On Childlessness

On Childlessness

I’ll never know success
As counted as a thing
I’m not particularly happy with things
Not more cheerful with luxury

Our share of morning
Comes most often with belonging
And special souls as passing stars
I admit to lose and gain is ecstasy

I’ll never know in limp listening
Of a lonely lifetime
What it makes to know defeat
And tasting it so personally

To those who have abandoned us
And to those who could not understand
I’ll never know success of intimacy
Like some others do so spontaneously

I’ll be the descendent of a witness
I’ll be the selflessness lost in moments
That were forever eternal presents
I know I won’t be remembered
I’ll have no living legacy.

The seeds of poetry

The seeds of poetry

I write with the lips
of eternity, the passage
of naked centuries move in me
history’s whole body
expresses itself in my writing
the incandescent center
Of soul in language
Of literature on the brink

Hungering for incarnations
I wait for the arrival of
Transcendence in metaphor
The sublime traction of syntax
Paragraphs heavy as trees
With golden birds, cursive
Mischief, glyphs of mandarin and Korean

The fragile bride of words
Is in my hands, I’m a beggar
Of flowers and pauses
And green humming vitality
In verse, I am the wandering roots
Of linguistic music hoping
For the stars, petrified of the silence

I hold so dear and sacred
In-between poems, the excavated
Galleries of legends and symbols
The myths I live in fill me
But they do not fulfill me
Not like the carbonized drift of
Free-verse, not like the vagabond
Architectures of poem-magic.

Treatise on Emily Dickinson

From us, she has wandered one and a half centuries
Her tarrying, for unusual lyrical speech
Unknown in wilderness, preserving open-poems

To walk with words as Ethereal feet
No eye remembers her white-dressed
Wit, we only know our time of the present –

We took the mystery, of her rhymes that
Turned themselves inside-out
From us, she put away her ghosts

Her frantic stanzas, sunsets sworn
In short muse that hath too long a date
To talk with the Sun and Springtime’s bees

Poet of poets, woman of Massachusetts!
How many times can I read thy brief Divinity?
Alphabets of sublime artistry,
Heart as much a pen, as any page’s soul.

Treatise on Shakespeare

Some are born great
Some achieve greatness by repute
But us wise men know ourselves fools
And to our own selves be true
Loving all, trusting a few
Doing wrong to none

All the world is a stage
And with smiles we play our parts
The wheel will come full circle
Until the stars give ourselves back
Our destiny, to be great
And bleed, and tickle, and die

As surely as night must follow the day
Ignorance being the curse of God
Better to be a witty fool, than a foolish wit
Amused by the humour of our own minds
Some are born hearing comedy in their hearts
While others die many deaths of tragedy

If music be the food of love, play on
If body be the bread of pleasure, dip it flush
Full of sound and fury and a treasured youth
Into water, for joyful tears are all that is left
Parting is such sweet sorrow

Come, ladies and gentleman
Drinking down all unkindness done to us
May we still love the faults that made us blind
Aware and knowing of the floods that omitted fortune
Ah how a good human, does revere their own downfall.

Fragments Beneath Eternal Trees

I am a fragment on the white clouds
Of Apollo, Vishnu see himself in me
I am the Autumn silver of first snow
Washed on my morning face

I am the stubborn silence that accompanies
Too much happiness, the foreign
Country love. I am the last request
Of a golden heart gladdened to be poor

That the purity persists despite that
With a prayer book full of lyrics
Sutras of the melted precipice of self
I am a fragment of all that was once divine

Set in empty volumes of diamond flesh
I am the end of an invisible dynasty
Poetry dies with me, as a window
To the gray-maned mythology of italics
Where words became monuments of Autumn herself.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/she-409922245

Bounty of a Mandarin Candle

My wife, your hands they fly
From my eyes into the day
where the last sunshine
touches my face in throbbed

Turquoise where the ocean
Meets the sky in barenaked syllables
A flower petal found of sunsets
My wife, we live together in

A honeysuckle celestial capsule
Absolutely in our own world
My wife, how the darkness has
Swallowed us in the mercy of

her closed wings of grandiose shelter
My wife, I love to watch the
miniature empire of your face
With the characteristics of my

eternal notebook, the lift of perfume
and laughter, the garden-dream
of your tenderness of blue material
Where life seems prosperous & lucky

My wife, the last crazy sunbeam
Of my open heart, has arrived in your form
As the flare of corn in the soil
Or the gift of rain to the natural world.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/candle-for-every-soul-102428705

Poem on Beauty

My Art is no art
I seek to submit to nature within
That the heart’s streaming tears
Might praise that which is holy
Abiding by a sacred partner

A fullness of life, my companion
The heart of my Art
Has bangles of poetry
Necklaces of pure music
Whose verses & notes are extremely
fond of each other

They love each other deeply
They have no self to interfere
Sleepless and wondrous & pondering
They climb divinity and need
Each other so constantly

As I need to paint, write, rejoice
Even if my technique be wanting
In qualification, education, specification
My Art is no art
Needless to say, my love includes

All manners of healing insignificance:
The moment I stop writing
I face earth’s beauty, and
She tells me to write some more!

