetry I

Art by AF-studios (http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fire-Within-Me-155600530)

What is poetry?
Poetry is the silence
Burning with all-time
History echoing in the

Shadows asking them to dance
Poetry is the first memory
Of language, when women and men
First began to distil symbols

Using words to fill emotions
With light, but we forget about the light
A poem begins as a spark
In the brain, a neurotransmitter

Of homesickness for something divine
For a present with beauty
Poetry is the least imposition
On silence in a world of chatter

Where information is censored
And the truth is not to be found
What is poetry?
It’s that which drives my soul

In a precise thing like mathematics
To reach beyond language for the stars
With audiences that were literate
Asking words to become butterflies

From the usual caterpillars
Anyone could be a poet
Poetry are thoughts that breathe
And burn in our minds until

They hit the page softly
Uniting pleasure with truth.

These Natural acts

The sun and its hammer
The light, bathes the Earth
Not unlike, how I enter you

Natural, visiting your gardens
Like an eclipse of our relationship
That is never ending

And will continue in countless
Females and males, two parts to the key
Of creation, vivacity of moments

We enter a drop of water
To form a precious bond
We transform from individuals

To couples, like a point of abandoning
The futility of being alone
This naked embraces celebrates that

The rain and its festivity
The flood, erases the messiness
Not unlike, how our sexual sharing

Eradicates poor romantic memories
Creating another layer
Of love to the feast of life

This spiral of hours leads to this
The world half-opened on the branch
Of spring, the you and me

That is so meaningful in the end
And salient to evolution
A muffled drum of the blood

The gift from our ancestors
We continue their rites like
Kissing or touching

With hardly a thought
We simply follow our nature.

I Seal Your Sex

My day exploded in your night
And my letters came to life
In your bed, all the poems
In my heart took shape their
In the undressing of our lives

Silently we approached
The hour of the Goddess
And all my dreams
Of platinum literature
Took root in the tree of your womb

I open the lips of your night
Without speaking, but with
A lifetime of poetry carried
In my soul, like golden grapes
I give to you the shadows of the moon

The whiteness of infinity
Your rose burns through the snow
Your flesh dangerously close
To the dawn, and we repeat
The cycle eternally

Male and female, active and passive
Lovingly with all the sleep
And literature and art in our bones.

Karma Dragons

We all invent a face for ourselves
A life to lead, experiences
To intrinsically alter our
Soul’s DNA, our evolutionary quotient

We lived and died
And were reborn as other people
We all required a narrative
To live in order to get

Where we are going
That which is at the heart of learning?
We get wrinkles on our faces
Our wrinkles have no faces

We are a spirit luminous
Trembling in a garden of flesh
How the trees lean together
And whisper in the night

We should know social bonds
Not simple be, a single
Monotonous intensity of identity
But know, what we experience

Others experience, symmetrically
We all invent a life for ourselves
A path to tread, a body of experiences
The calligraphy of the birds

Or the dire poverty of
A marketplace exploited by others
We were animals with
Radiant hands, and still had

A good land for dreaming
And I still begged for moderation and simplicity
To be tied to time with a light thread.

Gold Years

Gold Years

No need to take hold
Of the ancient image
We will decline with the day
To enter the turquoise tunnel
Of life’s wisdom and observation

After labour, mating, breeding
We know what comes next
Art, spirituality, high beauty
Animal, mineral, wood
We have reincarnated back

Into stars, and fixtures of light
No need to remember the past
Our purity is in our gratitude
The service we offered to
To the assemblies of singing universes

We were a bit of everything once
We sampled the goods
And came out with
The vague idea of infinity
And recollections of eternity.