I H a v e My R e a s o n s 


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I H a v e My R e a s o n s

My name cues the way home
I have become nobody, no one
For how insignificant are my words

In one country on one planet
Near a sun among a billon suns
In one galaxy of a hundred billion suns
In a universe among a hundred billion
Galaxies, we float in a quasi-narrative

13.8 billion years old, my words
Is a thin balcony upon existence
I will live maybe 80 years, maybe use

A few thousand words at best
There is no such calling as poet
I cannot speak for martyrs or prophets
Nor have I been summoned here
My body is starting to suffer like a vehicle

In my dream, planets have voices
Strangely in isolation from neighbours
Not unlike people with their alphabetizing brains

Is language then the dark matter?
That makes up information and is yet
Invisible, and what is the black hole
Of philosophy and the last curfews of reason
I see no evidence of objective truth

Only the narratives we fantasize about
To give our reality a semblance of order.

P r a y e r s for Baltimore #BaltimoreRiots #poem #society #Baltimore #inequality


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P r a y e r s for Baltimore

Give me a broom or a shovel
And I’ll walk with you, I don’t live in
Baltimore Maryland, but I’ve seen enough
Black teenagers shot this year, by police

I think Baltimore burns for a reason
It’s a crime Americans hardly demonstrate
Here in Montreal, we’d be on the
Streets every night, if this happened to us

We’re all slaves at one time or another
The white man did a lot of things
But racism has got to stop, in a freakin’
Melting pot, where I hear Spanish more than English

If Baltimore bleeds, I think it’s worth it
Boys in blue do it again and again
White cop shot another black teen
Say again, you mean to tell me again?

You bring in the army and line the streets with soldiers
There’ no restraint in it either way
If you don’t want rioters, clean up your act
Changing your culture, grow some equality

This American dream is a pitch of Wall Street
Fund some education, keep families together
Instead you spend on the military
Baltimore, we don’t need any more martyrs
The state of emergency is pretty clear.

L i t t l e Acts of G i v i n g 


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L i t t l e Acts of G i v i n g

Love won’t be taken back
It was given freely like always
Gratitude behaved good today in your heart
It will circulate in you like a diamond cutter
Night after night, those positive affirmations

Are echoing poems with forgiveness
For this world that does the unthinkable
To bodies, lives, souls, communities

ii

I used to think about the aftermath of idealism
How pragmatists forgot their youthful selves
So in the meantime, I’ve found a recipe
For staying young, in the spring-values
Of a lifetime, the heart hoards roses

And everything else is secondary
And everything that sings is that which listens
It’s an aerial visitation of summer

And every word rolls in the mouth
Like a delicate poem, like a tender bud
Love won’t end, it’s not a pie to be divided
It’s a sheltered free-flow of freedom
We’ll move higher and higher until

iii

We breathe the stars with likeness
Our simplicity will be a high-speed review
Of identity and shared identification

We’ll be thrill on the narrow streamline
Of mortal nights, and dive into a hundred
Pockets of hidden meaning, arriving always
At a new state of wonder, that’s gratitude
Some part of the heart that finally
Learned to receive by little acts of giving.

U n d e r s t u d y of B e a u t y 


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U n d e r s t u d y of B e a u t y

You are so beautiful it’s as if
You’ve locked up beautiful things
That you have moved me

That you might show me
It is true I’m afraid of the power within you
If you would look at me

I would show you the immensity of it
The size and majesty of it, ask any man
How wonderful it is, yellow woollen breast

Grass bent in prayer, dew leaping over
Your feet, you are so beautiful
I should have asked for your name

Out lout and answered yes
But beauty is fleeting, like youth
You wrote it down, maybe that is enough

Like rubbing against by mistake
Freshly painted doors, listening
To laughter on the other side

There’s no woman on the internet
There’s no women in my life
So proactive as a fleeting face

Etched in my memory for love’s mortal hours
Yes hours, that cannot dream of intimacy
That learns suddenly, you are already a mother.

