We counted the smiles of new hours, last days

There’s a great wink from eternity
That tells us with unfettered honesty
That what we thought is important
Isn’t important, that meaning is greater
That the plans we made years ago!
Her vast moonward curves and starlit poise

Points us to the future with wrapt inflections
Of our love moving through time
Till the ends of history, lovers, descendants

How all these hours turn, squandered
And how time herself is the cleavage
Of the unseen, felicitous, imaginary

An unanswered vortex of probabilities
A quantum spendthrift gaze towards paradise
And if it gives us hope, it is because
We seek infinity, knowledge, beauty
The limits of what we can become

And now how we are resigned to do it
With technology, algorithms, stem cells
Cloning, 3D-printing, digital superscription

Priests of artificial intelligence, fusion
And all that is the farewell of one age to another
The bookshops close, the manufacturing is leased to robotics

And we are left on the brink of last fantasies
Changes that can rock how stars kiss other stars
A spectrum of mutability where we visit dimensions
We created just to give meaning to our lives.

Realization of Solitude #amwriting #poem #NationalPoetryMonth #micropoetry

Man is the only being who knows he is alone

This morning, let me drink the silence
Let me swim in my own solitude
Being the profoundest condition
Of my humanity, you’d think

I should get to know her better
Intimacy and silence, that’s all
There every is, I cannot often
Penetrate another being with my love

Since surrender must occur mutually
And there are times my emotion
Does not require reciprocity
This morning, let me forget about altruism

For we all deserve the dream
Beyond myself, somewhere, I shall
Then wait for my own arrival
The slow enlightenment of lifetimes

Because two bodies, naked and entwined
Soul and body, mind and heart must somehow
Learn to live together and leap
Over time, we are not invulnerable

However in the silence of today
I realize there are no yesterdays, no names,
No you and I and no tomorrow
This morning, I want to give myself up
To something higher than I ever was.

Dreams of Water

The Holy Well

Sunbathing on hope
Empty of acting
I came upon skywashed seas
And an older me
Ankle deep in water
Faces hanging over
The cliff of tomorrow
Trying to see their
Reflection in storms
Salt-clear distances
Opal faith lifting
Us up out of thunder
Marked footprints
Of God carrying us
Two bodies, two feed
With bright light surrender
Our limbs turned west
Leaning into the
Hips of waves
Legends merged in us
Legions moved in us
Until we visited
Constellations as promised
Long ago, halos of thirty blues.

New Words Advent

Photograph courtesy of : http://www.deviantart.com/art/Into-Dust-502341255

 

 

Language is a flirtation

With flexibility, the mind

Empowers the image

The image empowers the

 

Alphabet, the energy

Is a conference of belonging

There is no buzzword in poetry

Poets reside in the

 

Chatroom of the spirit

It’s a captcha of lingering

Imagination on the brink of

Extinction, a cloud computing

 

Of beauty, a purist busking

Not for profit, so unlike

The Affluenza of our times

The stark money divide

 

Poetry is an algorithm unsolved

Forever like a kind of tourism

The soul’s App for bromance

A buzz for civiliation’s

 

Gratitude and ruin, simultanely

Depicting the carjked destiny

Of utopia in dystopia

Englihs is the most flexible

 

If adopting mandarin and Sanskrit

The baggravation of always

Being stuck between worlds

Or the realization that

 

Every city is a homogenized urban

Simulation of what it means

To be alive in 2020, the breakdown

Of new world dilemmas like

 

A post antibiotic world or

Environmental migrants scrambling

For new homes, new identities.

Anonymous

Love is not a name
I give away easily
Though I worship the
Days like a fine wine
There is a sacred thing
Born in me a hundred times
That I recognize doesn’t
Come from me at all
Your name is my name
In your name my name
Identity is interchangeable
Empathy is transferable
Love is software
Swift and sweet energy
One day I will download memory
And I will know who you were
At a picnic of your inner beauty
I’ll say the word to you
One in the other Unnamed.

