The seeds of poetry


The seeds of poetry

I write with the lips
of eternity, the passage
of naked centuries move in me
history’s whole body
expresses itself in my writing
the incandescent center
Of soul in language
Of literature on the brink

Hungering for incarnations
I wait for the arrival of
Transcendence in metaphor
The sublime traction of syntax
Paragraphs heavy as trees
With golden birds, cursive
Mischief, glyphs of mandarin and Korean

The fragile bride of words
Is in my hands, I’m a beggar
Of flowers and pauses
And green humming vitality
In verse, I am the wandering roots
Of linguistic music hoping
For the stars, petrified of the silence

I hold so dear and sacred
In-between poems, the excavated
Galleries of legends and symbols
The myths I live in fill me
But they do not fulfill me
Not like the carbonized drift of
Free-verse, not like the vagabond
Architectures of poem-magic.

5 thoughts on “The seeds of poetry

  1. poetry is a gift no matter who writes it, your vocabulary is much great giving your poetry a different feel than my own with it’s small vocabulary…

    Seems to me poetry has been around as long a the good book..

  2. You have a very distinct style of writing. You manage to intertwine words which would otherwise seem completely disconnected to me. And the results are terrific. Your poems never create a vivid image. Instead they just leave me struggling- struggling to tackle an inexplicable emotional state.

    • What a lovely review, I have been told I write with some ambivalence. When I was young, i had a bad speech impediment that was later found to be a brain abnormality in my broca’s area, so a lot of my poetry the “word salad” can actually be attributed to that ….

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