Question & Answer


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Question & Answer

We are the not famous poets
We celebrate the common person

Black, Hispanic, Chinese, gay, Trans, Disabled
Senior, teenager, semi-homeless, poor, impoverished
Please excuse this poem

A poem has no right to make a dollar today
Only to celebrate the breathless holiday
Of art, the tragedies of living

The news doesn’t talk about
The violence in impoverished lands
Where billions have no enforcement of law
They talk about the privileged

It’s a state of affairs run by the entitled
Were you born in an entitled nation?
Where you have the luxury of

Talking about God or the state or art
There are human beings out there
Who if they wrote a poem it would be

About survival, about how not to be
Drowned by immigrant traffickers
Off the coast of Italy, or how

To move to a county with some semblance
Of prosperity, those would be words
Worth hearing, but how many have no voice.

P o e t r y in U t e r o #sundayblogshare #poetry #amwriting


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P o e t r y in U t e r o

There is a wall to break down
Between people and poetry
And I intend to break it
High-brow poets frequent academic

Institutions with high tuition bills
Low-brow poets are like rappers
They free-verse in the street

As the public feels poetry
Is a heavy intimidating word
It’s not, it’s not rhyming poetry
They made you memorize in primary school

Poetry is like music, it has
A lot of genres and encompasses
Embraces cultures all over the planet

It’s also one of the oldest traditions
Signs from the root of language
It has accompanied empires since
The dawn of time, but modern man

Fears it like it’s a degenerative tedious thing
Old men do in clubs that have died out
Well it’s not, it’s alive in every city
In a few good books a year

It’s plastered like graffiti all over
The internet, on blogs and in cup-cake
Author websites that never get viewed

Just ask the Poet Laureates if it can survive
They will say its demise is a myth
And a reality, that it’s complicated
But if there ever was an art for the people

An art for young people, and women
It’s poetry, it can change your life.
Poems can change your mind and
Make a romantic out of the rugged.

Z e i t g e i s t Enchanted #singularity #transhumanism #zeitgeist


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Z e i t g e i s t Enchanted

I whispered precipice towards the singularity
I felt the intangible change in humanity
Drones, predictive analytics, cyber-warfare

I knew we were at a teetering point
Quantum computing would usher in
High and Bright decades

Even more reliance and compliance
Getting lost in the matrix for a dig at compassion
Walking in another man’s shoes for real
I watched TED talks each week wondering
At the original transcendence of humanity

If all these virtual worlds would take us there
To the cliff of the science-fiction
Where machine learning became

Synonymous with sustainability
For the future was rushing us
And time was accelerating as we knew her
A quantum entanglement with

All future selves and meme descendants
Having children no longer consisted of
Popping out babies, there was a synergy

Between mind and mind across time-space
Distances and decades, the glowing throng
Of information-influence, binary would one day
Be an artefact of a caveman-esque find

I’d reincarnate on a terraformed Mars
I was planning my future intoxicated
With the dangers and intrigues of my time.

P r o p h e c y for P o e t s 


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P r o p h e c y for P o e t s

A poet’s competition is silence
A poet’s competition is extinction
For they are the voice of the living
More importantly, all who will live
Poets obsesses over the dead because
They inherit and continue the tradition
It’s a tradition of voice and narrative
Of beloved meme as an offering to beauty
Language lives evolving like an organic thing
If you can, translate foreign poems
Into English and into Mandarin
Everyone is your teacher, an interesting life
Comes from inside, the void will ask you
Many times, to stop writing, to put down your pen
Don’t do it, writing is hard work
So, burn, like a lost soul in time
And find yourself in a poem, in the margins
Notes, insights, faith that you have always loved.

We’re all from immigrant fathers 


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We’re all from immigrant fathers

I’ve been busy I must admit
Performing an autopsy on my shadow
It’s a tedious tumbling of self with not-self
And I’ve come to the conclusion

That it might never be finished
That I might have to live this skin

Of bone-flower-elegy of psyche
I’ve been too busy trying to be grateful
Moon stiches and a refugee of the sun
My body is slowly collecting lightning

And sound from this dimension
Like a magnet for the magical realism

I’ve started to remember dreams for
Maybe the first time in my life
With a magical aspect of eroticism
From which I believed myself immune

There is a serene aspect to feeling abnormal
A little illegal, a little uncouth

We were all bohemians in our own minds
Our conscience filled with pink juxtaposing
The encounters of thumb with mouth
Nipple with chest, facial hair with the mirror.