Inner child metaphor of a tree

The trees they rise up
As if up from their own free will
Into the light, wild, happy
Strong, if only I could be that way
But nature did not make me strong
And I was not born free
But chained, enslaved, shy

But what if the dreams
Were grafted to my branches
Like fruit and I could see
The horizon with replanted forests
What if I could breathe clean fresh
Perspectives for breakfast?
Fit with buds for birds to ransack

Or pollen to spread nature
The true nature of our spontaneous
Selves, the inner-child without her mask
The trees they rise up
For too many generations, with
The secret of the ancient taste
From our growth what silver fir

Reveals the truth that was our destiny?
It was not the water, wood, air, light
These were only elements
Of how we found what we were made of
It’s just that way if I am a barren stem
I won’t be blown around as much
Nor catch the eye of creatures

But what could I then become
In an open sunlit field, left as I was…

I Seal Your Sex

My day exploded in your night
And my letters came to life
In your bed, all the poems
In my heart took shape their
In the undressing of our lives

Silently we approached
The hour of the Goddess
And all my dreams
Of platinum literature
Took root in the tree of your womb

I open the lips of your night
Without speaking, but with
A lifetime of poetry carried
In my soul, like golden grapes
I give to you the shadows of the moon

The whiteness of infinity
Your rose burns through the snow
Your flesh dangerously close
To the dawn, and we repeat
The cycle eternally

Male and female, active and passive
Lovingly with all the sleep
And literature and art in our bones.

Into the arms of Writing

Art by Agnes Cecile,

I draw these letters
Out from the silver silence
And pluck them from the golden void
They were given to me like,
Ice flowers, fire roses, spring water
And I can taste them like
Images from a painter
From Rome or Colombo
That’s the presence consumed
Of art and her rare birds
A flock of paradise traveling
Through time, beauty undressed
In her double-blossomed glory
In feasts of imagery and cliffhanging
Night, I could feel the morning
In her painting and all that
Transpired in feeling as the body burns
With life’s ironies, improbable spells
The river of your hands
Was a fever of a dream
The burgundy tongue
Of the flayed sun knew
I would write poetry
Like hot wine, spilled.

Perhaps he saw Radha in her Peacock Form

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

Slashed earth, perfection
Into the finite
O’ my martyr! O’ my half-hour
Breeze and music of beauty
Black hair of resting on itself
Boddiswattva’s diamond body

In a woman, it’s been
So long since I could speak
Of extravagance
Though in the village of color
I am a mere stone figure

A lion sprawled prophet
In the cemetery of chaos
And society’s starving hide
Like the slums, of New Orleans
Slashed earth, hope for the future

Drum beats and jazz
Ceromonies in what time?
How many decades
Does humanity have left?
This ache in my soul, a disembodied
Entity, just giving each letter a gem

Just giving her memory a name
To pass on, in vivid swirls
Like the painting you hid
As Music
Like the wind embracing the water

Something invisible to the naked eye
I’ve sat and waited for inspiration
It gives me Chills!
To feel a bit of glitter
At the end of long day
These lonely streets have been begging
For shadows that did not feel
Like I was a naked animal

Like That Which Separates the Siren and the Song

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

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.

Simulation of a Dream

Stillness
In the middle of the night
Hush like centuries
With each other
Only to know that we were not fixed
But changed, in the silence
Where nothing moves and everything
Flowers and exchanges
Reincarnates in place
It’s the quantum structure
Of how mutations occur
Like syllables on the vacation
Of the summer, that was
The rest of our lives
The hour grows and falls over us
Luminous, like the moonlit window
Clouds full of sunsets behind them
Surround us with poetic insomnia
I hear an anthem in them
That could be a teleportation of history
In the middle of the night
Where revelations occur
With each other
Tomorrow, the hours will be larger
Than ever and pregnant with something
Other that what I was today or ever was
I am here, at my beginning
Free in the will of the invisible
Where we are all algorithms.

