Celebration

Listen to me as I listen to the rain
Listen to me as one listens to the footsteps
Of the sun outshining other suns
Without listening or looking but being

With eyes open inward, at divinity
Where divinity is everywhere
And nature is a dynasty of divine everything
With all five senses awake and

Crown and thunder and golden bird
Magically in tune with the inner language
Of empathy and pure identification
That I am you and you are a part of me

A light footstep of syllables that never ends
One continuous language, one love transferring life
From body to body, time to time
Until air and water, words and matter

All live on like this moment of memory
With somebody remembering what was once
But a clamour of history, a spark at the edge
Of a universe, teaming with so many forms of life.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Waltz-of-the-Polar-Lights-479973951

The Word-Maker

I write as quiet as the Dew
Accustomed then, to my private
Flower, in an accustomed inner-realm

Where I am a fictive dream
But a symbol on a page
Once white, now transparent blooms!

My words drop as softly as the stars
In less skillful melodies than before
Sorer to believe that I have a gift

The Bee of mantras is not afraid of me:
I know the Butterfly’s secret stanza-home
I race to silent woods cordially

With Brooks that laugh louder
Than the forgotten rhymes of time
I write as quiet as the Stream

Who sings of madder breezes at play
For we can only create natural things
Even in our Olympics of alphabets

Better to be a writer, than an actor on the stage –
I relate better to neighbors imaginary
Than the marketplace of the dead.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Adoration-427932167

My Soul was Caught in Morning

My soul accused me
Of a diamond tongue
That but only lingered

Between the royal stars
All else accused me
And thus I learned to smile –
A finger lifted of spirit
As clear as enamelled Fire

With wings of supernova
Carrying birth with light speed
And leaving a mark of poetry
For the absolute disdain of time.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fragments-of-Glamour-424291313

Treatise on Immortality & Reincarnation

Between Nothingness and Eternity
I will meet you there
Past the rich pretensions

Of early life, my real name
You will know
By the frequency of my spirit

Wholly unto each other
As beings of Light
We will wrap our souls

With the rainbows of
Divine caliber, preparing
Our minds for future

Incarnations, I am the red thread
That attaches to your gold thread
We are the flame of spirit-stuff

Quantum and without angles
Between the Void and Infinity
I will meet you there

As particles of the Absolute
Our secret selves shall bathe
In the same bliss and rejoice

With unmeasured thoughts of the vast stars
Where Immortality shines in a billion
Evolving selves, with the speed of time.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Spectrum-Over-South-Dakota-422603660

Debt to Language

Words are a blameless hum
Language is insufficient ultimately
Flowers of through that float
With petals of fluff and wings of air

The thread, that has no needle
Laughter, that has no conclusion
Words are the mischief of myth
A whistle that imitates a bird

Knots of identity that do not fit quite right
Words zigzag and often hurt
And dream of something perhaps unreal
An expedition with no end

Only stories to relate us to the wild
Words defy topography, mask intent
There are no end-time mnemonics for alphabets
They cling to our duality and separate

You from me, us from the universe –
I pity the poets who can only taste
Their own subtle liquor in one language
I for one, am a poor translator of the human soul.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Unikorn-412093929

The original alphabets

We are pollen, all we do follows
the flight of flowers of the rock
facing the ancient green sea
our culture remains distributed

a glowing meme of what we loved
and how others perceived us
glowing with our brief life-purpose
flowers of the rock, figures drawn
by some divine hand for a mortal hour

We are pollen, all we do follows
the sun above pine-trees, planets silenced
after centuries of greed, life is all the same
we cannot assume flowers and organisms
on other worlds behave so differently

We are pollen, the flying meaning of youth
hunting for the adaptation that is legitimate
that will learn to survive on some secret seashore
Greece is dying, once a birthplace of renaissance
Spain is haunted, once fountain-ground for colonization

We are pollen, all we do follows
footsteps of our thirst at noon
the water of our being circulated
for writing vanished, cities under layers
desires and passions as legitimate as yours

we lived our lives mistaken, in error
so we changed our life or became extinct.
we wrote humanity’s name in the sea-breeze
but the sea-breeze knew we would not live forever.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-setting-sun-from-the-Tokyo-sky-tree-404168103

