Masks of Liquid Fire

Lost Inès, fire-bells, storm pixie
How quickly the lightning succumbs to the flesh
And hope is squeezed so silently in our chest
That light, doesn’t flood our vision, but warps us
With a kind of fear and anxiety

Won Inès, there’s no winning in the tragedies
There’s only ambiguity and doubt and fear
The kind of thunder that makes you climb under the bed
Or paint in the closet, or immerse yourself in the unreal

Creator Inès, there’s no season when beauty dies
Because it dies each day and in every person
As we decide to label them something, to limit their light
We kill our dreams to manufacture new ones

Cowardly Inès, there no one left to run home to
Not the night of courage, or the love of art
Not even they can save us, we are just that
Solitary bandits, cats and ambitiously warped

Memory Inès, there aren’t rooms I can go to
Only drawings, a canvas of your success
Where I’m reminded of the days of summer
Where the Eclipse held the potential of everything.

Conspirators in Pajamas

http://naomipaints.com/gallery/

Conspirators in Pajamas

I love you suddenly like

A plum bursting my pride

Straightforwardly and digitally

On my chest is the gesture of infinity

There is no time my love

So close that your eyes close

I need you because your soul

Teaches me, like the ages, like the sea

When you go through the streets

Where everyone is beautiful but us

Know that youth will die suddenly too

Like heartbreak and the spring of divorce

And your green eyes will shiver

Their pupils delicately attempt to

Embrace the complexity of what

Love has become, something sold and given up

A conspiracy of pyjamas we used

To find so comfortable, no longer so

But I cannot feel the love of people

Whom have loved me, for my love has fed

The people only to set them free.

Friction of Pure Being

Aware of Moving Poems

We are moving poems
We don’t have to speak
To be acknowledged
Sometimes, we just sit

And watch the world
So much beauty, so little time
We don’t always realize
Each cell, each plant, each flower

Each star, touches other
Cells, planets, flowers, stars
Other human beings, that’s
How literature works,

That’s how the world is made
We are like moving poems
That do not need to create
For by existing, we are creative

We do without do
And influence without trying
By your very matter of being
You matter and radiate

The you-ness of your energy
It doesn’t take an effort
To live our one nature fully
But it comes out, in unspeakable ways

Surprising even the watcher
Time leads us to new poems.

Featured artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Blue-sun-525756530

Repetition of Art

Plunder the Influence

We aren’t finishing lines here
We are writing about love
Whatever we write
It’s there like alchemy
Writing the history of art
Over again with each poem

There is no grasping for wisdom
It’s summarized by the synthesis
Of what came before
Like culture evolving
Like a more refined perception of beauty
To sit in the chair called “witness”

ii

Where wonder is endlessness
Born, again and again
We are writing about love
Because it’s what is in the oven
Our womb breathes it
We aren’t finishing lines here

We are just living, doing what we love
Mourning the loss not knowing sooner
It’s a state of wonder
Overtaken by light
Black windows facing the future
With drift, descent, speed

And the mutual influence
Of reciprocal silence
Communicating in subtle gesture
The incommunicable.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Traveler-525752443

Black Swan Job Application II

Shaman – EJ Koh

Black Swan Job Application II

Job wanted, will consider all applicants
Burning desire to be a pioneer
In new literary forms, poetry and prose
Blogging and philosophy

Real life, relationships, confessionals
Exhibitionistic tendencies required, no fear
Able to work 16-hour a day shifts
Drive to get published, write novels

Enter contests, win scholarships
Self-autonomy in going for broke
Ability to withstand periods of poverty
Enjoys public speaking, going to events

Is humble, responsive to readers
Ability to synthesize past and the future
The job applicant may be required to travel
Inwardly and outwardly, be able to

Form attachments, imaginary and virtual
Burn books, abandon beliefs, start over
Translate from obscure languages
Must be a shaman of the written word

Have prophetic tendencies, know your audience
Market on social media, not be averse to self-public
Create podcasts, teach workshops, give lectures
Endure being followed on twitter by throngs

Please note, applicant must stay in the job
A minimum of five years, long-lasting investment only.

The Last Fireworks

(Follow this link, it’s one of the most spectacular views of fireworks I’ve ever seen)
http://onefunnyjoke.com/2014/07/07/gopro%E6%8B%8D%E7%85%99%E7%81%AB/

Fireworks could have been
The most brilliant butterflies
Of the night, with colors
That sparked a lifetime of my imagination
I witnessed them like

Lightning in my veins
I burned out of colors
Even up to the final blue
Searching my skin for
The design of youth

I watched the skies in my heart
Hoping for a light, again & again
You were the fire that left
Me for another year of fireworks
I still go to the carnival

Where we used to watch the fireworks
Glistening with a savage flow
Love is for stronger bodies I guess
Deep against the contrast of
Years ahead of them, fireworks

Were a masterpiece in my silence
The exhale of summer’s honesty
A border where hopes and dreams
Never seemed to completely cross
It was the year of the Dragon

I remember now, serenity on high in lights
And their vivid explosions never
Seemed enough awe or whatever
To reflect the beauty of earth.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fireworks-90626837
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fireworks-8561885

Variations of a beauty lover

The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.
~ Allen Ginsberg

I’ve made liquid nicknames for
the incomparable feelings of Earth
the peculiar surrealism of suffering

a dance of cycles and poverty in seasons
and prosperity in that experience of lack?
organic and passionate, thriving
in pure obscurity, that is the dilemma

there is no fame in doing what you love
only the pure satisfaction of being
connected to something larger than yourself

I’ve made friends with stars, books
as if I could plagiarize memories
like some ethical problem of the future
you tell me beauty is copyrighted?

