In Need of Angels


In Need of Angels

I suppose, I was never the root of everything
There’s no golden women in silver mirrors
It was all in my mind, that smooth paradise
Where I loved life more than I knew how to show

And calling down the long echoes
Of the longest sleep, I existed with struggle
My time-travelling was imperfect

My heart knew not how to open
I suppose, I walked a lot of paths alone
And my dreams became my last illusions
Because they were all that I had left

I had no music, only stray words
Accounts of creatures that had impressed me
Planets, suns, bathed in the futurity
If Reality is the beginning not the end

I never walked into that universe
Where everything was new again
My haunted hope was never incarnated
My slow motion moments never felt pure

Like an evening that evokes a violet ray
I was the last white light of something inside of me
That wanted to escape how notes fell in August
The harvest days were coming, and I was
More in need of angels than ever.

The Group


56

There is strength in vulnerability
To feel more, is to be rich
It’s an abundance of the inner world
Who cares for possessions?

I wasn’t born to be a profiteer
I’d rather be like the water
Touching here, touching there
Pliant to the relationship of relationships

Aware of how the unity shapes
The whole, of how the particulars
Transfer their energy, it’s morbid
To think of ourselves as isolated selves

It’s dehumanizing to go to war every day
In the marketplace, to the office
There’s a function in serving a group
To feel more, connected and belong

To an entity that is clasped on many sides
By the shared vulnerability of each one.

Post-Modern Freedom


A self-help series poem

49

Post-Modern Freedom

Don’t be surprised by events
Experience is your teacher
Don’t be attached to what you have
Life has given you

So much already
Time is what may come to pass
Because today you were ready
Give up defining yourself

Live in the freedom of the moment
Don’t let past labels cloud your judgement
But be a clean slate each and every day
Die to yourself that you might

Love the world more, it’s sometimes
Necessary, to become somebody new
Change to adapt to the challenges
Push yourself to surprise yourself

Experience is your loving teacher
Time is your tender mistress
Abundance and simplicity will play
With you, as children you once knew

Do not be surprised if they call you names
Do not be shocked if they depart
You are who you are for a reason
Awaken to that purpose so you can

Clearly celebrate the moment
And finally, be grateful for the
Emergence of new experiences
Your soul likes them before
You perceive they are even happening to you.

We are most happen when


A Self-Help poem series

47

The giver receives
The selfish miser is miserable
It’s an easy thing to observe
Sacrifice for others and notice

If this enables you to think
More about the world
And less about yourself?
There are others less fortunate

Than you, the seed cannot
Know what will happen
Without water and sunlight
To focus on the self is to isolate

Oneself from the energy of life
Life is a relationship with itself
There are no actual boundaries
You create them, by distinction

By not sharing your life with others
Self isolation is one of the problems
Of individualistic societies, we pretend
We are strong, but people aren’t

By nature strong, we are tender
We were made for partnership, family
Clan, community, society, cooperatives
Fraternity, exhibition, theater, lovers

Nurturing others enables the energy
To circulate, like blood or light
Do not live a frozen life
Do not waste your time in selfishness

Or attempting to profit
For when we are alone
We are conditioned to think of scarcity
And when we are together we

Happen to muse about plenitude
So what does that mean?

Reciprocal Simplicity


A Star-inspired poem:

43

Reciprocal Simplicity

Acceptance is a key
To intimacy with the world
It implies trust
It implies hospitality
It implies helping others
Be who they truly are

That is the real key to
Spiritual relationships
To build rapport with
The core of a person
That part of them that shines

When their eyes glimmer
With faith, hope, positive vibrations
So that person can be more
Powerful, and not down-trodden
Human intimacy is a bridge

To altered states, friendship
Can be the catalyst to change
Acceptance is a freedom
From judgement and competition
Acceptance is to connect

Without inhibition or constraint
But to be together without
Mental labels or cognitive gossip
It takes some practice but
That’s the subtle energy

That is a very real sense of
Well-being that I’d like to experience.

Life as an unfinished page


68

Memory is indeed
the mind’s own theater
we imagine what is real
To us like momentary savor

but the truth is
our mouth and mind
are citadels of cells
who enjoy to err a bit

for miraculous first bread
and ravishing ornament to sense
meetings and departures stick out
like unsteady castles of subjectivity

and meaning is never easily found
in a fallen debris of time’s broken words
symbols, images, and words
they cannot ripen, cannot finally fulfill?

existence then becomes simulation
living a routine of choice and not-choice
I’m moving through my own corridors
of self and do the same thing

only to maintain a sense of security
but the truth is, I am scared
anger is my fears externalized
fear is my anger internalized

and I don’t mean to be a
chemical resurrection, but what if
biology is all I am today?
a mineral celebration of survival

who can only thrive truly
in this theater I create.