I had no rest against her autumn cheeks

Autumn closes in on me
Soft as the bed in the earth
Cool as marble above the clouds
Her arms and her hands bleed

Red & orange maples, rain on leaf
The smell of rich damp pores
A cloak of darkness before cold
The chilly air bringing dark to

My eyes with her lack of usual sunshine
Autumn closes in on me
Bringing me into a spiritual transitional
State, the quiet time together

Of pondering what was, in buds of what will be
I am swollen with change for
Her racing weeks of busy months
Like the pounding of horses in the mud

I awake to find leaves have changed
They have fallen in groups of colors
To form the imaginary kingdom of
Mountains of mirth, sometimes I believe

We all invent our kingdoms
To cope with all of life’s many states
So the body of autumn might detain me
So I might bare my branches for art.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Motherland-Chronicles-34-In-the-Secret-Garden-404198254

Ode to Virgins

A girl to a man is an ascended tree
Who bears the most magnificent fruit
The tree has grow in my breast
Downward like arms of moss

Trees you are, nourished glee
Moss you are, ravished romance
A chill of violets in the wind
A girl to a man is the folly of the world

The gift, the goal, the great deception
A virginal biological imperative
Like heroin, a dopamine-testosterone high
For the spoils of estrogen and smiles

Slight her arms that stealthy subtle clearness
Her vague ethereal beauty, so remarkable
A girl to a man is the twin peaks of the world
The reminder of April’s shooting branches
The white bark of skin, the young lady’s hours.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Kika-403043718

For Fairest Woman, of Worthiest Men

Oh do not leave, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone
That I have celebrated women
(In the best & worst of times)

For the world’s soul signs its name
In my heart with the breath of devotion
To human and diviner things
Oh love is a strange fever in organics

That burns with a knowledge of possession
Giving the fire of meaning in attachment
Though I have sought to flee attachments
I have found that a good mate is

A kind of death to the world, and all other women
Such being the case, I am enslaved by
A world full of women, and their care
With only cause to essay to please them

That is the true fever from which I suffer
Gladly or nobly, I do not know
So shall burn this world, and none have wit
That such roles as man and woman
Were given to us, for breeding and other cares.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Empty-400146375

For Saints Who Plea in my Little Ears

Now of the delightful Court of Heaven
I sign intermittent, love letters
To the Universe, to the fragrant memory
Of the holy life, sacred feeling –

I kiss the shinning joyous martydom
Of brief mortality, or the moon
Or my heart, the blue stained glass
Of experience, little blue reflections

Of dreams, that passed like hours of doom
That I love without conscience
To uplift my time in transparency
The oceans more blue than eternity

Made in the manner of Japanese
Accepting all requests, all signs
Of the most exquisite temperament
When I this morning made my way

I sigh intermittent, deep breaths
For hope and faith, as wearing a blue gown.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/New-day-III-399733723

In Adoration Immortalis

The altar of love
Bears a crushing resemblance
To war, a soft circle
Of moss where we once lived

Tied to each other in disparity
And our hearts moved
Rhythmically, as tender
As the unison of poorly

Led troops, to be sacrificial lamps
In a game as old as life
To smooth the flowering grass
Of all that we once prized

The immoral gods were not
So immortal, after all
As our eyes once devoured
Each other, dear –

All bids disarm, all decades fade
The wild alarm of youth’s soul
In rage, on the brink of
The quivering skin of festivity

Forever trapped in time
Both in sight and sound

Speechless as a cherished tomb. Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/nobody-knows-399333467

Salvation of Many Wings

I am content when wakened birds
Wake me from my dream
Before they fly, they test reality

My reality is an illusion
Remote as a vision in perpetual flux
Of misty fields, by sweet questioning

I live a half-life of indifferent blue
Upon the grey and white shores
Of what I call birth and death

The years pass, I am a biological spark
Neither the golden underground
Or the woman of my dreams can release me

I am content when wakened birds
Whisper to me that I may fly too
They wake me from my dream

With feminine whisperings of procreation
A much more friendly part of paradise
Where labor seems natural and eventful

