Keys to Living #NationalPoetryMonth


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So as to be crazy for living

You may forget but
Even in Spring I remember
Someone in some future time will think of us
Their heart will remember

How to grow and serve the Muse
And never hold on to grief for long
Stand and face me, my love

And scatter the grace in your eyes
For love drives us all on
In bittersweet fate and

From those maladies that nothing can be done
Although only in breath
We pledge our mortal command
In diviner world there may exist

A longing more profound
You may forget though
The Spring will let all beings find this degree

Love will shake them
Like the wild on the mountain
Like the wind in their sails

And cool their burning desire
With the melodies of life
Send someone quick
To come and crazy for me

Help me understand why love
Is said to be a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables
I want that dream, where floods
The sweets of youth, the lace of full-robed moons.

Songs of Hedonism


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Songs of Hedonism

In the seduction of the sense
We have a series of pleasures
That introduces us to
A desire that is never quenched

So is it worth then to chase?
What fundamentally, shall
Never be caught, like dopamine on a leash
The variety that takes the soul

Off of its beloved course?
Celibacy is perhaps the sunlit path
For virtue and those who have read history
Nothing so tranquil as a good library

However, should you find secret love
Or a scandalous substitute
Remember, there is no sinner like a saint

Nothing so good for the health
As a touch, no learning like
The end of solitude, each moment

A happy lover’s hour, is worth
An age of dull and common life
Right down sensual love, is
A language all nations understand equally.

Wisdom we acquired in each other


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Wisdom is acquired in insight and experience

I want a silent woman to console
We’ll be together
A hush over everything

Silent women wait for love
While the world waits for spring
Spring is here and life has

Loveliness to sell
We’ll be those beautiful and splendid things
That have no price but youth’s offering

Carless and content like
Holding wonder like a cup
My own spirit has a feeble mastery

Of the deeper emotions that you stir
Whose vision is a warmth unconcealed
And a nudity of sense and soul

I want a feeling woman to explore
We’ll be together
The art of joy, joy of art
And thirsty range of the bounds of beauty.

Celebrity of You


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Celebrity of You

Parting is all we know of each other
And God is all we know of heaven
So why does it feel

I walk to heaven to meet you?
They say that God is everywhere
But I felt him most
In your presence

What does it mean,
So tell me the truth and tell it with a slant
I want a love that is anterior to life
Dying a wild night
In the arms of an eternal youth.

To love is so startling


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To love is so startling it leaves very little time for anything else

How strange the signs that led me to you
And you who, did not make a sign

Not unlike nature’s own
Who does not knock, and does not intrude

Whatever is most sweet
Will it come again, or
Never coming again
Make the memory of you more pure?

But memory and signs
And not my estate
Nor are you obliged to recognize
What comes so naturally to my view

I’m a nobody, who are you?
Fame is fickle, human love is
Initial, but not constant
So how shall I cleave to

A reincarnating muse
Whose success is not in the taking
Whose fortune is only
In the miraculous giving

I who don’t have such
A big heart to give, or courage
To try and love yet again.

Beauty is not caused in her


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Beauty is not caused in her

If love is immortality
How shall I love more clearly?
The day and eternity
In the collection of this necessity

They might not need me
But they might, and her
The her of my smile and sight
For her my soul stands ajar

Ready to welcome
In ecstatic experience
The small perch of her song
Will she sing to me?

Hope being a feather of will
Unable are the loved to die
For her possibility is my breath
When my whole body

Is so warm that no cold can take me
That is poetry
, and that is grace
Morning without her
Is a dwindled dawn of orange

My nerves sit and wait in pink
Ceremonious to be alive.

Soul Writers


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Soul Writers

The soul is shared memory
Whatever our souls are made
What if theirs and mine were the same?

I have worked in silence and obscurity

For as long as I can remember
Let my efforts be known by their results
And dreams that filter through
Each and every day, still

What if her soul and mine
Shared a degree of faithfulness to art
Having levelled my palace of love
Would she recognize my similarity?

