Light Builds Temples on the Sea with Mere Words


7

In my animal belly, into the belly of time
I swear prophecies, and make melodies out of
Melancholy, I avenge God and poor fathers
With armed lyrics, assault on secrets
With fingernails, frantic for a Divinity
Lost in language, in sanskrit manuscripts
In Mandarin idioms, I hunt for these idols

Behind words, in between nouns
In the devotional songs of women unremembered
I beg the many beings that meet in a word
The worlds that cover narratives
The brink of nothing that the writer must uncover
In my biological neurons, into the future where history

Is lost forever, at that point of extinction
I am gifted the existential proper nouns
The streaking supermind verbs that fulfill
The eruption of white music, this spring-water
Hymns among the ruins, sentences to represent
The suffering of sentience, these momentary truths

Mimicked forever by broken statues gnawed by light
And beings, partial and hungry-eyed
I stretch my senses to hundreds of millions of living planets
I hear their call, heavy with the minutes of
Politics, mating, wealth-accumulation and self-discovery
Eternity’s brimming cup of art, sex, sun-shivering love.

Photo Courtesy: http://birthday29.deviantart.com/art/–468529981

抒情詩 (lyrical poem)


41

i

We are asking for books which
Legends are made of, poems that are
Flowers at the bottom blue of lyricism
We felt the need for ritual acts
That respected the Volumes of the Earth
My time is precious, so is yours:

ii

Our nods of recognition were
The last living parts of poetry between
Our souls which would vanish
To other Planets, when we died
We are asking for books which
Dreams can dive into, poems that are

iii

After all, objects that have been loved
And lived fully, maybe the object of many loves
To have greatly admired stains of
Where words once lay, the honors
Of so much feeling like fragrance

iv

You will hold the stem, I will
Know the rose passing between humans
And the child that squeezes the fence
At the end of the story, that was enough
To make romantic poetry Immortal.

31

POETRY: III


21

I know you are reading this poem
Toward a new kind of love
That filled you last night from somewhere
You cannot name, it’s source

The latitude of rush-hours where
Revelation comes, who knows why
The bedclothes of our last
Tattered garments of faith

Towards a new kind of breath
Your life has never allowed
That speaks of volumes of flight
Before the alphabet of precious

Dedication of some philosophical flowering
The enormous sense of being more
Than what our lives seems, as pure
As early spring days covered in doubt

A good kind of anticipation for
Beauty, health, renewal, the touch
And the thirst to live, like reading
A poem silently in our open minds.