The Hollow Planet


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The Hollow Planet

If all language deserts me
All vice of verb and adjective
Then pardon my Divine feeling
That shall remain, in my silence
Like the voice of the forest

Before the logging trucks came
Like the sound of the ocean
Before the harbour and ship-horns
If the voice of a planet suffers
Who will hear her lost password?

Who will know the centuries
How many springs and summers yet
Till those virgin fields come back again?
While men and women breed
The world which has offered so much

Prosperity to them, suffers still
Their economy a scaffolding of allure
And the disconnection with nature
The urgency is for the physical basis
Which humanity has lost touch with

Evolution labored to drive us into cities
Green cities are the orgasms of the Earth
The hide and seek of skyscraper gardens
Wrapping towers of glass with gushing water
Will the city gardens prove that the beast

Can cohabitate with corridors of the future
Or shall we bring them droughts, famines,
Antibiotic resistance infections, floods.

Life is the only real counsellor


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Life is the only real counsellor

It’ s the Spring, a heartbeat at my feet
Tightrope above a feather bed
Looking down on beauty
From on high, landscape, foreign grounds

There are a few ways
Of spreading light
Be the candle or the mirror
And Lo’, beware of monotony

Mother of all deadly sins
For boredom is not evolution’s whim
Give me the tightrope, the short-squeeze
The misfortune of having strong desires

True originality consists of
A new vision of yourself, not new manners
But attitudes that can transport
Your entire life into more necessary habits

For there is time to be inarticulate
But not time to be indecisive
It’s the Spring, let’s get divorced
Marry, and say we are living

The life we want to!
We make our own stories
Hero of the shaky narrative
Good plot, bad blot, matters not!

It’s time to move forwards
For we shed tears in Winter
So we could start again in Spring.

Losing #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo


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Losing as a Perquisite to Experience

The art of losing doesn’t take
Practice, we do it a bit every day
It isn’t hard to master
We all have a talent in forgetting

Memory is not accurate you see
It doesn’t take analytics to say
That we lose each other a bit
Each day, so don’t spend

Your hours badly, don’t leave
Your keys in the door
Love is a practice of losing further
Losing faster, it’s a lost art

How to watch the watches, please
Just love your life, that’s primary
Then love each other, that’s secondary
The art of losing isn’t hard to master

I owned a lifetime then it was taken away
We don’t possess, we just experience
The art of losing doesn’t take any
Special belief in the afterlife.

Gamification of a poet’s Portfolio


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Gamification of a poet’s Portfolio

New level, new rules, you’d say
Relaxed in your anxiety and dread
I became used to how you
Would talk to yourself on airplanes
The turbulence of the ambitious
I suppose, I never had
That kind of luxury
You planned and reinvented yourself
You became a kind of
Magical realism of your own life
Skilled at indifference, sharp to criticize
New level, new rules, you’d repeat
Trying to find a polite way to adapt
To the predicament of not being famous
We’re all fiction, dialogue, performance
I suppose, but to adapt to an audience
To be a master of exposition
To fake it till you make it
Is not building a foundation
It’s being in the wrong empire.