Whose to say if heaven’s glories
Could shine in us, our spirits whose
Work is one and the same
To share a life takes patience
Would she condescend to give up pride?

Author’s Note:

I always wanted to have a close friendship with a writer. To this day it’s something I look for but hasn’t occured to me spontaneously. Somebody that shares the same passion for literature, quotes and the written word. It would be like our own version of soul mates…

As for the Sun


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Sun Worship

There is still a reverence
Of sun-worship left in me
Nourishing the seasons, patient golden clime
Lovely Goddess of yellow

Call God’s country everywhere
Without stars where would we be?
Not in the office of harvests
Not in the countries of Green

The sun’s rising never fails
Her setting is an indie-gleam
She’s all the states, all the royals
Of nature’s supremacy everywhere

The sun gives all a portion
Of the universe, in the eye
On the skin, and it’s a golden bridge
To beauty, warmth, life-force

This bed thy center, galactic truce
That I would swim from sun to sun
In overwhelming heat of youth.

Mystic Garden #Quote #Poetry


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Deeper than me that almost no one knows

The Universe feels
From distances and echoed times
Behold love, in the heart of everyone

An undivided wisdom of a trillion beings
Melted in Love’s own fire
Our spirits flow
Glamor of the rose

Heights of the Heavens
Tremendous opportunity of the cosmos
I feel the source run through me

Wonder-breathing flowers
Gratitude-thinking sun

And all the spirit’s weak lyric repose
And all flavours of mortality

Perfume of the petals of spring
And all the secrets the stars disclose
To galaxy and brethren

In the unaccomplished aeons
My descendants will find a way
To build a love that can endure.

The End of Sunsets #Inspiration #Quote


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Changing arrangement of Sunsets

There is no plan for sunset
It occurs spontaneously without regret
It spells an end to twilight
There’s no awkwardness in beauty
Spilled like milk into

The commonly visited public areas of the sun
There’s no avoiding its heavy furniture
Of color, it’s secure room of visual silence
It resets your day with dignity
Sometimes you just need to burry

Yourself in a moment, and pay attention
By not paying attention, and viewing
The macrocosm for what it is, your tininess
That’s anxiety hitting the fan
In Kaleidoscopes, that’s commitment

To art in nature’s intricacy
It’s an honest joy to be shocked by beauty
Cradled as if you were young, thrown back
Aesthetics is synthesis, appraisal is infinite
Experience is fluid, that’s where art begins
And you learn to shut up.

These Social Problems Ignored


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A Failure of Feedback

The big hot end of day becomes
The big hot end of the week
All efforts to labour seem futile
All work appears to be for the rich
And every year, economic inequality widens
However, there is no sign of revolution

Quite the contrary, the masses seem
More docile than ever, almost engineered to be
There is no news about injustice, only
Distractions, media blitz, cover-ups, white-washes
After all the shitty advertisements
You’d think we deserve something a

Bit more authentic, but no, culture has degraded
The sociology of control is here
Technology is a now worse-torture
And I can only continue on without being
Half-alive to the rising debt
The inflated house prices, the inflation of

The cost of living that demands budgeting
Without equality, what’s art but
Prayers of the impoverished, celebrations
Of the futile, but even the artists seem to
Ignore the real issues of the day
And prefer instead to write about nonsense.

Decline of American Poetry #Wordsmatter #NationalPoetryMonth


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Decline of American Poetry

There is a great decline in American verse
I call it suicide by vandalism
Of modern poets, poets who
Upon obtaining MFAs, talk to each other

In poetry without a soul
Now I’m not one to flag ambition
But I can spot a poser easily enough
They believe for one, that

There verse is special, beyond criticism
They write without evidence
Of the comprehension of an audience
Their writing has no currency

When read even four years later
I would not call it increased professionalism
More like, uneventful snobbery
Modern poetry has no following

Sceptical and overwrought I turn the page
There is no lyricism left
So yes, I am somewhat dismissive
Of second rate American poets

I prefer to look elsewhere
Poets are injured, buried beneath grievance
In a history that they do not even understand
It’s not to say that I don’t respect them

But the movement lacks leadership, inspiration
Poetry yes nourishes and enlivens
But not in the current form, does it
Share a narrative with a congregation of the brightest

It has no willingness to create beauty anymore
It just cannot stop speaking
Divorced from reality, activism, revolution
I don’t read poetry, to listen to

Second-rate spoken word
I’m not sure about you, or by whose authority
I’ve read exactly enough proof of decaying form
To recognize imposters nine times out of ten

Our system that awards fame is corrupt
Our best poets are not names I’m interested in
They aren’t authentic voices I’d cherish
Maybe the editors and critics are to blame?

