Like That Which Separates the Siren and the Song


Art by: https://www.facebook.com/Tharika
Please support our artists, please like this page.

73

We were like sea people
Last time my eyes
Discovered you, we spoke
In hushed tones and psychologically
Naked, we found a unity point

My inner eyes discovered
Your inner beauty, and that was key!
And I covered you
With a warm rain
Of glances, wet to the touch

Of your heart, like fluid belonging
And we lifted morning, like
A treasured limb, of our new
Discovery, that of each other
And it was pure, and it was beautiful

And all that I could contain
Was the hope that this would last!
I sifted light, searching for your laugh
Your voice, that trembling soul
Of what we had become together

It was more meaningful to me
Then, most everything
You were as a mermaid to me
Planted, in just the right foliage to me
And your wounds complemented mine

And your psychological touch
Was like a spoon of medicine and water
To my barren life, how I missed you!
Before we even met,
Your shriek of warm glances

Tharika the feather dancer
Thairka the floating artist
The branded mantras of what
Art had become to us…
The poetry to connect
To something distant and universal.

Art & Transience


34

Art & Transience

As the sweet sweat
Of roses does conspire
To give delight unto the noon
I fall idle in the routine

Of mystic admiration
I stalk slenderly the years
That pass without lament
I kiss the cherished months

One by one, in sweet succession
For a life is nothing much
But the comparisons of beauty
That art and life is everywhere

Even in the chaotic society
As the sweet breath
Of a warming sun does pretend
It knows the secrets of other stars

I fall into the embrace of
Reverent sacrifice, what else –
For there are no wounds left
To search, there are no scars

In transience, all memories
Fade like rainbow dust
In the wreaths that were the plots
Of our little love-lives and

The imagination that we were
Wronged or lucky or fortunate
We all had our due, variables
In a quantum field of evolution.

UNCOLLECTED VERSE ABOUT YOU


16

take a look at me, here, get informed
this is who I have become
our four eyes like diamonds, starring
blending as if through the sun
the grass where I lie is dense and lovely

we are determined to love and laugh
as much and as often as possible
these hands are those so easily warmed
to the window, come, there i walk
after all harsh cries of life are over

in my sleep i encounter your eyes
it’s a recognition of happier times
you were that person, which i gave my life to
sweet and as wild as the imagination
those dreams like stability, are over now

i no longer yearn for what i once sought
i am no longer who i once was
but i’ll close my eyes and i’m able to forget
all immature anguish, or self-centered sensitivity
what’s done is done, all that is left

are the uncollected verses, of where I once
started for you, and lost in a game of love
it was chance that i knew you at all, i don’t forget
fortune or ill-luck, it’s all the same to me
we are dancers in fate, with new faith
I write old poems again, this time with peace.

Photo Courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Poet-43902604

DELIGHT OF THE MIDNIGHT ROSE, 午夜玫瑰的喜悅


92

Soft desires I can trace
Back to the lap of Roses who
Sing away with secret smiles
For whispers of their softest limbs
Whimpering for petals that say

Touch my cheek, pet my soul
When thy little heart doth wake
For this light shall break
On this womb, this womb that makes
A Rose as sweet, Red like the Lioness

Red like the sacred flesh
Soft desires fragrant like the whole
The Rose that sets love on fire
From a hungry gorge, the pit, the abyss
Terror of the divine form embraced

The Rose’s thorns, furnace sealed
A hungry Rose that lingers secretly
For the touch of a woman’s hand
The rose is not fair without the beloved’s face
Lips that like to sugar, grace like a flower
That sways, in the breeze, for mirth and feast.

The Power of Roses, 玫瑰力量


91

A flower was offered to me
You said you preferred Roses
Roses that nurse the Angel’s tears
But he who dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose

A flower was offered to you
A lush red Rose in its hint of perfection
It is the time you have wasted for your rose
That makes your rose so important
You who carry your fragrance over to me

With just the tip of your affection
But a Rose can grow, from just a crack in concrete
Whose to say that I would not nurture you
Some people grumble that roses have thorns
I’m grateful that thorns have roses

For if I bleed, it will be because of you
When you are drooping, I will hold you up
It is only goodness, that gives extras
So I say again that we have much to hope from
The flowers called Roses, cursive stains they may
Be in our lives, what a lovely thing a rose is!

