Magic of Poetry #amwriting #wordsmatter #AppreciateAnAuthor


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Magic of Poetry

My love haven’t you heard?
A poem helps change the shape of the universe
That is why we write, to rearrange
Our spirit so death shall have no dominion

Over our fragile psyches, so then
The purity of our love might be translated
From the language of one heart
To the soulful listening of the many

So next time you ask yourself
What is the point? Remember dear
Our frail deeds danced in a green bay
And it was laughter and celebration

Because their words had heard of lightning
And the beauty of the storm, and every
Obstacle seemed clearer in that music
Wild men caught hint of the prophecies

And began to sing and make art
To learn to grieve with dignity
My love haven’t you been listening?
A poem casts the net of silence all around

Making fate seem like a good night’s pardon
Poetry is the whisper of each generation
Which says: I love you so much
I’ll never be able to tell you

And if, with my soul I could touch the earth
I would tremble like a dream, sad and beautiful
To hear all the poems you have read
Until time herself holds me green and dying

And behind the secret eyes of dreamers
All is washed away and understood.

Featured Artist: http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/

Into the arms of Writing


75

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.

Youth till now


72

Art by Agnes Cecile..

In the scattered vibrations
Of youth
I lifted each hour whiter
I slept with each month greener!
And I felt invulnerable

I feared death then as if
Cessation of being was a bad thing
Desire pushed me
Into new encounters
With the inevitable side of life

The empowering and affirming
The unfurling in the wind
And expansions into scenes
With silken banners, drunk liaisons
And knots, as the side of my bed

Inside my head, freshness of wounds
Errors in waiting, studious looks
Chaos in the overwhelming discovery
And the self-discovery of innovation
As if self had to be created over

Sky rising to the lips of fate
In a wayward temptation
Yes well that was then
And this is now, indifferent bliss
Sprouts in me now, like incense

And peace, preferring not the face
Of whirlwinds or zipper-trance.

Multiplicity


95

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

Between Silence and Music


72

I will defy the movement of language
With syllables soft before the snow
For Autumn in the fewest chosen words
Along lines of simple alphabets

In the palm of my listening
I will observe you walk as a poem
Skips across ethereally this earth
With colors and bodies of Christmas

An instantaneous impression of beauty
I will sing a lullaby to the irreproachable sky
And kiss the poem-greeting letters
That dissolve as a soul among the trees

And the centre of music
That is a living expression of the times
Today the sun comes out in your poem
And I listen for the poem I will write in reply

I will be a hero of a recluse today, again
With an inner smile of jewel-pointed clarity
That the imagination is a universal thing
The night’s sheerness of black gardens

A voice from which religions spring
Spiritual movement completes itself
In an intuitive release of meaning
A letting go of the sadness of having come

And gone, like death, poetry takes me there
As a river of music, entering my blood
Chilling me with a serotonin symphony
The joy of being here, the glances and reflections

Of existence, mirroring poetry
Between silence and music
The snow and sun, men and women
The rain and drums stalk my fantasies.

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

Resurrection ritual


58

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

The Spiritual Body of a Poem


62

To write poetry is
To create philosophical memory
To adjust the commentaries

Of all souls, to just one voice
To strip the inequalities
Of existence, of their mass
To write poetry is
To erase the written

Transforming what we have read
Making alphabets contemporary
Fluid, mystical

To write poetry is not just art
It’s neurological reprogramming
A quantum gesture to
The nature of beauty
And Meaning itself

To write poetry is
To return to an absence of meaning
The meddlesome mind forgets

The natural order of nature
To reduce layers of narrative
And return to a total peace
And a grand vision of the universe
As a talking thing, exchanging energy

In a physics of existence
To write poetry is to love the unwritten
Endings that all concur

To identify with the sudden
Rupture of beginnings
From which all thought originates
To write poetry is thus
The silence in between the words

And a solace beyond thought
To free oneself form the memory
That is an impression or a scar

On the mind, blankness is an ideal state
To observe time and space without attachment
To love existence independently
Of the personal conditions of one’s life
On the letters of your poems

I observe a black walking cat
A woman that must question her heart
To find the answers, without
Speaking we are a language
All we feel and do is a kind of vocabulary.

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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

59

Visions opened after a Human Lifetime


54

No and Yes
We’ve seen it all, this duality
The mind, body

The two syllables of love
If the world is real
We will have died
If the world is unreal
We will have lived

It’s the cleft between
All beginnings, and all ends
The male and female part of us

That speaks through all significant others
Talking about to us
What does it say?
Words are unreal
Experience evaporates

Silence rests all speech
Smiles foretell all energy
The exchange that does not end

With a you, or with a me
Unreality of form
Turning into spirit
Reality of spirit
Spilling into space-time

No and Yes
Free finally of
Exclamations, pauses and questions

Free to dizzily wander
The whirlwind and the flow
Fluid like there is no tomorrow
In the plaza of the mind
What is indeed possible?

Language like water
Between your breasts
Thrives for symbols

Objects & apparitions
Wood and stone
So much to commit to conversation
And so much a silent dialogue.

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

I exist in a room abandoned by language


27

I lift syllables to plant
They will ripen in your mind
Like wheat of the ancient fields

Where our ancestors ate language
And leisure, like we have never known
We who labour like machines
As slaves might, while our lives
Is as a poem where the trees incandescent

Must watch themselves wither
As sheets of paper gone to waste
I lift houses of sound

To your legendary fracture of silence
These vacant lots of night-time
Where a pale puddle of your
Grip upon reality suddenly blazes
With figures of your once dreams

The summer has oxidized mornings, sunsets
A weightless winter awaits, as scattered
Pages are left to turn, each one

Words in the shape of a cloud of dust
As white as snow, as lingering
As the cold, and the murmur of a million
Leaves that once were, but are now only
The idea of color, the texture of earth.