F o o t p r i n t s of Loneliness


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F o o t p r i n t s of Loneliness

I am hunted by my father’s lack of approval
And haunted by my mother’s naiveté
How a family can live on inside
A psyche, for good or ill, but one day

Our parents die; we may even lose touch with a brother
The empire in which we were born
Might lose its world-power and prestige

Taunted by a ruined name, we live on
With each version of our childhood we remember
We must pass a threshold of regret

And carry a student’s debt into the decades
I don’t know if it’s secrets which I carry
Or simply the dread of ancestors and descendants
The broken chain that started with me

Hypnotized by shadows, too poor to settle anyhow
Our ovaries will dry up one day
And my fleshy handle won’t be operative

If I were a dream you could say I unravelled
My mortality, but truth does not matter here
Only that answers we tell ourselves at the end of a long day
And the souls who save us with kindness and security.

Let us look to the bend of the road 


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Pictured, the talented and gorgeous Tina Chang, Poet Laureate of NY.

Let us look to the bend of the road

Last night I found my face spilled
With the water of palms older and lines wilder
It seems they changed a little over night
The dawn is sometimes mischievous

Her light is a wounded pink as if,
Not truly ready for morning or new breath
For this world can be ugly, her children
Brash and unruly, fighters in their own right

Like a short woman of Asian descent who must
Fight for everything she has gotten
Taking gender studies classes has a majesty of bite
In her words, like a daughter who marries late

And berates others for mispronouncing her (Bengali) name
Identity is birthright, part destiny
And waking life is sometimes more burden then cheer
Some of us fake the drama and others seek it out

To feel alive drive home the muse
But the water doesn’t always turn to wine
And the frustrated authors don’t always turn out right
A silver blur across the skyline and you hit 30

The idea of revolution wasn’t holy
It was a necessary invitation to danger
To change the world, you have to risk everything
Loveless one, Sani, divine-child

We live on timetables that summon nothing
Tired of waiting and wanting, the clocks
They will run out, and we’ll be tired
It’s all nothing but a passage, lovely minutes only
When we start writing again.

Poetry is Like Wonder in Sunday Clothes #amwriting #poem #writer #literature



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Poetry is Like Wonder in Sunday Clothes

I could never abandon Poetry
She was too generous a lover
An echo, asking a shadow to dance
She was never finished, only remixed
In my heart that is never finished

I am relived in other poets
The most misunderstood artist
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn

Time encapsulated in soul-lyrics
I could never put her down for long
I could never abandon Poetry on the street
Could you? She is part journey
Part of the suffering, the questions

That were once young, or always stay eternal
It’s impossible to extinguish her pleasure
She’s inadvisable to start, since you cannot leave

She’s the heroin of sound and measure
The suicide drug of the introverted
Poetry is more mysterious than finance
And to me, more necessary
I think Nature is the ultimate poet

The tunnel at the end of the light
A galactic center of beauty
At the source of all life

I could never abandon her myths
Her waves and the way she touches me
This genuine communication, this thrill
A simplicity of being, like the moon
She does not advertise anything

She has her moments, intervals of
Being misunderstood, truth in Sunday clothes for sure
The unedited escape of personality
Into the unknown, that’s poetry
The memory of enigma, the hour
Of when emotion transcended experience.