LANDSCAPE WITHOUT ANGELS


95

Bravely in a land of dust
As pilgrims we make our way
To some far country we believe is good
But the truth is, we are all immigrants

Nomads and priestesses of our faith
Sojourning in foreign countries
In heart-broken cities that endure
An agony to submit

To the volatile finger of God
Or to thrust our lives
In the climate or our Self-Will
Our solid body craving so much

In the muted landscapes of our youth
Bravely in a land of dust
As pilgrims we make our way
In forever-turning seasons

That bend in the breeze with rust
Beneath implied-expectations where
Our worth is judged, every day.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/the-city-lights-152148064

PASSAGE AT OLD NORTH AMERICA


26

When it rains and the trees seem to divide
I hear the Sea, and Heroes multiply
The storm before the calm
The promises made to be Happy

Sulking the sanctioned sun lifts
Her head, of golden-rose
And Moonlit congregations of
Midnight roses follow our steps

Across the fields, like years
And summers burn our will into acceptance
And love molds our cheeks
With Bronze conformity, time

Has a way of making us timid or cautious
Here learning to smile more tamely
In slow-motion, transience is justified
By our few years of rebellion

That came and went like dandelions
And all the pollen that rests in the Sea
When I hear it rain, it all comes
Rushing back to me, under a constant

Wonder of melodic eyes, the evening
Was a spear in the ravine and sunset
An abyss of beauty beyond comprehension.

SELF


4

Little self, do I hold yourself dearest?
Hi self, have I watched you carefully enough –
I know you have moments of

Wisdom, so keep watching yourself
Know thyself, it is a matter
Of Loving others, that we might
Be taught by the world a bit easier….

If a person holds themselves dear
It means to let ourselves be guided
Shaped by the world in which we were born
So I will study the wrongs I have done

I have myself, to oneself, compassion not always given
For in the self, there are no enemies, no actual
Misfortunes, learning is beneficial and good

Loving is not a very difficult thing to do
Little self, what wrong ideas have you
Been following lately, what humility lacking?

What bravery forgotten: the wise should be
Watchful of themselves, and smile
For what is a self to do but suffer eloquently?

Be always attentive to the duty
To be self-compassionate, it’s a lesson
For the experienced, for the generous selves.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Casual-East-meets-West-454252336

EXILE


44

It was Not a heart beating
On the night-shift, for it always does that
It was not the chill of memory
Not the blood in the ears
Of Fate, it was the nativity
Of time confounded by
How inept the hours felt
In the Silver factory of the void
There were indefatigable facts
That drove in the company
Of self-judgement, that seemed
Extraordinarily bright in the quiet
Night, and my heart circled
The Shadows before a rising sun.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Cloudz-451854121

GOODBYE


19

Let your burdens, and our blind mischances
Rest, this is the luckiest to know
That we are not unique, the kindest truth
And that our souls may freely come and go

We must at least renounce breath
And the musky annointment of tired lungs
The certain tang in an off-beaten heart
The weary weight of years in bones

It is not for us to say, what were the fruit
Of blooming wisdom or peace that stepping back
To loving simplicity, the omens of
What comes next, that we have not always

The time to say goodbye, because we live
By instinct, and follow particular bearings
From the source, no backward glances then
No ceremony, for irregular events that fit together

In the story of our time, whose full dimensions
Remain unknown, or without prescident.

EMPIRE OF INTERRUPTIONS


10

Those who have been without the longest
Thou who have Craved the Most!
Those that know their lives begin Today

Equally to perish in the wishes
Of the present’s Practice
Death to ourselves is a White Exploit

That even Cherished Goals fade
The annuls of the years transform
With symbols of fixed Delight

Retrospection, doubt, anticipation
Those who once knew Themselves
Must start again, as Achieving
Is a Latitude, with no Umpire Sovereign.

MOST CELEBRATED MARTYRS


6

The bones of saints
Are prized above their flesh
The words of writers
Loved more after they are dead

Our parents and ancestors
Cherished, after we realize what
They did, God loved
More in the second half of life

Mystics studied, poetry haunted
Requim for the murdered yesterdays
So shall we retell history
Each filled by our own myths

Biased by one frame of reference
We have a finite number of thoughts
An algorithm that governs
The quality of our wisest acts.