Artist: Agnes Cecile (http://www.eyesonwalls.com/products/this-thing-called-art-is-really-dangerous-fine-art-print)

After a Thousand Poets

To dream myself, to be dreampt
By other eyes, on other worlds
That was the prophecy of
The written word, to be fluid

Like a medium, to pastel the words
Into new forms, to climb
The towers together of meaning
And visit the citadels of angels

To explore rooms, walk streets
Of singing combinations never
Before experienced, like surrealism
In a bright sunlit room, and art

With trends and sublime gulfs
Where only a few artists can reach
And cities of culture’s inheritance
Where philosophers must tread

To dream myself, being more
Than just idle dreams, to weave
Looking out into new enchanted sentences
That come alive in their own way

That can speak to sense and soul
Moulding kaleidoscopic clouds
As easy as the fountains of day
And water of enormous glimpses

Of prosperity, the light of the future
Golden mornings, youth transformed
Some transparent shimmer
Of alphabets that can suffice the
Difficult diamond thirst.

Paradox of Thought

I aspire to silence the voices
That I may speak for all voices
The function of a room is
To keep the body well

The function of a mind is
To keep the soul serene
I will never hear the one true voice
But in the Tao I find ultimate empathy

And I give it to all creatures here
And in silence I feel the snowflakes
The clouds, the trees, the light
In a whole new way against

The night, alive in the day
I become like the breeze
That rustles the leaves
And by disappearing to myself

I have room to identify with everything
That is the function of silence
My friend, we’ve thought of how
The poet spoke the thoughts

Of history, well as a finger points
To the stars, the mind dreams
In silence, language finds God.

As New Rivers school Old Oceans

As New Rivers school Old Oceans

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
Between one world
And the next
It’s empty here
And quiet right down

To my bones, they are light
My mind is water
My breath is an appointment
With time, my body
Is a fragrance of the forest
All around me

These walls are not life
The cities do not grow
The skies blink with airplanes
Those birds haven’t left
In what direction
Is the waiting room?

From here to there
From outside to inside?
Babies too shy to stop
Clinging to a breast
They haven’t yet studied
Faces, but that’s soon

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
I don’t plan to stay forever
I won’t be called upon
The metaphor of surprise
Is nearly old to me

I might have been embarrassed
If I wasn’t the only one here
We are symbols to ourselves
And non-existent to reality
I’m in the waiting room
Between something and nothing

A dual mirror or voice
The echo of sanity or madness
Catching a thread in the
Silence, to remember that
I can be separate from
The fabric of the universe

If required, when ego is necessary
Like for movement or work or mating
It doesn’t seem important
I’m in the waiting room
For a lifetime of
Observation, studious observation.

Anthem & Alchemy

So this was Earth
Handfuls of light
Europe on reverb
Beaches covered with
Ancient jars like

Star-shells fragrant
With some golden empire
From which they came
I saw young bodies
Throbbing breasts

Heart-beats of infinity
Shells rose-pink
A blur of traffic
So this was Evolution
In the minds of

Organics where
Drifted thoughts
Of arms spread open
For the coupling of desire
These youth who

Would one day pair off
And the sky’s veins
Would not recall
Who was with who
Or how children came

Each has no handles
The waves touch
The pebbles each time
They curl on to the shore
Like time, formed by clay

They gather tools to
Change themselves
Civilized barbarians
Becoming barbaric once again
So this was Earth

I’d heard the stories
Souls that could not
Be unmade, they learned
And grew somehow
In a software of

Reincarnation, I knew
Their minds emptied
Death was beautiful
A simple reset and
And the slaughter of

Selfishness, what a sight
Wheat doesn’t take long
To ripen, sex doesn’t
Take long to become
But a whisper in a life

Desires melt away
Attachments drift
Hopes once so vital
Seemed secondary
Each dream separately

Lulled, like the birds
Who cry at morning
Going quiet, at the coming
Of the Sun, it was
Just natural, and perfect.