The Poetry we Brought With Us #amwriting #AppreciateAnAuthor #wordsmatter #blog


47


The Poetry we Brought With Us

I’ve found evidence of life
In poems, the dash of dictionary
Spirit’s metamorphosis
Ink stains on my smile
What gets lost in translation

Is a lot, the silence and the person
The Imaginary gardens
The collected experiences of the individual
We were poets even in prose
Even on our break, in steadfast definition

Of being possessed by beauty
Of being distorted by gratitude
Our identities were vital truths
To history, that’s how intimately
We related to words, we made rhetoric

Out of the quarrel with ourselves
We founded our own kind of poetry
It was, the liberation of the senses
Divinity’s distinction of image and soul
It was a Plato tattoo on the back of our hand

Always ready, immediately syllabled
We kept invisible keepsakes of our tribe
Like misprint of reincarnations forgotten
We felt the summer skies in books
And heaven’s lies in paragraphs

We became prophets of philosophy kidnapped
And activists against ugliness
The secret suffering was ours
We found beautiful music even in
The most tormented of societies

And we envisioned the future
Wed to the joys of the past
I’ve found evidence of life in nature
And an unknown author
With appropriate ghosts

Exploring my own amazement
I felt the symmetry of poetry
As precise as astronomy
Portraits of revelation lost
In Haikus to the infinite

Maybe we all carry the soul
Of a poet who died young inside of us.

Magic of Poetry #amwriting #wordsmatter #AppreciateAnAuthor


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Magic of Poetry

My love haven’t you heard?
A poem helps change the shape of the universe
That is why we write, to rearrange
Our spirit so death shall have no dominion

Over our fragile psyches, so then
The purity of our love might be translated
From the language of one heart
To the soulful listening of the many

So next time you ask yourself
What is the point? Remember dear
Our frail deeds danced in a green bay
And it was laughter and celebration

Because their words had heard of lightning
And the beauty of the storm, and every
Obstacle seemed clearer in that music
Wild men caught hint of the prophecies

And began to sing and make art
To learn to grieve with dignity
My love haven’t you been listening?
A poem casts the net of silence all around

Making fate seem like a good night’s pardon
Poetry is the whisper of each generation
Which says: I love you so much
I’ll never be able to tell you

And if, with my soul I could touch the earth
I would tremble like a dream, sad and beautiful
To hear all the poems you have read
Until time herself holds me green and dying

And behind the secret eyes of dreamers
All is washed away and understood.

Featured Artist: http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/

Prophecy Rising #poem #singularity


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After Atlantis

I have been mystic and child
In this fragile world, corrupted history
I’ve washed the seashore of endless
Evolution and found trackless water

I’ve led Tempests across deserts
Out of Africa, I’ve met fragments
Of Neanderthals and bred a future humanity
I’ve met aliens and learned astrology

From Mayan priests and held
Sanskrit texts that no longer exist
I’ve seen my descendants colonize Mars
Let my country awaken, I said to

China, India, Brazil, South Africa
For the newborn hope for a new humanity
Not one solely based on profit and consumerism
But soul and the propriety of the people

I’ve felt the deliverance of machine-learning
And seen what predictive analytics can do
I’ve washed my hands in the singularity
And tasted the hidden honey of the future’s dream

Utopia was a conjuration of a thousand lines
Of progress holding civilization captive
In its fugitive autonomy of descendent divinity
And I was either extinct or home
When I heard the future music

Ode to Rabindranath Tagore


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Ode to Rabindranath Tagore

The butterfly counts not years, but minutes
The rose counts not months, but moments
So what is beauty in another time?
Love is the only reality

The stars repeat it as light’s mantra
And if trees are the earth’s endless
Essay to speak to blue heaven
And if the oceans are the planet’s special

Way of finding uniformity in origins
Think then that your love cannot
Claim possess over these things
But give freedom and sustainability

Because for your love, the world
Has suffered cruelly, so your families
Could be born other species have gone extinct
That you might have airplanes, internet and cities

A lot has been lost from this place
And your children will not see those birds
Science and corporations of profit
Government and institutions of measure

Do not always care, it’s the artists
And the children that know how to count
The important matters of humanity
Be like a mother and a philosopher in all that you do.