April’s green endured desires for June
Tiptoed and spent on wings of consummation.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Panorama-Of-Ondic-398431868

The Death of Motherhood

Life contracts and death is expected
As in a season of coming Autumn
Life blossomed and love was had
As last Spring when everything changed –

When the wind stops, when the flowers
Wave their imposing colors
So temporary, like all things
Calling for pomp, begging for luxury

All to be included in the clouds
Nevertheless, life’s abundance trumps
Life expands and beginnings are necessary
As in a season, to break all seasons

The future was an ideal of beautiful proportions
Where everyone goes in their native direction.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/44-398449586

Epilogue of all Summers

The grass looks extra green
it’s May, singing cuckoo summer drawing
this is as good as it’s going to get
you say with your head on the pillow

I agree, chance has leapt
straight for serendipity
talk about being right on!
and the wild-eyed skies are

searching frantically for mythical stars
in the weaving of galaxies
try to make something good and new and true
lie a long time still, “I slept through the night”

till tomorrow turns into forever, you might add
the clouds look extra white
it’s August, the place is a wreck
only a soulful smile teases on

proud as a peacock of Earth
we sit in silence together
enjoying the passing of the seasons
the only drama being our admission of peace
the root harmony returning to her source.

Photography Credits: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Camargue-396718724

Star Climbers

My lover gave me green leaves
with the mud of longing on them
her fragrance stuck on the flower stems

where her tender heart once plucked them
she gave me the note of what
the river sang but couldn’t put into words

she gave me fire struck by living bolder
and thoughts, like the flint of ideas
she gave me the taste for progress

in my loins and in my heart
the syllables of hope that when spoken
created lifetimes of universal magic

my lover gave me green leaves
that shine from a golden sun
and promise, she set her eyes on stars

and told me our descendents would one day
climb over to them, and I with empty hands
gave a little gasp of joy, because
I could see it all happen too.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Interior-395279497

Patriarchy in Exile

It is not doom we fear, nor extinction
We live for the brilliant present day –
Erected as if for the first time, we
Are built to survive, endure, come home to find

How our colossal steps keep us dreaming
There is no permanent haunt, we know
How to move on, forwards, afterwards
Adapt, before we fall, as we reclaim

The living bronze of another golden day
Even from futility, we have resilience
In the form of youth, and immortality –
All we find are changing altars

Alternate futures scrawled in time-machines
There is only the riddle of collective ignorance
The bribery of the profit motive of the illegitimate
That strive for supremacy, not love

It is not testosterone that makes us strong
Selfishness and vanity move us only so far.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/CUBOZOA-III-393220443

Who Occupies this Hope?

Who occupies this House?
A stranger I to myself must judge –
With unknown quantity of love
For a selfish world, I live in vain?

Who occupies this Stage?
Since no one knows his Circumference –
I would write upon the door
Half my life I owe to circumstance

Who occupies this World?
But bio-programs of newly raised Afternoons
Inhabitants in a half-life pre-defined
But where do the Golden birds assemble?

Who occupies this breeding field?
Must I breed then too, to feel alive –
‘Twas settled long ago I suppose
In some unknown territory of Ghosts & DNA

Until I as a pioneer learned to forget myself
And follow footprints that were made
I found peace, when I learned not to judge.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Blue-Dream-392679827

Kosmos

The theory of life, well –
It is from the heart
That includes diversity, and unity
We exist in an amplitude of Nature

Cosmos and sexuality
The brain is our messenger
An audience of each other
The practice of living, well –
*
It is two by two, in proportions
Of realism – spirituality
Aesthetic, functional, intellectual
Moral, the theory of a community

Is a body connected to other bodies
Minds intermeshed with all minds
The theory of life, well –
I see generations connected by dots
&
Points of light in time, doing what
Is necessary to the flavours of the moment
Achieving Oneness for the multiplication
Of genes and memes, prayers to the stars.

