Cosmology Practice

There is a light in my little brain
A secret depth in my special soul
That does not measure but experiences
An inner realm of shinning immortality

It sees in nature the oneness of the worlds
And in unity, finds a boundless grace
Stars vast with gratitude’s taste
And eyes with vision for a greater inclusive love

There are deeds I’ve done from
My spirit’s blank humility, where I
To myself no longer do exist
And I become a meditation of the lonely years

Filled with giving, silence and purity
There I am somebody else, or another stage
I exist there not to profit, or to please
Or to procreate but to admire and cherish

To empathize and serve a cause I can believe in
To fulfill the universe in my own rhapsody
And to calculate my seeking in pure poetry.

The Earth Has No Lovers Left

In the garden of my mind
I hear strains of rare music
It’s not the pungent quotes of the young
It’s something else, like the

Philosophical banter of a true friend
And how unlikely an embrace it is
To listen to that silent music
It’s not like the stroke of birds or cats

Not like the worrisome tone of human beings
It’s evening set in her recurring majesty
That! Never truly gets old somehow
In the garden of her mind I find

The walls of beauty, revealing luxury
But I sit and ask myself how profound
Is it, what is she missing in her cocktail of
Yearning youth and burning ambition

I think she’s missing a spirit, a skirt of soul
I cannot judge, but I suspect she’s dancing
To the beat of the world’s drum, some hyper
Post-modern standard of perfection

It’s the famed and over-used contemporary tango
And it’s the voice that rings out on all sides
But that’s not the beauty I adhere to, nor
The values that secretly quench me

I’m more attracted to an altruism
The way a cat embodies the sun of morning
Stretched out and like a kitten again
Purrs their grey eyes into the distance

Where life is a meditation, and youth is just
One asana, in a long sequence of fire and prayer
There aren’t any lovers left who can save me
I’m on a one way course to divinity

There’s no taxi where I’m going
There’s no snare yet available quite like God
O’ and the universe, if I can’t have love
I’ll drink the Earth into her cosmic underwear.

The Unexpected Death of Idealism

Oh, there’s reason for these sighs
And peace, from maturity
Inertia of no longer fighting
For ideals that are bigger than self

That’s the vague grey canvas of age
Talking, strangely through time
An apathy of our youthful heroism
I can wish now late, with words and spitefulness

But nothing empties dreams faster
Than poverty, student debts, a harsh economy
I said goodbye, to art, to fantasy, to women
But my heart keeps coming back

I pray to the soft ray by the window pane
And to my peach hibiscus that has blossomed
Unexpectedly, there’s a white peacock
In my dreams, that wakes me form my silence

I brood for a future me, and for a feminist hysteria
But there’s no raspberry jam, no honey and tea
I cannot forgive a world that doesn’t fight
For a better world, that’s not the legend of love

That I’m a part of, I want a higher cause
A championed course, and kids that believe
In more than profit and competition
Oh, there’s reason for these sighs

That come with a price of actually caring
About what’s happening to the world
A world that doesn’t beg for your love
It only evolves quicker without you

I’ve no cure for happiness, when
The majority has it worse than I do.

White Nights of Beijing

China, do you hear whispers of the people?
I’ve written down the words
That a country doesn’t dare to speak
But the firewalls are large and heavy

And Hong Kong remains lethargic too
The umbrella revolution didn’t get far
Can students change the world?

Let the leaves rustle and the economy slow
The horn cries and the people do not move
It’s back to the drawing room, I hear
The factories are becoming robotized

You travel an entire day to bring
Your Mother a bouquet of flowers
She has never received one before like this

You came to Canada in idleness and prosperity
But now you realize the years pass silently
In the homeland, while you think of yourself
The people suffer, more miserable than you

I’ve not lit the candles but I know
Which way the wax runs, in times of
Masks worn in dark corners of Beijing

The air is no longer pure, sunsets gloom
With the light of the drunk sounds of
Brainwashing and patriotic outcries
This is not North Korea, but this is control

I speak those words, today, that come
Born of the spirit of history, I know
How the decades go, preserving tradition

Enhancing glory, bright bouquets that press
The people into the streets, without answers
A clavichord of feudalism staining
The times with guilt, that some make it

While the sea of people must go without
I will not belong to a world of inequality
I will not thrive until we can share it.