Mythology Agonized


Faye Wong

In the end, all that could be said
Stuck to the top of my mouth
My heart leapt

And fell back somewhere
Lost in the back of the Sun!
In the end, I still think of you

Like the pain of hurting
That never leaves, an end
That keeps repeating

And when they are ours
Fleeting hours that I know
You never think of me

For heaven wasn’t there
It was mine, my heart that broke
And will in a way, forever forego

The pleasures of being light & frolic
In my muscles, tense
There is a breath that never

Learned to let go, naked
With your face in my vision
On lost roads where you

Became my Goddess, agonized
Destined to be a mythical tragedy
In my spirit’s most unquiet hours.

Pictured: The beautiful Faye Wong, check out her Mandarin songs on youtube, she has a voice of silk. Wáng Fēi

Radiate Autistica


20

Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a recluse I endured
The sound of solitude
The place where love

Meets alienation, dear alienation
A Nation where I had myself
Like an autistic poet
Mumbling in the social dark

With a longing gone unsatisfied
For the friends I never made
I am not sorry for my soul
For it can live a thousand times

But for a message of the
Humblest of moods, I bid thee goodnight
Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a sophist of the imagination

I swallowed deep, the sense
Of this was how I was, an existence
Private was all that I held dear
Strikingly anonymous, lonely and profound

I bore my grief with gentleness
I never excited anyone too much
My presence didn’t light
Your brightest smile, my smiles

Were invisible, as if for books
The light in my eyes was pure
It was a shadowy room
To be an island unto oneself

I’m tired though, of being
Overly familiar with myself.
Without too much joy, pride or
The feeling of being free.

Concept Credit: http://carynedmond.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/142/comment-page-1/#comment-31
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/swimming-in-rivers-424271515

As Can No Other Mouth


26

The Worthiness of Suffering
Is ascertained by tasting –
As can no other Mouth, but ours
That grief would be our Savior?

We banquet as if it meant
The meaning of our lives
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by inevitability –

As can no other Body, but ours
That health would be our mate
Across such lonesome years
We banquet on ill-health as if

Affliction makes us feel palpable
Better to feel something, than nothing
The Worthiness of Depression
Is ascertained by our unique subjectivity

As our soul is used by nature
On islands of Earth, until even us
We are struck by what we felt
Were the burdens of others, remote.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/L-enfant-des-trois-chenes-411750522

It’s Such a Common Glory


22

I am a prisoner of myself
Abiding with thee
Our share of morning and night

That does suffice the bliss of two
And blank in scorning
There are stars everywhere

Some who lost their way
In a pain-comet trails of time
With a minute circumference

Of a single brain, a gamut of eternity
Alone and undignified
I am a prisoner to myself

Abiding with a world
Without care or vitality
Luckily I have you –

Who sweeps my heart
With rosewater and honey
Until eternity, putting love away

In a bowl of water
In a gentleness of gesture
That can only save me from myself.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Breathing-411282025

To All Good Nights


61

Good night, because we must
Say how to elude strife is to sleep
Father! They won’t tell me
What the light knows

That I shall never know –
Good night, I fumble at my spirit
As players at the chords & keys
Before they drop full of music

Before the end of poetry
Good night, prepare your possessions
You will not need them beyond here
Father! They won’t tell me

Why your breath is so timid today
What the light knows
That we shall never know –
Good night, we are dealing

With Imperial thunderbolts
With a fate that scalps my naked soul
The stars above my head
And my feet pointed to the sea

Good night, because we must
Not know what to do next
Father! In our hour of doom
All evenings steal our purple flight

Reasons profound and Daffodils
Good night – merit and fear qualifies
Humanity, to my beloved need
That never met a more sufficient proof
Than saying good night,
With but itself to rest upon.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Secluded-404857664

We, Who are in the Blood


57

Oh, dear wife, you are too much
Mine and flesh of me –
There is no dawn

To keep your water
From my blood, I am unceasing intimacy
Oh, unvisioned loving face

There is no dusk that does not signal
Your baffling comfort of caress
Oh, you are the loss of all

Accomplished things, I do not care
For the world, after you
You are the skin of the

Long-lunging seas
On my bones, in my organs
Moon dark, with laughing mouth

With sweet uplifted lips
That taste like Mandarin honey
The maple syrup teasing eyes