Introduction to Dreamlike Metaphors 


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Introduction to Dreamlike Metaphors

Do not be too harsh with your art
Do not be too hard to these poems
Great is the hand that holds
Dominion over a poet’s scribbled name
Not the critics of the day
But the audience of tomorrow
Birds and symbols to our flying name
That our birthday began with water
For the romance of a life’s possibility
Venus lies star-struck in her wonder
And the sensual ruin that we made
Upon the flesh of our own miracles
The experience that were seasons fluid
The brains beyond age, the dark veins
Of our aging mother, the many deaths
We had to go through to get
To the mercy of the means of vocabulary
We laboured a lifetime just to find our voice
To sing in our chains like the sea
And to charm the golden heydays
With our eyes for beauty and dingle starry heights.

Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not


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Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not

Whatever talents I possess
May suddenly diminish or disappear
In my education was beauty
I had to write indiscriminately
For with eyes such as mine
Time was the lovers lost
And a kind of rage against the dying light
Whatever poems I wrote
Were a kind of toast to the worlds
That if this star should go extinct
I might burn one last bridge with a song
And if posterity learn to look after itself
Never be lucid, never state
That you have found yourself
For poetry was the function of a journey
And it won’t end with you or I
It will go on as long as doubt, questions
And beauty and suffering exists.

Poetry Does Not Sleep #amwriting #poem #writer #literature


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Poetry Does Not Sleep

The poet makes death tremble
For taking us one day
For in giving beauty to our words
I serve a beast, an angel and a madman
Within me, it’s terrifying then

To write about how our lives diverged
On a path from the same source
Who cares if we take a road
Less traveled to arrive at the same source?
You might have an ordinary life

And I might have a life of spirit-fire
But who’s to say who is the richer, or the poorer
When we all define success differently
If I can stop one heart from breaking
From the bottom of my heart of words

I shall not live in vain, cool the aching
Life is unpredictable, but one thing I know
I found I change best with the seasons
When I’m writing, which happens quite often
I promise spring is coming

And with it, brand new leaves like poems
I will be the sunlight ripening again
I will be the buds and birds in circled flight
I will live on in poetry, I will not have died.

That You Belong to Poetry #amwriting #erotic #AppreciateAnAuthor


“You know an author is good, when they can afford you inspiration on all levels.”
– Wuji on the work of, the illustrious, EJ Koh

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That You Belong to Poetry

I want to map nudity as a concept
To dare to be vulnerable
To fumble telepathically

Against each other
Not forced but slow
Warm like uncovering morsels
Of electricity and find the right skin

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Enormously divine and watery
For this is our play and our poetry
In bodies and minds like blankets
I search for her warmth in her pain

The taunt Asian skin that ages so slowly
I want to slip beneath her lines
Go where I’m not strictly allowed

Since my finger search would
Lead me only to a kind of shelter
Where my hand is caught in an ocean
Where as wild beats we’d play hide and seek

Until the ends of time in new bodies
Then, I will, I promise I will transform
Every part of you into poetry
And you will die to your solitude without hesitation
Knowing on gut instinct the variety

Of pleasure I will be able to afford you
And before I hunt for you I will wait
For the briefest of time, for the

World to stop, so that our shared aroma
Might hang in the air for the cosmos to witness
Before the love-chase finds me
Studying you like a chimera

Or a golden suitcase that floats
From city to city, novel to novel.

Perfectly Red #amwriting #erotic #NaPoWriMo #AppreciateAnAuthor


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Perfectly Red

What if I were to tell you,
I am profoundly enchanted
By the flowing complexity in you
Would you believe me, that I have read
You like a novel, dove into your skin

Your diaries I’ve taken into my heart
Move me, may I be the one to
Unlace your secrets down your spine
Hitching up your skirt to straddle your mind
They saw the brain is the most erotic organ

In ways you are but and will remain a stranger
Like a seed I will never sow
And with lips I am yet to ever kiss
With eyes that have not met in a flood
Of these lingering touches I’ve never known

What if I am aroused by your
Labour of scripture, your tyranny of ambition
When it comes to authors, they are not
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All it takes are the tools of

Our minds writing letters at an uncontrollable pace
But I suspect, you like to pull close
Then dart away, breathing in short bursts
In anticipation of the next melting
Where you are perfection and I am

Always slightly ready, with mouth of wonder slightly open
And heart turned wet in a stranger’s kiss.