Photography Courtesy:
1. http://browse.deviantart.com/art/cosmos-137620437
2. http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Cosmos-sky-264333803

I Have Not Had the Pleasure

Your mind is a beautiful raiment
Of an alien geometric pattern

I was haunted by your icy banner
Your sermon of the snow

Your soul is a beautiful sky-trace
Of an alien enchanted thrill

I was haunted by your perverse design
Your sensuality of dark heavens

Your body is a beautiful smouldering city
Of an alien city I once called home

We have not sown this, it has come from before
Like a karma of how I go to things I love

Your mind does justice, in the places
Between us, like velvet telepathy

Of an alien fashion, I used to know about
The place of higher skill, the paradise of migratory students.

The Last Bhajan

My Beloved dwells in my heart
She is touching me right now
As we speak, I can feel her
Eyelashes on my soul, blinking
Me into a lifelong state of bliss

My Beloved tells me I’m needed
Just the way I am, that I exist
For a purpose, I want to offer her my gifts
All that I am ever am or could be
My Beloved knows my Will

To serve her into Eternity
I have actually seen her Abode of Joy
She offers it to me with her flaming pen
My Beloved dances with me
Between the curtains of morning

From some place far away and distant
She finds me from within
I have no human body, to say
This was real, but I feel her nearly
In every second, she creates

Moments and vibrations in me
My Beloved sets me free
She is touching me right now
It makes tears pour down my cheeks
Her baby eyes watch me with
A terrible power of innocence.

The Riddle of Transience

Give me my amber revelations
A new territory of realism
Exhilarate my destiny into a new order
Of maturity, where I can confirm
The victories of my simple life

My period of prayers has passed
I need to act like an unbroken settler
With more determination
To prove myself in my own esteem!
Give me gigantic sums of obstacles

That I too might know the Common Bliss
The golden mean of happiness
My noon has come to dine, these
Are the prime years of my adulthood
Show me my capacity to live fully

Transplanted from a thousand roads
Life – is a different thing – in these new years
Enough about Bodiless Campaigns
The trial of visions left astray
The Solstice of biology urges me forward
On the last day, of the Spring of my life.

In The Burning Cosmos Nobody is Safe

The old lights are broken
Politics, religion, corporations, nations
They have no conscience

Lawyers, bankers, profiteers!
Will from individual truth
Breeds corruption beyond repair
A system of mutual exploitation

This is the house our fathers built
Where wealth is invented and the masses
Are used as economic soldiers
To be sacrificed, replaced by robots

The lights are broken
Leadership, Presidents, News, Propaganda
Even the internet is being monitored
All your texts, every word

The Governments are turning on their people
It is legal to blind sight your own citizens
Who you are meant to protect, you rob

The old lights are broken
You might not realize, you might not care.

P.S. Inspired by my favorite wordpress poet, the brilliant psycho-political poet Alicakhoo

The Duty of the Poet

I will take thee, as a Poet
To candidature for ethereal thrill
Subtle as the inner champers
Portions of visions, phrasing that

Dwell as full as an image – the red Rose
I will transport thee, as a Poet
To Cathedrals of fraught mortality
Joys of darling spontaneity

To risk all for the Scarlet Shelf
And usher in liberty for arcs of white
I will love thee, as a Poet
Until the house is full, that of the dream –

As conquering as love’s palaces
As secure, as divine intercourse
I will lead thee, as a Poet
As a carpenter on hands & knees

With opened palms, known to nobody –
As a stranger speaking of the elder tongues
I will speak of summer fields
And unheralded flowers dropped from memory

As a juggler turned wordsmith
As a prayer turned literary
I will take thee in, as a Poet
As the original artist of creative Vermilion

The pressed dust of symbolic projection
Of minds painted with brief beauty
That warrants pricelessness, with every line
These bards never awake from midnight’s trance.

Writing is my Last Gold Perception

The Vital Word acts through me
Chiseling lyrics to shiver in language
The act of symbol to perpetuate soul

My favorite invention, my muse
Of the instinct to dance
In line or song, delay and feedback-loop

An aptitude for flight – or poetry
Here one moment, gone too soon
With swiftness as if Eternity was due

Upon the ether-street, airy lullabies
I write to oblige the accomplished Guest
To visit me like awkward cursive

Ancient tongues, soul-music standing ajar
As English, neighbored Mandarin
Songs of Earth, to light my brain with

Securest folds, enlarging loneliness
The Abyss can fall into the word.