Cup of Sachitananda

The cosmos has hid
divine herbs in our dreams
and one day upon
the west river we

shall all awake
to see truth, to live
in the light, and

in those blue flames
of the dawn, hope
will no longer be necessary

and faith will seem immature
for supramental identity
will be self-evident

alone, spring’s floods will
drip the bliss of worlds
and the grace will overwhelm
any circumstance of fate
by the ocean of poetry

in the forests of prophecy
on the beaches of mysticism
the Tao will reveal herself

to our mind like a sponge
of all the secrets of the
universe and synchronicity

spellbound for consciousness
as a boat drifts to the sun
creation and the great observer

will meet, and we will forever
be left speechless with the awe
of laughter empty of anxiety
and understanding mingling

with a pure love for all things.

At the center column of identity

At the feet of the sublime
Sculpture of this Galaxy
I am in awe of how quickly
The billions of years went by

A dream of the key of water
We walked upon a floor of
Crystal, in many forms
And our souls traveled to peaks

Virtual landscapes and subliminal
Recognition that we had seen
All that we visited there, experience
Was itself an invocation of

The highest order, capable of
Giving us emotions of the divinity
Of things, the lips of the sun ablaze
As a forgotten god laughing

Barefoot we made it through
Evolution like a story of all those
Sleeping lands, we created in them
With the will of our intelligence

It is not possible here to reproduce
All the characteristics of the original
Edition of the human journey
Progress is a succession of signs

The courses we adopted were somehow
Emphasized by instinct, like
The yearning to speak or the hope
That if we write about our consciousness

Something of our independent uniqueness
Might separate into others, like how
A poem influences other writers.

Multiplicity

I’ve known a river of bodies
Like a downpour of stars
And creative suns conjuring

The destiny of so many little ones
I’ve seen reptiles come out of oceans
And lovers come and go
I am the creation of what I see
The eye that watches another season

Is it really any different from the last?
I’ve known faces, a few thousand
Their water of truth, their truth of water

And music like songs, so many songs
And storms as thunder, lightning, rain
The sound of the rain was a multitude
Of rain drops kissing the earth
And pollen that is caressed by the wind

And flowers, so many flowers
All the colors of the known universe
Do other planets have flowers like these?

And other sentient beings, do their eyes
Cry in the drumbeat of time, the silent hum?
I’ve opened you and I’ve been beaten by you
And life, naked in my mind explores
An unlacing, a spreading, reproducing the ripples.

Featured Artist:

AGNES CECILE
https://www.facebook.com/agnescecile
http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/gallery/23399055/Featured
https://www.youtube.com/user/agnescecile
https://www.facebook.com/SilviaPelissero

Resurrection ritual

I search without finding
I write alone
more in love with the Universe

everyday I am alive
I walk through thought
until my shadow is a darkened garden
I walk though suffering
until I bear the pain of all creatures

empathy is my last sanctuary
I feel without ending
I write alone

I am as a crystal willow
A pine tree of water
A sky of unhurried spring
Clouds reflected in the river
Imminent joy pressed me to the

Sun’s invariable wilderness
I search without finding
I write of the luxury of existence

Her bare nude body of burning and singing
the world is a transparent atom
the splendour of a bird
the brightness of a flower
I reached the end of all reflections

A domain of salt, gold, moons
And forests rain in my imagination
I search without finding

pregnant with all the beauty I have witnessed
I travel along the edges of oceans
I search for an instant alive as a bird
aware as a leaf licked by the wind
in love with the tiger color of autumn.

Photo Courtesy:
AGNES CECILE
https://www.facebook.com/agnescecile
http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/gallery/23399055/Featured
https://www.youtube.com/user/agnescecile
https://www.facebook.com/SilviaPelissero

Descendant Divinity

Time with no help from us
Has placed you exactly where
You need to be, for no two moments

Are ever alike, or have the same quality
Of yesterday or tomorrow, today is
The silence on the snow
A visitor in your mind
Of alien truths that are not so foreign

ii

Space is a sleeping woman
Full of luxuries and stars
Love is the wandering pollen

That is invented day after day
We are all like nomads half sleeping
That haven’t quite accepted
Their place in the design
The story that is like a shared myth

iii

A narrative until the world ends
But worlds are born and die every day
Invisible to our eyes, but our hearts

Are spread thin like the darkness of history
The history that is the future
And the love that is simultaneously
All our ancestors, and all our descendants.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Mermaid-480032374