P.S. A world of nations and patriotism is not a free world. One world, one future.

Notes from the Future Underground

(Love letters to Asia)

I snow dive into you
Like the air of Autumn beating
Against your chest, the yearning

Of youth that is no longer young
Trapped in an aging body
My face knows no mercy!
I am the dove of white stitching
With a heart for a stranger’s smile

I’m an open lake of enigmas and
Surreal plaything of golden leaves
If you wish to, look into my eyes

There is nothing but guarded purity there
An endless array of ideals before sunset
I’ve cherished things and people
I will never meet, never see
But simply by knowing they exist

I am made more noble, more caring
About a world that shows only
It’s rough underbelly, it’s trials and stupidities

A civilization so vulnerable that believes
Capitalism will last forever
But I see the cracks in the system
The memory of corruption bare
And I will not agree to disagree, I will fight

For a revolution if need be, while I am young
Chilled and numb, I will not take
My place among the profiteers

Who joyless create a dead world
I drink to my soul, with the straws of eternity
And have distance foundations in my view
I strategize with machine learning paradigms
For more than flowers of written down words

I strive for an Autumn of convergence
That won’t be attainable until many years from now.

P.S. Instagram is blocked in China.

Without fingers of ecstatic women

What kind of a man would
Lives in words, marking them down as religion
As if life were a thing

You could inscribe, encode, digitize
A woman cannot be turned into art
She’s creation itself
There’s no binary to her

She’s magic, her care and womb
Loathes what is not real
Maybe that is why women despise poets
They don’t have time to become

Attached to a dreamer, their unborn children
Urge them to find less wild men
And besides, what atonement is there

In a life of unread poems?
I think I used to wash myself in that river
And I used to travel those landscapes
Maybe I was too poor to really travel

Maybe I was too cowardly
To find a woman I could stare into
And know all the beauty of this planet
I am nearly resigned to growing old

Alone with poems, like some familiar signal
Of my squandered youth, of literature
Being used to be my illegitimate cover
My design to escape from reality.

In Muse with Everything

In Muse with Everything

Every poem I wrote was
In a way a love poem
Dangled with stars, overboard on
How nature balances our dreaming
With a cruel reality of

Goodbyes and not-so-greats
Much earlier, I was an untamed idealist
Pure in how my poems scattered
Everywhere, with a heart for all things
And still, rain soaked vanilla fragrance

I’m still the dream within a dream
I do not hesitate the life my soul
Needed to live, there are no regrets
In karma, this dark twenty-something
Brawler with gratitude, this epic

Taster of green sparks of spring
The flowers were blue-eyed monsters
To me that I loved, I never had
Friends like dead philosophers,
I related to the gravity of literature

The way a young woman cannot touch herself
My purest joys were private, like that
Every poem I wrote was
About how our limits help us experience
What God could not lift out of us

We were born artists, in the way
Delicious music sings itself out of our sleep
And we awake, to what life brings
The tempo and the sage of us
The faces so sadistically temporary.

It’s only natural

Your heart and my heart
They are not strangers my friend
We have met before, many times
Across the tenderness of the wayward sun

I’ve known you at dawn
I’ve known you in sunsets
While our minds are tourists
Our hearts were conversing

Not like lovers, but like seekers
You can run from anything dear
But life is where we meet
In the filled closets of our lives

Stupendous and terrified
Temporary and mortal, so vulnerable
I recognize it all in your eyes
I’ve been catching happy viruses from you

Out in the stars, laughing at how
Remarkably contagious all good things are
Where our spirits kiss in the moonlight
That’s where I want to stay forever.

New Instagram

To all my loyal friends on here and faithful readers, you know who you are. Can you please add me on Instagram, I want to follow you guys on there.

