Proud Artists Breed Poetry for Themselves 


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I will continue to work
In silence and obscurity
Loving what I do more than anyone
In this tiny world full of profiteers
I won’t profit from my art

It will rest like a blanket of
My most intimate identity
I have not a broken heart for myself
But a broken heart for this young world
That cannot seem to find its soul

Any relic of the dead is precious
And as such, the spirit of poetry
Lives on in me, like a light

That burns with the measures
Of all human words and love stories
For finally, it’s relationships
Which define and frame

Whatever uniqueness we most cherish
Comes from the dreams
I’ve had for my entire life
Though my ideas and the people
That surround me may have changed

Time and space conspire for my destiny
That my greatest love has always been
The quiet tranquility of sitting in a room
Bathed in the upstart unlimited imagination
Of the muse that can set you free.

It’s Dawn in Seattle 


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It’s Dawn in Seattle

Eun Ji, if I die at daybreak then
Let my night be the doom of poetry
The place where I extinguish all longing
All wishes that felt the weight of empty years

For if I am to know heaven’s daughters
Then I must be ready, to profit from sacrifice
And bear the burden of immortal dedication
For these words have their own kind heights

Which but from a gentle style un-kissed my cross
And toss the coins that land in the fountain
And I am the hand that puts a lock on the fence of locks
and I am the feet that must tread this lonely path

And these are the hearts that I have torn my fingers
On, like roses and felt the prick of mortality
All for well, an experience, so if I am dead before tomorrow
Let it be known that e’en in death poets speak

And answer with a fathomless smile, that echoes
The goodness of the swan-like sufferers
Who came before, and will come again
To write becomes the great abyss and the ultimate
Silver realm of pleasure, an organic virtual reality.

Alchemy of the Blessed


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Alchemy of the Blessed

Eun Ji, sometimes in secret I think of you
And I bless you as the night is your abode
We writers must be part omniscience
Part prophet, for we imagine what

Is possible and must translate divinity
It’s our duty to take a piece of the universe
And place it as a hidden gift in the mind
We are alchemists then, with an eternal glow!

O God, how blest we are forever in this magic
That I could endure any external hardship
With a touch of the familiar weaving of poetry
In my psyche, I am the night, and judgement

Disappears and mercy is for every dawn
The dusty stuff of past years is no more
Only light settled in my brain when I am alone
And I write for the love of the dearest way

For we are all seekers somehow in our sport
And waiting to find the right vocabulary
That best expresses our original spirit’s incarnation.

Easily Aroused by the Present #Poetry #AmWriting


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Aroused by the Present

I am the throng of sense
That lives in the inner trance
The watcher of all glory
In the present moment
The recurring Spring is my time

To eat lyrics for breakfast
I am not along in this
We are transparent authors
We pretend we write for ourselves
But in reality, we write

In a universal field of
Mutual atonement
We follow the same inspiration
Vibe, tone, reinforcement
The bliss of writing is well known

There is no happiness like ours
We have been eating verse
For many years now, like our own
Librarians to the cosmic sense
The poems are gone

But the stories are vivid and live on in us
Like laughter, and sunsets
I am a new man because of her
I romp with bookish joy
For all her intended felicity.

– “There is no happiness like ours
We have been eating verse
For many years now”

The Problem of Extinction #Poetry #Environment #Transhumanism #Amwriting


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Atlantis Returned

In the algebra of burning suns
I witnessed days
Like a blaze

From language, technology, culture
Species upon species going extinct
I was alive when this happened
And I felt the mourning

Of evolution, the transgression
Against God, unity in diversity

Extinction is sometimes
The only punishment nature

Has left, after the singularity

Some might flee into augmented reality
Decide not to travel
To other planets, busy in their

Immaterial gamification of reality
With their smart watches
Immersive glasses, fake telepathy
Levels of community

You told me of the setting hand
Of life and the hour when
Humanity would be judged

In the soul of Dead Mayans
I knew even global civilizations
Could destroy themselves
It wouldn’t be the first time.