The soul has a time-ridiculing roar

The soul is as an unseen Swan
Drifting down the black river
With only stars to stream the light across

And only light to make the river
Seem more bright, a perfect commotion
Of silk, snow, lilies, the flexibility of matter
Creation, the soul feels no bondage
With an armful of white blossoms

I’m sure the soul smiles even when
We appear to be at our worst
Down and out and suffering

As if there were no tomorrow
The soul sways and is partially hidden
It known no dark music, only stretching
Down the river like a waterfall
Discovering something for the

Inner evolution of form and whistling
The background music of everything
Quantum variables speaking new languages

The soul listens for the bulb of love
As rain pelting the tops of trees
And clouds over the river in a season
That is between seasons, for which
There are far too few names

The soul is an onlooker of the most mischievous
Parodies, smiling at the drama of last week
Piloting dreams for learning situations

Laughing at the calendar whose touch
Is bleak weather, irony of shaded routines
Patron, portion, logistic of the mother-instinct
In us all, the soul doesn’t find necessity hard at all
There is no bottom to the soul, it catches us on the other end.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Swan-199231681

let down your hair and be free

when one’s life is riding on a crest
there is no revelry
in excess, for the stuff of dreams

is what we were built for
waves of empty glasses
wine of forever lost friends
fortune for careless returning

i’ll slaughter time. for a second
april showers, distant silhouettes
time is but a dream, across skylines

there nothing i could find
north of the citadel, in the ripened hour
the setting sun tells it’s
time to depart, time for deserted gloom

to pass, like the celebrities of flowers
right on queue, the phoenixes have blown
away, like muse at the palace gardens

the aroma of the last guests has departed
it’s time for the autumn crane
to be romantic again & embrace surrealism.

to know the future

You may wonder why, I’m not
describing the landscape for you
it’s not my business as a poet anymore

you have eyes and a soul as wide
as a universe, eyes for
hieroglyphics and physics
a heart made of pure alchemy

if you’d only believe it
It was not my fault, that
Your animal journey was tragic

we all had elements of hooves, tongues, teeth
in our jungle journals of journeys
Our poetry was not for prophecy
our language was not to add details

to the human flesh of beauty
but to accept the sea as pure blue
to paint sunsets for cunning departures

in order to become a new person
where the plots did not suffocate us
but rather make us smile
at the irony of so many perilous colors

creation’s fresh monsters come to life
you may wonder why, I’m no longer with you
but in your memory, I’m the solid blood

that ran through you waiting
for the snakey orange eye of your future
the soft wobbling of the flower
for the most intense love of stars.

history of man

If man is dust
those who go through plains
are men

if woman is jewel
those who visit unanimous beauty
are women

so fond of travelling
so fond of creating
i did not drink plenitude in vacuity

i only witnessed it there
a while, until my bones
melted like popular seeds

gazing at the sky
until the turquoise heights took me
and i was a child once again

looking out into the sea
ready to pull the curtain
on this immense forest of breathing

murmuring with a hundred desires
if humanity is a need
those who act and speak

must be human, at the dance of hours
at the brink of extinction
phantoms of what were once corporeal creatures

soldiers in a manipulated biology
i write knowing what the world
is becoming, an organism

of a most probable quantum machine
a lost algorithm of evolution
that grasps the lonely form of what
it feels like to be alive.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Glance-of-history-106320648

FOR FALLEN REALITIES, LIKE HAPPINESS

as I write these lines
i find happiness in my heart
at random, like water tasted pure
Possessing me, how could I
make happiness like me per se
I feel the lineage of bliss tonight
orchid whirlwinds residing

somewhere within, like melting from the inside
for sunsets and also, mad at the injustice
of cruelty, inequality, sexism
as I write these lines
I’m half over, half my life is maybe over
i’ve named the rest of my life
“perfection of the finite”

drapping her with erotic memories
of lotus gardens, unanimously empathetic friends
sun glazed “aha” moments
as I write these lines
I find happiness in my heart
with turquoise little secrets
left for me by me, like my diamond body

that doesn’t age properly, or
my soul that laughs at destiny
with not sarcasm but drunk plentitude
so i have invented a face for myself
that can lift all my thoughts, to quiet gardens
where reminiscences left-over imaginings
bathe me in constellations-speak

the feminine-telepathy-heartbeats
of the formless dizziness which/
that stirs my starting ladder of deserted voice.