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Elation-V-408683972

Weightless we stirred ashes with our hands

Weightless are our holy words
with breaths from owlish darkness
our swooning shoulders cannot move
without thought, without poetry

We bury our fingers in the inner voice
to bring up the alchemy of water
where our empty body is pure energy
We scatter ourselves, moving light

with the serenity of our minds
we run through gates of sunshine
to find the words that move us
from brightness to blindness

Weightless, we are a unity of undoing
creating on seven strings the pillars of salt
that will crease the page as a pure sky
with wings of fire and gentle radiance
our words were meant to pour the oil of care.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-in-the-Overberg-407174930

Alive We are But Vessels

So, I will bend down with my soul
So, I will lay my face in the dust
So, I will find humility after brilliant failures
The songs of living will go on muffled

In my deviant will, my devious heart
I’ve had twenty-thousand desires
To err like this, to say that only few
Things matter, to say that the majority of moments

Will go forgotten, laughed upon, utterly accepted
So, I will bend my will to the nature in me
So, I will love what I was meant & made to love
So, I will find listening in times of bareness

And my life’s precious hours will disappear
Like all hours have fled before me
So, this is it and I am just one
So, the street-dogs will repeat what I have said.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumnal-Waters-404640689

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Intervals of Living Happily

I am excited to face morning
blue morning with all the happiness
that the world can contain
this is my maximum of joy

my interlude of peace
O Sun how happy and not carefully
expecting the best of the
many others I will see, the other selves

the nymphs of delight, all sharing
some mood of eternity
our goals are rosy limbs of
the species, our closed wells of

treasured value, the stamp
of what we once held dear –
I am excited to face morning
with you, do you remember laughter

that opened large bright eyes and gazed
like an archangel expecting fiery swords
of light wielded in ways
i cannot explain, the impossible play

of colors at dawn, that dangles infinity
on a rope that became the flesh
of my young children, singing and playing.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Kohnio-III-404152924

Lost worlds of writers & being

Our words are lost worlds
where we may never come again!
a thousand fragments for

each person, thoughts that pass
everything will pass, said the Seer
the boats inscribe our circles

the fish lead us to our new world
the day there’s not a single gull
the world will sink, in change

hang on, words will leave you
memory’s roots will drift
across an inkless body, your hands

which once yearned for flutes in frost
for flowers on branches of other worlds
will find being and form in

the imagination that comes from
another kind of life, musical torture
for language, that is never fully at home

to express spirit, to re-live all that has
been lived, and which can never fully
come again, alone in the sun

we are all unique, you write:
i am the self like all other selves
that draws beauty in the night.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ocean-50422805

Lyrics in Recession

This horrible but superb painting
Is modern society faltering badly
the autumn empire of greed falling
an economic diagonally downward spiral

it’s october and I’ve found anticipation for a day
the pure diversion of the eternal present
it will be all gone soon enough
This splendid but tragic superb music

of living without justice and competing
nestling the alarms of a hush-throated society
I will close the doors of sense and world-news
for a humbling sort of use of poetry

to satiate the lyrics that internally glisten
for the new creation of some future’s
giant transforming wing, for minds
and youth to whom all anguish has been mended
to live or not to live, in a better world.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Lightness-of-Being-404173536

With Specimens of Song

– Where Hart Crane once jumped

You love the invisible
You write IT everyday
You claim your little notes
Further the language of the Day

With ample letters, of your love
To witness the light which delights
The air is clear and transparent
Where your voice speaks like a melody

Your love is for the invisible
With incorporeal pillows vain
Your sunrise is a spiritual event
Somewhere inside your little brain

Your love, it is for the invisible
A dreamer interrupting his own ground
You write journals for eternity
God bless your suddeness
that which you call dear poetry.

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bridge-at-night-II-403312876

To a Heart so desperately in Port

I am oppressed by Cathedral tunes
Of another age, or am I so ancient thus?
Carrying a Heavenly Hurt

From life to life, like a thief –
With little internal indifference
And hugged purple scars

That give me my cup of meaning
For the water of brief identity
It’s an imperial affliction to be

A part of a world you don’t believe in
A species, that made wrong choices
There’s shadows everywhere

Hold your breath, do not partake
In the look of death, though it kills you
Without a sound, this is the life

We have been given –
the appalling calculations, as a
Funeral on the road, with

No pennies for flowers
Without self-forgiveness on wild nights.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sunkissed-0469-399845418

Felicity of Doom

Death and conscience, O’ she –
Will easily classify achievement
Achievement being a forgetful thing

Dare you saw a few souls
Deep straight down, a white heat
Of harmony at the best & worst of times?