I’ve charted universes in your eyes
thriving with an open soul for higher realms
of wisdom, disguised as a psalmist

I’ve seen the vital sources where destiny
Is drawn like a paradox of passion
I’ve seen the gracious gluttony
where we swallow our fate whole

only to arrive at a kind of handwriting
of who we were meant to be all along….
I’ll just keep living in that funeral free harmony

of inner renaissance, the piecemeal moments
of genius, where I am in perfect peace
with my creativity, fatherless, childless
but free, with a right to personal magic.

Art Credit to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/mermaid-tattoo-469620382

Hallelujah poetica

i have a rendezvous with rhyme
with only the lyrics of this orchestra
my cadence is only for rhythm
free-verse in its purest ingenuity

I ache for quarterly submissions
of my essential need to write
the autopilot poetica of my

last kaleidoscopic vision strange
a musical hopscotch of surrender
a mystical milking it of thirst

muse & fate here relaxes
for a final teasing and tasting
of the plump record of odes
and the promise of exhaustive cadence

that reaches humming pentameter
stares organic pink into utopia
requesting documentation from the stars

in how to be a poet, as legends burn
martyrs in their alien worlds
a last dynasty of awkward prayer-rituals.

SECRET LETTERS TO DAYBREAK

My favorite font would have to be, poetry
Each letter is a gem that haunts
The very notion of memory & attachment
Dark fountain splash cursive

In the breeze of cherished fantasies
The lonely streets of personal dreams
My favorite alphabet would have to be, poetic
The poetic vocabulary, I write without

Knowing the outcome, like a kind
Of experience of entwined sounds
Or water embracing the shores
Or, disembodied soul sick of duality

Craving the original unity before
We had personalities, lovers, children
My favorite time would have to be, writing
In the middle of the night, naked

Literally and figuratively, able to be sensitive
A symbol flirting with the Absolute
A myth-making fiction of a flaming letter
These phrases of burning vowel-shaped-tombs

Where I can belong to Eternity, privately
Where everything is sculptured as it
Pleases me, and I am a part of Free-will
Like nothing else, that is the bliss of poems

The purification of the fever of forms
Where everything is mutable and dissolves
For the good of the white canvas that are
The saints, animals, laughing intangible skies

That are the wandering hours of my outlying districts
Where I run among the villagers, and plant signs
And move in the dark, and speak with you always
Yet there is no light here for the luster of your eyes.

Art Credits goes to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Daybreak-453040055

Nuptial Silence-Transparency

My body hears the body of my wife
She is pure spirit where music is real
She is the silence of an idea
That floats, flutters, lands in mind
Nirvana as Samasara, Samsara as Dharma

I draw these letters in to me
Like lost ghosts, left-over dreams
The pollen that blows them into me
I take as my interior flowers
My body feels their fragrance against

My lips and nose, I am their sunlight
Their water below, we are merged
Connected, embracing like a quiet well
The bucket of my vocabulary
Is simple, as a moment with a hummingbird

An exclamation without a nod or a reply
A sweet wind from all compass points
The light and dust when stars have burnt-out
My neurons whisper the poems of the present
Like a tortured river that cannot stop

A floodgate that is always on
A silence that is chiseled by God for God alone
Like an intricate erotic watch of time.

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Nuptial-66055316

WHEN WILL I be able to RETURN?

After the long escort, now we part
What mixes all the days together
Gifted us this human world of togetherness
Green mountains: sweet fragrance
In each region, you are eulogised and cherished
Divinity happy in the heart, in a world
Of water and crystal and tranquil space
Nature walked with me, I was never alone
Golden orioles flit across the beams
Walking by flowers that smile like poems
Bright cotton floats in the air, like summer-snow
By the river’s talents at dawn’s friendship
I face a mural of living grace, breathing pockets
Of the splendid incense of shinning water
Yellow and red dirt seems right at place there
Paths and trails, rosy dawns of new lives
How can I be upset to grasp what’s hot?
Summer, spring and autumn mix in me
Myriad blossoms press the branches low
How I admire the river’s blue, the bird a perfect white.

WHY EVERYONE SHOULD WRITE POETRY

I’m my own utopia
In my Utopia, we would dream awake
Writing poems about each other

Speaking in whispers hushed
I could say out loud
That I felt loved without

Trying to find a measure
Or a reason to be appreciated
In my own utopia
We wouldn’t judge each other

But act as parts of the same exposure
To compassion, we experienced
Through years of living & suffering

In my Utopia, everyone would be artistic
Painting, music, dance would be
As common as speaking
Or conversing over the internet.

photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/utopia-133483723