Scattered Fables of Neurons, Past Lives

with the precipitations of music
I saw that my number was up
an archipelago of magic began
with the script of pilgrimage
the clarities of the green earth below
with five senses that spin
to the grin of loved ones

serendipity, my body’s mouth to be
filled with water, your body
to gush sky, cuddle naked stars
I wondered what it meant to be alive?
so I tried it, to turn with desire in self-pursuit
and run across the fields
with neurons not made for lucidity

or mouthfuls of truth, but teaspoons
of hope, and morsels of beauty
that is all i could manage to swallow
so I surfaced with kindness
syllables with a humble kind of honesty
lyrics translucent as silence
words that echo to the radiant void

just to meet you, simply to stay awhile
I who, couldn’t move the impalpable forests
or divide quick sculptures of the wind
or remember the fragrance, of rain evaporating
into thoughts I couldn’t think
mortality was limited, but with endless things
a thousand beginnings, I moved like
steps where each step was saying ‘goodbye’.

Photography thanks to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Remembering-all-of-the-past-33648388

Delirium of Images, Sounds, Music

there are these messages
tattooed to the neurons
that I used to believe belong to me
they are everywhere, shimmering
with the electric light of souls
some call it “chi”, we are fragments
of something coherent

vibrant and creative
there are these messages
of madness for discourse
and theater, drama, philosophy
it’s the poetry in our lives
that matters, the relationships
the discovery of new languages

like mathematics, music, mandarin
like the way a new lover can awaken us
there are these messages
I often hear, in the give-and-take
between friends, family, romantic playmates
I enter and respect the foliage
of these letters, hunt them, like writing in the sun

or drinks in the shadows
so that when I am feeling a little bit empty
I can construct and deconstruct them
the fire of my passion
the names of water
when I close my eyelids
I can see the conjurations

and remember the pauses of speech
that were in effect, murmurs of poetry
the body-language of my spirit
a fleeting allegory of truer names
labels that did not disturb
the purity and symmetry of those things and people.

art credit goes to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-women-scorned-Dark-99965783

Footsteps of Silence in Me

starving for poetry, lyrical and suave
hands and lips of wind
heart of water
rhymes of eucalyptus
stanzas of rose buds
camp grounds of the infinite
studded round words of clouds

syntax of born every day anew
ruby paragraphs, I rub my eyes
the sky walks the land
and sunsets dance under this knife
starving for poetry, lyrical and sweet
what can sustain nightfall
clarity of half-open omens

words as light let loose on lost gardens
shivering for self-absorbed moments
starving for poetry, am I alone in this?
hushed fountains of beauty
edges blur, lime becomes black
memory becomes a bare white necessity
writing has made the world more dream-like

less credible, destiny seems just
a music without measurement
in time’s passing through circumstance
I see them outside of me, my life passing
within me, like an architecture of choice
but there is no choice, I am myself the circumstance
I am myself the poetry, and only silence

lines the grown with candles, only she
can extinguish all this, and then she does.

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

Poetry Deserves to be your Dream

Somewhere a solitary prisoner, like me
Begins to create the words of new dialogue
To appease some slice of soul
And if I no longer exist, you do

By doing what you love, writing
These citizens in private flight
A ritual of fire, guitar, tablecloth
Poetry is the easiest thing

It writes itself, like mouthfuls of sunlight
The poem creates a loving order
Executing words for fields of poetic justice
There is no room for nostalgia

Creation is a slave to change
Everything must yield to new worlds
And you know it as well as I do:
Every poem is fulfilled at the poet’s expense

Fountains of transparency, nothing like music
Will speak through my mouth, only
A sensitive center of a counter-point of blood
Where history woke to move, poetry came into being.

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Aqualegia-468477784