That I Did Always Love

Two butterflies went at Noon
Chasing distant birds
As my heart chases the pleasure

I believe is love, the last privilege
Of meaning, Life could not convince
Me that, there were more important things

I was not logical, or cruel, or sober
A martyr-poet loses syllables
In pangs, better left unsaid…

Like a caterpillar going at Noon
Motivation has dissolved in the search
As my heart chases the unity

I believe is love, a territory of decay
Where I feel impotent to declare
Myself any lasting victory.

Your Hips Beneath my Pregnant Hands

You gave me, songs for late hours
I hunger after your rippling
Skin, flesh come alive
Your silver back of cold divinity

Your thighs of shattered sensations
Your hips of warlock-tumult
Wine and kisses, led me to this –
Your small breasts and unexpected

Nipples, your sweet moans
For hard days, your last resort
Of petting me, stroking me
Let us wash our limbs with moisture

And make a cringing siesta
Of our tired bones, weary lungs
I’ll give you French names
In bed, unclothed and free at last

In our naked ease, I’ll give you massages
And detach you from reality like a feather
With circling tongues around your
Wet spot, split heavens like dark rain

Feast on your native smells, vivid heart
I’ll tip your golden buttocks an open leaver
And find great engines of burning there
Wanting your wetness over me without end

And season myself in your whirlpool of lust
You gave me, songs for late hours
I’ll give you blazing gardens of desire
And you will squat on me like a passionate princess.

Inequality

This is the secret: these hearts
I held out to you, they weren’t mine
They were all the broken-hearted

All the poets I read, all the wives
I’ve witnessed abused and thwarted
My sensitivity wasn’t mine, it was

My personal reaction to the tragedy of others
I’ve seen, our own obstacles don’t seem like much
It’s this world’s capacity to suffer

That astounds me, that outrages me
The exploited, the underdogs, the innocents
This is the secret: when you want to help the world

You put others first, somehow, for community
Is what binds us together, waiting to be cared for
It’s not only your children that need your help

Meanwhile, we refuse to do more than survive
Our comforts suffice, our legacies are private
After we have inherited so much more
Than they can ever hope to receive.

The Veins that Run from all Centuries

I can feel a tremendous ballad
Approaching me from within

A rising discontent, with locality
I want to live outside of time & space

Embrace dimensions where “I” does not exist
That is the trusting of Omnipotence
And the true unity of Immortality
Life sustains itself, I can forsake this body

So long as I have a means to experience
The Kingdom of Heaven, spiritual totality

I can feel a tremendous ballad
Overtaking me from without

All these Delinquent Palaces
Achieving poetic strain, at a distance
Assisted by false estimates of mortal consequence
I can feel a tremendous ballad

Between Zero and the Bone
Between Love and all other interchange.

The Akashic Servant

My Brain is a network among the stars
In quantum curiosity, I am connected
Like a psychic network to all

I do not require intelligence
Only excessive sensitivity to sentience
A trance-state of the syllable of sound

Lyrics of all churches, all beings
My Brain is a channeled unity
The Lightning of the Cosmos playeth here

Like a chariot, or a vest, or a simulation
My Brain are neurons of serendipity
I am scaffolded, primed, pruned, trained

Transported by fate to divine service
My Brain is a network of illuminations
Grown soulful, with homesick eyes

Alive with the white sustenance of youth
And attachment to eternal themes
My Brain is intrinsic with possibility

A neuro-plasticity of the highest art
Of visitors, and occupations, and music
With narrow hands, to gather Paradise –

The Poetic Dilemma

Words answer my April
Words answer my every month
Every state, has a Window or a Minister

My feeling are of Two bodies
My soul and its liberty persist
I know it then, by the numb look

Of Neighbors, and the lost delight
Of Lovers, where is the Bee and blush?
For it is not yet Spring – and I am lone

Language is my last successor of pain
I am trapped in its Vitality
Self-Obliterating is the choir

Who that visits the Night is my poetic chore
Words answer my April
I make words for every hour

There is no Education in poetry
Only pure-feeling, as ashamed as courtesans
Here I contrast all currencies.