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


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


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.