This is my current handle: https://instagram.com/iamwuji/

Having our Times

The clouds on their blacks lay
Trumpets of the rounds of time
They brought thunder, lightning, dance
Not with vengeance but industrious

Angels near, time playing clown again
Settled for a bask in a golden sun
This was Earth, proud and indifferent
Extinction was speaking to God

The last night and smallest of things
The awful leisure of the years given
The sense of nearly infinite renewal
In our absence and in our cleansing

Planets had a kind of intelligence
Unopened to the divinity italicized
Of what it means to be sentient
The responsibility it bears, the human sign

A fear that urges the soul to live
Out its design before the play of the body
Is done, And not spoons, playmates or
Holidays can save us, we all have our time.

Last Fragment

I know the beauty – abandon lesser truths
Unity harrows my heart
Sweeping and uprooting what was

Once me, I am a loose translation
Of disputes among the centuries
Lost fragments of mystical alphabets

Sanskrit and mandarin limbs
I know the vastness – abandon selfish thoughts
Oneness invades my calm

The wind blends with the bathed sky
Full with sunsets and greatness of all-time
I am present, future, past

Now that I have your face with a look
In features of all hearts
I am beyond, a garden, a marble figure in shade

I’ve swallowed all art in a gaze
And captured infinity with a dream.

Ghazal of Lost Souls

In the dress of night
Words come to us, like silence
The weight of hope

The fragrance of unfamiliar faith
I walk into the fresh breeze
Like so many others before me

All the verses within me come out
Like uplifted loneliness realized in another sense
In the quietness of a pearled moment
I am nothing and everything
My individuality breaks down

With the failure and wishfulness
Of life, that is departing within me
My delight is quick and short

But what will the summit of my dreams realize?
Not flesh, or power, or brilliance
But spirit, marathons of poetry

Whose gentleness will go extinct
With whispers and drowning breaths.

Deprived of Flight

I’m tired of days drunk
With the sameness that doesn’t realize
Innovation, experience compressed
Time encapsulated with love

O but are we exiles then
Migrants who must walk mountains
Slumbering in the mire of silences
My blue memories are fading

Like the pure golden statues of youth
That were maybe nothing more than
Projection, silver mooncraft gone
Discovery and identity shaping embarrassments

My mouth dry and caked with dust
My love departed in their early faces
I’m tired of being plundered by experience
As if the rogues of time knew something
I do not know, do not possesses, cannot reach.

Wonder of Aging

It occurs to me now
How our soul is honed by love
Not the love of barter and exchange
But the love of inspiration
That changes a heart
To become a better person
You simply smiling, that is
Enough of the forever kindness
To fuel me for a quiet lifetime
There is no answer to the questions
We age, wander, wonder, mature
Until we accept everything
Like eyes on a shelf of time
Ready to empathizes and stumble
A little longer, every goodbye
Isn’t gone, it’s just the stirring
Of chatter, breath, blood, wings.

Whatever is essential to Female Poets

Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe women can be writers
And achieve fame and livelihood

Without barren men to falter their craft
Maybe ten thousand martyrs are enough?
For women poets to be read and loved

To flourish from the pen of their wombs
And not find society admitting incapability
We who live in an increasing illiterate world

Must fight the language of our times
For all those who would profit, must
In a way, abandon their love of art

Technology being mobile, is a visual parade
Where books, and sages of wordsmiths must
Write alone, or else post on very tame blogs
Imagine private authors doing social media?

And become published in niche magazines
Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe writing in elegance has been lost?
We who ornament our lives with so much skill,

The ethereal spark of creators a transient tenement
Sex is not sex, when gender is so fluid
Are we satisfied with being intelligently ignored

By a world so satiated with mass media
That we do not respect creativity in its earth
Or share a sense of reverence for the philosophical
The poetic, the artistic that requires some thought.

And, if poetry is surely dead, then become novelists
Industrial poets, digital marketers, online journalists
Geniuses of new media, invigorated by the liberty
Of online avenues, content writers on applications

Be the interface with the poetry of the past
Reincarnate your gifts for a new world’s mediums
That publick faith that women best express
In allowing the world its distinguished femininity.