Savage in the glory of redeeming
So many empty lonely years.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/glade-laura-404696026

Since our Names are Completely Ordinary


It’s good you came
I was about to lose my sense
Of interpersonal identification
You are only as lucky
As the people around you

Well so they came to see me
And I had gifts for them
And they used me all too altruistically
But I cannot get furious
At those I loved, and maybe I wish

For friendship too easily
It’s good you came
I was about to lose hope in humanity
Secluding myself with cats
And my memories of emotional intensity

You are only as lovable
As the one special person says you are
Well so I came to see you
Whispering the cherished lines:
I’m sorry, forgive me, thank you, I love you

It’s about time you let somebody like me
Into your life, I’ll watch you in the kitchen
For a lifetime and come running
Into your arms, it’s never too late
It’s good you invited me

Thank you for having me
You are the first person in a long while
Who knew how to make me feel special
I want to be significant again
And I’ll give you my everything
Flowers, poems, chocolate, my heart.

Consolation


Consolation, you are nothing
That ends unhappily
You are the last resort
When all paths have been tried
After divorce, after bankruptcy

You know dear, I would say it again:
Thank you, I’m sorry, forgive me, I love you
If anything like true friendship turns up
I’ll have to remind myself
Of the days I felt suicide was my best option

Consolation, are you a person?
Or are you a state of being, perceiving, loving?
You are my new wonder
Of the curiosity of a thousand lives
The Sadhana, at the great core of it all

Consolation, do not laugh at my bad breath
When I have yet the world to give
I may be an impoverished fool
But I have a good heart, I mean well.

Your Olden Conscience Melted in my Arms


104

May the God in you
Forgive herself, like gentle rain
Across the many forgotten memories
We choose not the thresholds
Of our dearest lessons, only

The afterwards of shared stories
Dialogues with our soul
They ripple in our conversations
Reminding me that we are so fragile
All in characteristic vulnerability

Succumbs to the vision of wholeness
That would have been a life with you near
My friend, you opened up my soul like a wild flower
And I am filled with incredible gratitude
That some force of the world

Brought you near again
May the Goddess in you
Forgive himself, like quiet sunshine

My future is my past, and you challenged
Me to be myself in an entirely new way
I love you, thank you, forgive me, I’m sorry.

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/When-Summer-Took-Over-375107084

Whispers of Ming-Ming


102

Some people flee their obstacles
In the hospitality of some other people
It is fair, it is right, it is good

Like the three oddest words:
“I’m sorry, I forgive you, thank you, I love you”
They leave behind some of their everything

In the little moments with others
It is fair, it is wholesome, it is the last
Of the first steps towards self-knowing:

I’m sorry, I forgive you, thank you, I love you
At the end, when I pronounce the word nothing
Others will be learning to love, like I was once

Some people will find themselves
In the hospitality of some other people
I do not know, if it is easy this way

Or simply the only natural way, they whisper:
I’m sorry, I forgive you, thank you, I love you
That’s what you said, in flawless Mandarin.

O Like a Fire That Flickers for the Fairer Sex


I think of women on
Hot extravagant afternoons
Words from the Earth, my little bread
The water of centuries picked clean
I let the red ink of these prerequisite passages

Settle in me, their earthy wisdom
Like a masseur’s warm open hand
Their expert flirtation of
Psychology and innate fastidious ‘performance’
I think of women on

Cool nights that restore my pulse
I listen to them too much
To hasten to their self-same torments
I’ve heard all of their complaints
On the tipsy tip-toes of poetry

I did nothing to provoke them
My goldenrod of spilled yellow friendship
I am a living animal, in their presence
An outlawed sign-language of my desire
They read on their unmenacing lips

A sour frantic belonging of their value
I think of women on
Mornings of the shrewdest plans
They are instrumental to my cathedral-abundance
I’ve become too good at giving & giving-in

And now a most savage dog
I think of women on the way here, or there
After-hours rain downs my familiarity
I think of women like naming the planets
Pirates of my soul’s bleeding kisses

Whimper, silly, hush, flood, hot-flashed
I think of women and their sweet roar
Sweat, push, pull, sign, moan, hush.

Her Veils are White as Snow


98

My resurrection is a sensitive process
Like a bee-line of women, as symbols
Of the remuneration of my destiny
I want their food, their shelter

Their fragrance, not as significant
Of what I might hoard, or plunder
But of a banquet of trade
That I might have something enriching to offer

O blasphemy is love’s ecstatic fire
I am reckless with the reality of it
Smoothing and apple-green
What in their skin could possibly redeem me?