I’d seriously challenge the categories of art
Modern poetry killed the genre
And I don’t pretend not to see the signs
The quality of poetry reflects a problem of literacy

A declining soul and strength of spirit
In the American psyche, that has been
A long time coming, fame is being distorted
With a lot of bad verse, it’s nonsense if you ask me.

Urban living in Canada


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Canadian Towns

In the history of urban space
We had little experience, as Canadians
But for argument’s sake

A country with this much land and water
Has a future in town-building
Towns may be an illusion
That people hang together somehow
Scholars paint lines in towns

Urban planners like to
Extend bike paths and
Beautify the things with roof gardens

Where you can grow your own organic vegetables
Towns should be Europeans, that is
Not devoid of culture and distinction
I don’t think Lao Tzu cared for towns
Sages could die in a modern metropolis

If you are sensitive, don’t try New York
Shouting sideways at one and another
I can only withstand polite citizens

That’s why Canada is perfect for me
Mock Bilingualism of Ottawa
Or student activists of Montreal
I find them amusing, though

Toronto is unable I hear to clean winter up
And Vancouver is lost to house-price inflation
I always wanted to move to a town
But I could never truly decide where.

Courage to Smile #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth


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The Courage to Smile

There is a geography which holds
That life is just in our hands
You destroy yourself if you don’t know
How to laugh through

Partially-coloured hours
For I am moved by the
Multitudes of your intelligence
Of your gifted sayings and sometimes

Returning with an
Open state of mind
I come to you in my night, your day

To tell you I don’t think
I want to win anything
I think I want to die unadorned

Unknown, for ever pure and innocent
There is a freedom which states
A glass of papaya juice

And back to work
For I wear my heart in my pocket
I don’t dare go down to the sidewalk

Where labor feels dirty
You know, I might as well
Leave a tiny poem

In that brain of yours and bid you my farewell
For I’ve been writing and ate
A poem on the way here
It’s been that kind of day

But thanks, to you I’ll keep
To always embrace things, people
Earth, sky, stars and do it freely
Since mortality insures
I don’t have an appropriate
Sense of time and space.

To You, With Poems


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To You, With Poems

I won’t wait for you, forever
My poems are faster than I read
Words tongued with fire

I’m the last of them, they
Live in me, it’s not a gift
To be self-forgetful
To urge on, the inner supply

Is endless, so who’s to say
That I didn’t witness
The destruction of all of man

Love is thicker than we forget
More thin than we recall
Because love is the price of everything
It’s more seldom than the wave is wet

And more true than the sun
Love is less alive than living
Subtract it and there is no fun

I won’t wait for love, I’ll live it
More frequently even in failure
More nobly even in error
And that’s why these poems

Multiply in landscapes rare
The architects must be most courageous
To let us love again.

“Love is thicker than we forget
More thin than we recall
Because love is the price of everything”

Losing #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo


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Losing as a Perquisite to Experience

The art of losing doesn’t take
Practice, we do it a bit every day
It isn’t hard to master
We all have a talent in forgetting

Memory is not accurate you see
It doesn’t take analytics to say
That we lose each other a bit
Each day, so don’t spend

Your hours badly, don’t leave
Your keys in the door
Love is a practice of losing further
Losing faster, it’s a lost art

How to watch the watches, please
Just love your life, that’s primary
Then love each other, that’s secondary
The art of losing isn’t hard to master

I owned a lifetime then it was taken away
We don’t possess, we just experience
The art of losing doesn’t take any
Special belief in the afterlife.