A flower was offered to me
You said you preferred Roses
I feel as if have opened a book and found roses
Yesterday sweet and fragrant, between your leaves
Love is like a wild rose-briar, it blooms
Brooding in its flirtatious symmetry.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rose-Red-110355899

WHITE JADE, FEMALE POET, ORANGE PITCHER


84

Heaven bless the babe
Orphaned by divinity
What queer books she will read
Granted, to be a poet isn’t easy

When she is older, she will say:
“Till the Spring, my murdered lover
Till our souls meet in another form
The language of my foolishness
Will be the bridge I swear”

Heaven bless the babe
Who suffered for the world
To make a cheerful song
That could outlast the centuries

Quiet, suavely clothed in sacrifice
Hurling, golden spears of martyrdom
Up the lines my silver runner
With a pen and a canvas
Bearing the banner of lost poets

In a siege of a dead poet’s society
Heaven bless the babe
Who became a writer
When critics were white rich men

Come now Aphra, be content
You and I have nothing to do with music
Akhmatova’s cannon is all about
Death beating the door in
For women fraught with inequality

Emily knew in her circle of white
Edna urged a certain possession of zest
For being born a woman, is a clarity
In the pulse, a sonnet gone unread.

P.S. To female poets: Aphra Behn, Anna Akhmatova, Emily Dickinson, Edna St.Vincent Millay.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sylvia-II-460402222

SPRING FABLE


13

Berries are sure to redden on
The body of whiteness, entry of Spring
White shadows will collide
Drunk with the juice of Moonlight

Life will explode from the bony Mother
Earth will weep rivers, fountains, lakes
Birds will build fortresses
Time will drag a harmony of balanced ruling

Promising a silence as deep as the source
Buds will drift up the Great goddess stems
Flowers will steer countries to sunsets
Blue water-mists will flash by naked

Startling fishermen, colors will
Taint the margins of everything old
Owls give way to Peacocks
Midnights to quivering fields

Berries are sure to redden
On the fertile mounts of Spring.

No Home like Femininity


Lying in bed I almost mistake Good health for youth Moonlight on the floor For memories of your skin Looking up I see the cold light For what it is, birthplace Source, cool strength Like your body that carried me … Continue reading

Whispers of The Rose


34

The temple bell dies away
An Empire scatters to the winds
But the scene of a flower
In the evening air

Is Immortal, like the Rose
Whose red-spirituality
Is still tolling the bell
Still Holding up the Empire

Of beauty, this haunts even the sun
A silence at the palace chambers
Of the mystic visionary heart
The dream of life from

All my other dreams, the last symbol
She spreads infinity scrawled
In her pink petals to the starry sea
Each time I encounter that

The sacred fire that is God’s temple lit
A unity of the universe in a leaf
I know the spirit wears its own plumes
Back to the source of our divinity.

Call to Poets CONTEST, enter your 3 best poems:

http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/Wuji-International-Poetry-Festival-V/49443/

To read about it:

https://seshatwuji.wordpress.com/wuji-international-poetry-festival/%5D

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/rose-152423323

The Last Sunset


After I have reached The West for clothes of new colors I will perhaps know the rows Of ancient trees, like my ancestors I will know the two worlds That separated past and future Sunken to Ocean, lifted to skies … Continue reading

Maybe, Perhaps, O’ Alright


34

We will use the subtle color “maybe”
we will write magic like before “perhaps”
finally they, who said
‘We will be haunted by the greatest glory’

remembered, the fruits of their labor
under a blinding light of alphabets
the dreamers choose another reality
we will stay drilling our chorus

a neverland of birds, open palms, psalms
the clear water of fresh thoughts
that chime from the future-grafts
space-time collides with the landscape

of the heart, that spells a figurative unity
across our palette, template, painter’s reference
always a wider frame-of-reference
We will throw divine colors into the mix “maybe”

And love all those who cross our paths “perhaps”
it’s all we can do, they said
‘We will live as if, wildly haunted
By the greatest glory and miracles.

Art Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rocamadour-Watercolor-For-sale-original-413027068