A Window Into your Soul #amwriting #poem #NationalPoetryMonth #eroticverse


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A Window Into your Soul

My dear, you take pleasure in the face
With a thirst I cherish of cherry grasping
And you are not dead yet, so I chew
On the heart of your chiselled femininity
Where I want to wet your lips

With all the water of the meadows
And drown in the melodies of your tongue
And elevate your heart-rate with
The kiss that can intoxicate from deep down
And I will stumble O’ so dizzy

Into your heart like a green room spinning
And then our veins will hum in sweet-madness
And the fire that burns inside of you
Will erupt in a soft gold glowing
Of all the sunsets we ever wanted to drink

And your skin will explode with my
Deep throbbing, and we will gesture
At the universe together in sweet knowing
Our time here is precious and our
Pleasures are on the same journey

So taste the wonder with me
Taste it like a window to your soul
I want to hear your grateful surrender
And feel your body quiver
Never minding the naked protocol

Of how our appetites work best for each other
Or how our hunger is a broken rule.

A Sensitive Man #amwriting #poem #micropoetry #erotic


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A Sensitive Man

I love the April rain
And your soft little moans behind
Behind where my wandering hands
Felt the cool embrace of tomorrow
I like the encore of our sweet thrills
These encounters we repeat

In different seasons, with the same bodies
You taught me a rhythm of your blood
Where you squirm in secrets
And behind your eyes
I can predict the pleasure

Of your hidden chambers
Where your soul invites me
To walk along those corridors
Where lust might turn to love
And like May flowers, you might become

The secret I craved to discover
That a touch can save your life!
Kissing like this is frankly
Kicking death in the ass while singing
And like a window to your soul
I only want to make love with you.

Touch Was Here  #erotic #amwriting #poem #micropoetry


 

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Touch Was Here 

I like your body when it is with my
Body, it is certain to be pleased
Not just sensually, but spiritually

It is quite a lesson to lie like this
With bread crumbs for big eyes
And spring for firm-smooth skin

And trembling gold of Taiwanese fragrance
The ocean parting in your flesh
And a thrill of being like a virgin again
Without orgasms, not in it for cheap howls
But the lust of a more tender unity

Not lust, more like magic butter caressing
Like oxytocin on steroids, feeling
It’s killing time with a stranger

And finding a soul-mate in the crowd
Taking them to bet to part those sheets
Like holy waters of our love
And we pray together in the heat
Like a born again believer

And in the healing of eroticism
We find a basic means of self-knowledge
Where a clitoris is as indispensable as poetry
And silence is preferable when our bodies talk.

Realization of Solitude #amwriting #poem #NationalPoetryMonth #micropoetry


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Man is the only being who knows he is alone

This morning, let me drink the silence
Let me swim in my own solitude
Being the profoundest condition
Of my humanity, you’d think

I should get to know her better
Intimacy and silence, that’s all
There every is, I cannot often
Penetrate another being with my love

Since surrender must occur mutually
And there are times my emotion
Does not require reciprocity
This morning, let me forget about altruism

For we all deserve the dream
Beyond myself, somewhere, I shall
Then wait for my own arrival
The slow enlightenment of lifetimes

Because two bodies, naked and entwined
Soul and body, mind and heart must somehow
Learn to live together and leap
Over time, we are not invulnerable

However in the silence of today
I realize there are no yesterdays, no names,
No you and I and no tomorrow
This morning, I want to give myself up
To something higher than I ever was.