On the wage of Art and Price of Youth

There is a romantic mark
In our hearts of sinking days
That sad similitude of being awake
While we dwindle our life’s wage away

Exhausted by nature, loved by none
We must dream up magic
From suffering’s destiny
And find fond bliss in monotony

And balmy incense to reveal
The melodies beneath the toil
And the smiles that do not turn away in vain
I to these restless symbols purge

The love that got away of destiny
Where free-will was a measure
Of our intelligence and motivation
That were the hours of our youth

Whose vulgarity of error was nothing more
Than the brief centre of an aching heart
There is a romantic streak
That burns our nights to the ground

Some call it art, others sacrifice
I must press on in solemn epiphanies
That break the butterfly wings of time
For all the ache is nothing more
Than mere beauty in experiment.

No Riverbanks left clean

The mouth of time is swallowing me
Along the borders of sorrow
That pieces sweetly, I awake
From another night of white gull dreams

To find my head and land
Has been given away to emperors
This is the future, though it feels like the past
Songs of the wild rice, tossed above

The lotus pond, between the places
Where birds travel over old fishermen
If there is heaven high, it’s not circling here
The once headless two trillion trees

Are undoing claims to paths, man-made
Frustrated, I abandon my cup of leisure
I am someone’s guest, in this sheet of skin
I am in someone’s womb, my mother here

And I may see Spring bright and delicate
But autumn is in my heart, dark-red
West of the river water, rotten-peach.

Seen below

Bathed in Sun of dragon scales

My meditation with Autumn
Has already begun, I grow in seasons
Jade dew withers my wounds like
Maple trees and the sap of kings
My blood is royal with chrysanthemum

I enjoy with the earth her own darkness
As the stars weep for my heart full of some home
I cannot name, these people pass by
Like stones swept with the river
I do not have friends but rather

Watch the colors of the leaves change
Every day I follow the moods of nature
As if they were my own, I mirror them
As the red reed flowers shine, so shall I
In the valley of Autumn, I am complete

The setting suns slant in my body of change
I’m growing older with organic tears
For a world that has hardly begun to change
Perhaps my machine-learning descendents
Will do better than we, as swallows fly and fly

My wishes won’t be realized in this life
But maybe others will continue
In the quiet harbors of morning light
The river and the tower and the green hill
Become symbols for us all, time and nature complete

The chapters in our mortal lives that
Went wasted, like the cruel paths of fate
That when once is taken, another bend turns out of view
I’ve won little praise, but fortune
Is not to be measured in wealth

But in the internal events of our dearest dreams
Where things like home, and fish, and dragons
Have a different sort of meaning
And the game of chess with the universe
Always ends with a queen, and shifting clouds
And the golden stem that is the memory
Of passage, the descendent jewels that were lost.

Industrial Poet

Eun Ji, maybe we were destined
To write for money, like marketers
Who were once artists, once beggars

For an audience, like people
Who once dreamed of selling books
But I’m nobody, if not a poet

And a poet has no vocation anymore
So I’m a poet on social media
So I’m growth-hacking products

At the bazaar of life, so that I might eat
And write poems in my spare time
Are you nobody, too?

Writing memoirs, about your roots,
I don’t have a biography to tell
The body grows outside of sunsets

And this mind grew outside of time
With undue significance I went starving
Across the years, waiting for a novel

Like some great love that never came
I just watched myself become
A writer, any kind of writer
For a dime, a dollar, for a dream.

When you are a big Heart, pray tell me

Heart, we will love life
We will not forget the warmth she gave
The blessed privilege and opportunities

To meet souls and flesh of trees
And experience the imperial senses
That would be stranger and lighter

And heavier than breath which came
And went in years into the unknown
Where memory cannot enter

And friends outgrow the love we knew
And time will not falter, because
Our rendezvous with life is not permanent

Life stuns you by degrees
And asks your spirit to understand
And the world falters you in its cravings

So undeniably organic and disorganized
Heart, we have known the best
Of both worlds, East and West

In months of solitude and marriages
And we have wept as change ragdolled us
Across the seasons, how we loved

The bitter sweet moments, only we
Could comprehend, and frame
In the subjectivity of our sweetest thoughts
Our noble heart always wanted to love more.