Then crouch within the door
Of possibility, and listen for –
The metaphysics of vanished others

Who mysteriously appear and suddenly
Take leave, we quiver at the forge
Of the social fire’s flame, that unanointed Blaze

Where we marry others for a moment in words
And sacrifice a bit of ourselves, to please
Death and conscience, O’ she will –

Easily disseminate our mutualities
Love being the most memorable things
It is not a question of who or stability

But how much did we give & love
On what Anvil did we place our heart
That celestial soundless tugged-of-within.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Amaranth-402725392

To have lavender lips under the leaves of the world

In poems anything can be said
eyelids don’t obey the night
hearts might float as silver flying machines

throats might have a spiritual flicker
in poems anything might fly
slow heart breaths to music’s touch

lavender creeps in through the bedroom window
and fragrance tell us a bed-time story
In poems dreams collide, with the ocean’s floor

with stars that spring loud as the streaming sun
treasures could last for centuries
on eager notes of autumn amusement

In poems anything can zealously work
for the beacon of the times had a candle
that said to each morning how much I loved you

with a mouth for cranberry tea and the bluest glow
In poems I miss you always
for even careful words are too numerous
To be taken seriously.

Power of Landscapes

We were all still lives in a landscape
Carrying on our shoulders the preferences
Of a world in waiting, being born

From our chest emerged
The stub of progress
A leg bone of surviving

Dignity that approached
The macrocosm with underlying
Curiosity, humility, midnight affairs

With far-away stars, we were
The children of death, or so it seemed
Ready to produce, consume, destroy –

Maybe we were not models of being mortal
But elements raged around us
That hit us like glass, bone, metal, flesh

Our families could not abandon matter
We gave line to inheritance, jerking back
From the end-of-life, no matter the obstacles

We were all living in a landscape
Of pyramids of our own species.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Riding-Sunrise-401736095

In every flake that flies wide wandering skies

Leaves will rain the end of years
A pageant death-parting
O’ Autumn, it’s my soul

That gives you ear & listening
And hence who once was here
Cannot be forgotten yet –

My held breath in the day’s decline
Leaves will wash away what
Was once the blown night and day

Leaves and rain till the year’s flooding end
Your cheek against mine, the watery-way
With tears and of the blown night

The doom that waves her secret sign
Against my death, was my life in vain?
Adieu, waving last whispering of trees

Leaves will rain my last remaining years
With colors that will breeze to you?
Would ye ever wave an Adieu, for forgetfulness

Is coming so take flight all worries
What do you say to the breeze?
And what in that hush, say the breeze to you?

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Dance-Me-to-the-End-400908151

Awed by your Splendor

If love hast ruled me, not hate
then shall I arise an older mate
who never loved like I do

where youth and love lie side by side
we shall stay young, in bed
and cherished happiness
If love thou hast for me, dear muse

my bride the rosy leaves
are flying to the shores
give to me, thy groom, soft sweetness
for eternity has gladness

here to pass, until the silver cord
bends lips of full kisses to thee
thy form is lovely, nearly as thy spirit
whose eyes are honeyed moisture

thick with the longing of
a lifetime without Aphrodite’s full charm
If love hast ruled me, not hate
then shall I abide with thee

Awed by thy splendorous dress
of good nature and stars near
with a bright face for me
in the roundest lights the earth can hold.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Golden-Autumn-400631743

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

your name is already on the passenger lists

Like our bodies imprint
not a sign will remain
that we were in this place
so live like this, let sand

straighten itself, let nature
smooth the fabric of destiny
Like words that float
dates are already in view

in which you no longer exist
and what was your place in
the names alone that deaden no hearts
the languages that i know

can only briefly convey
we borrow meaning for a season
and treasure love as a tool
like our bodies imprint

our truths will have died with us
and many a person will
have similar fates, or so
we can imagine easily

who will help me? none will come
to the beck and call of desires
that were so brief as to be shadows.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Singapore-394870973

Voice

Now I feel the leaf of voices
Nothing mightier than the Trees
The sky where no word is spoken
But the speaking of life; sun & earth

O what is it in me that lusts for voice?
Language, the hoping neurons in me –
Now I wish the water of voices
That traces the blood of perfect organs

The soul of ancestry that brought me here
Now I feel the crypt of voices
My temples struck by the depths
All wait for the right voices, for whose melody?

The water follows the moon in my
Ancient feeling, with fluid steps
Forever ready, as if to sing –
The ignorance of words is so so clear

The non-duality from which every utterance follows
Trapped in time, but it is still beautiful
To feel poetry in nature, mysticism in the wind.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/resize-me-392917067

Who never lost, cannot win

Who never lost, do not know –
The thirst that will never be quenched
Plato’s fires in the weary league of Shakespeare
The Greatness that stretches

To the Revolutionary Day?
Who never lost, are unprepared
For the tragedy of a dull life
The cooling tamarind, the gazing tumeric

A legion of spices sought, in vain?
Who never knew, the Royal scars –
The lovers who left, loved in vain!
We are all soldiers in our hearts

With love on our brow, and not always
The Will to overcome, common ruins;
Who never lost, do not fathom more.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/sleeping-on-the-cold-dirt-392663547