Instagram

Poetry and you Leave the same Lasting Impression 


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Poetry and you Leave the same Lasting Impression

It’s not necessary to say that I loved you
Because the entire universe
Conspired to help me find you
And each day it conspires in us such a harmony
And if imagination is more

Important in our relationship, than knowledge
I shut my eyes and all the world
Drops away, and it’s just us
If I’m a victim of introspection
You bring me back again and again

To the real world your feminine pragmatism
Assures me is the important one
I know, my poetry is a tyrannical discipline
It’s not affording you a good lifestyle
However hypnotized I am by its workings

I often find myself watching you
As you eat a piece of fruit or share a conversation
So darling, if the moon smiled
She would no doubt resemble you
It’s not necessary to say that I love you each day

But I still do anyways, it makes my
Lungs dilate with the onrush of breath
That I’m a part of the scenery
Air, mountains, trees, people, thought
Life affords me just enough raw materials

To create the reality I want
To be acutely aware of for the rest of my life.

The Initiation into Poetry #amwriting #poem #writer #literature


Screen Shot 04-20-15 at 03.28 AM 001Wendy Chen

The Initiation into Poetry

It’s said that poets are anxious bohemians
A strange figure in a dishevelled landscape
With some kind of Baudelaire complex
Alive with sex and tragic forsaken brooding
Or some schizophrenic Holderlinian tick

Some Plath-worthy enigmatic illness
That is hard to treat, harder to diagnose
But the truth is, poets invent their own reality
On another level, than you and I
They are like jesters in love with words

They can’t stop the ranting
They are infatuated with the music
And the temptation of anxiety and trepidation
The anticipation of freedom that is the after-taste of verse
Like wanting to be loved, and not knowing how

I knew a few poets who are mild autistics
They will imagine something beautiful about you
But’s it’s an ultimately self-annihilating plight
Like how we all need another soul to cling to
Poets cling to beauty, and the soul of other poets

And love to die for their art, making good martyrs
I guess you may or may not have the stomach for it
It’s not something you can do exceptionally well
It’s the feeling of going to hell and heaven
On a dime, to imagine you have a calling for it

It’s a daily demonstrative love you feel
That you put and marry to the page
Day after day, until all memory is a fragment
Of a poem you once wrote, it starts to have
A life of its own, poets taste glory in each day
And aren’t particularly afraid of experiencing pain.

Brief History of the Galaxy #Humanity #environment


Screen Shot 04-20-15 at 02.57 AM

Brief History of the Galaxy

Numbers are the cosmic language, or maths
As light is the universe’s way of greeting
Stars form around other stars, like

A who’s who of popular luminosity
It’s not always the colors you think
That have the most life, or where

The best species grow up
I know a blue Earth where
Humans made machines that made other machines

That’s the life that was left there
And they found a way to harness the sun
For free-energy, since the petrol companies

Had long ago died and forgot to destroy
The patents to free-energy, machines liked it of course
It didn’t require all those killing organics
To be running around like they owned everything.

Definition of Manhood


42


Don’t Ask me Who I am

It’s ironic to me then that a man
Is an arrow shooting into the future
And a woman is both the aim
And the place of strength from which

The bow shot the arrow in the first place
Oh well, It’s not like my mother failed
Just that I was a bit too pure for war
Not to be shot off into the world so quickly

Dying by that same arrow is an art
Though I think courage has died out
I’m not a man, in the sense of who they used to make them
Let me just live, love and say it well in

Good sentences, and I’ll be happy
As I commute from one hand to another
Like money, like the catalogue of value
I’ll be the unpublished writing

Who drowned in hot baths
Or a disclaimer than I never truly
Learned how to write but
I’m dying to get my soul back from you.

Open Invitation


41

Like Air & Water

Hello, I wish we would have connected earlier
We should meet in another life
We should meet in air

Me and you, with a new world between us
In loving people too much, or not enough
I felt the scenes of my life

Anonymously, my consuming interests
Were psycho-social
If not, to talk to everybody

As deeply as I could
We would sleep in open fields
And travel west in our hearts

To walk freely into the night
Maybe in, another time and place
I wouldn’t be so terrified of

The malignity of the mechanics
Of how separated our lives are now
A schizophrenic individualism

Where profit counts more than people;
Goodbye, I wish we would have known each other
We should meet in another life

We could meet in water
Me and you, without the deluded sense
Of desperate egoism of this culture

I will leave our unity for then
Until then, I will take a deep breath
To listen for the shore, that’s the heart
At the other end of time.