It’s an illusion of the material world
I’m sure of it, flowers on the water
Lotus bud in the air, I stare past mirrors & windows
Back to nature, back to God

I am clothed in sensual clothing
My resurrection is a taboo exploration
Like a woman’s body that has never been fondled properly.

Photography Credits: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Youthful-heart-373919675

Your Body is my Museum of Youth


I am dumb beside your body
I could once speak words, so beautifully
But poems, were once beautiful

Now I feel life’s kite moving
Upwards and onwards
You love because it pulls you

To Motherhood, to creation
I am dumb beside the challenge
Of winning your affection

To become only a tool, a means to an end
Until someone finds me, I shall be
The lonely hunter, contracting with solitude

I am dumb beside your instincts
They speak more loudly, than my lyrics
Unworthy and pure, poetry
Is for the flowers I left on the ground
In my meditations of youth.

I Dreamed Living Moments of You


70

I really did love you in a sense
Afars, fellow citizens, passerbyers
Would be friends, fellow students
Bustling colleagues, strangers on the street
.
Old people trying to walk
Children laughing with their parents
Young woman in the metro
Looking at her reflection –
/
I looked at you all, with unfeigned interest
Studied your stages, passages, patterns
Myself a poet among so many who
Truly lived, by being, exempt from watching
.
I really did love you all in a way
Non-intimates, in your pleasant varieties
Though I could not melt your woe
With any common and good relief, I was there
.
Dreaming next to your solemn and candid moments
The two of us are dead now, it happened all so quickly
What I learned, was in fact, to survive you
That only love mattered, that universal sympathy.

Paradise for Insomnia


30

There is a skylight in my heart/
That keeps me up at night
An insomnia of philosophers
That won’t shut up, I’m stumped
To get a bit of sleep tonight

In the middle of the floor/
Of the terror of what I call
My life, I don’t fight to sing
The saddest songs, they are

My special ritual of forgetting/
I can feel biochemical processes
Trigger in my brain, the amazing feat
Of learning and laughing, inside of experience
There is a nuance in the way you speak
That is reproducing in my mind

Like coal and roses, it doesn’t involve letters/
Only sweet I-wish-you-wells, that gently spill
Like an age of Gold, my dear insomnia
Where I make the best of living
In some age-old night, I’ll build little fires

Like a creator of my own fruit/
Beauty, like fish and flesh, not blankets
Will allow me to slumber, at 2 AM
There are no curtains on my pain
The window is open, the myth of
My own doom, could become my own Paradise.

Dream in Which I am Separated from Myself


35

We won’t go ambushing grief
She will find us – trembling, naive
To the power of our tragedy
This is not cinematics, circus-stunts
This is our Life, calm and bleak
Sweet, with unexpected concerts

I won’t be going to enormous cities
Like you, I’m staying put, staying
Humble, simple, in the experience
Of an Alumni from all that I was supposed to be
We won’t go hijacking, ‘everything in it’s rightful place’
You used to say so casually, making it easier

To leave, to return to your liberated ‘freedom’
I won’t find salvation so easily, I’m afraid
My dad doesn’t say a word about, depression
We won’t go hiding form fate, it will hit us
Black, blue, purple – three syllables in chaos
I am my father’s father, ill-mooned withdrawal

Quarantined in these little years
Waiting for whole days, that never come
I am tired of being criticized, I am cold
I imagine myself happy, in line to be touched.

Good Night to the Ideal of Marriage


24

I took a blessing for the flowers
Tightening around me in the night
Like precious fertile years
Lost, to my individuality
Jealous with knots of
Passionate self-interest

Like dust under
An unused wedding gown
Then I followed the day
That turned into lonely decades
The terror of being unable to build building-blocks
Of love, of family, of normalcy

I heard stories that turned into theory
At weddings, of people who never made it
Girls sailing over the blooms of my mouth
I was getting old for watching them
With a hungry face, or a heavy heart
In the end I had disdain for the fragments

Of small affections I accumulated
The cynicism spilled while watching friends
Busy in their nesting frenzies
I took a blessing for the flowers
As you harvested the beauty of your worth
Light and splendor, like sleeping orchids

Woke up in you, when you became a mother
But I wasn’t to be your husband
Nor would I be invited to the holy procession
Of your vault of the power of the bonds that do not die

Long live the unknown machine
Of heart, that I was unable to grow
Into finely meshed lives of stable prosperity.