Wonder of Aging

It occurs to me now
How our soul is honed by love
Not the love of barter and exchange
But the love of inspiration
That changes a heart
To become a better person
You simply smiling, that is
Enough of the forever kindness
To fuel me for a quiet lifetime
There is no answer to the questions
We age, wander, wonder, mature
Until we accept everything
Like eyes on a shelf of time
Ready to empathizes and stumble
A little longer, every goodbye
Isn’t gone, it’s just the stirring
Of chatter, breath, blood, wings.

Time with her Long Storm and Rainbow Nose

Until it puzzled came
I blinded centuries with my will
To continents of ecosystems entertained
Until the arctic got her drills

For oil, diamonds and the last hurray
Of a species running stock markets
To fetch the bills
I cannot live with you

Greed of white-man firmaments
Let Indian and Chinese colonize Mars
While you flood here with latitudes
Of European migrants over-run

And Germany caught on her heels
Colonial, accustomed and common industry
Alive for the moment, without regret
Wild as the guns they keep at home

While plummets stars from these flags
Too heavy to touch the angels
Too righteous with their own sense of God
Time will interdict the blossoms

California can’t lead the world
That is destined with acute degrees
Judgement day of time and eternity.

Time

On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t

On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t

I am the beginning’s mind
In love with many possibilities
So I became a poet
Without accepting the fact

That everything changes
We are impotent
We cannot find perfect composure

Life is a koan ready to be experienced
Transience is that nature
And nurture of the game
Art is like the discipline

Of creating a reoccurring situation
Where the world is its own magic
And we are visitors, it’s that simple

So won’t you stay for a while?
Everything is perfect
And understanding yourself
Allows you to understand everything

And ultimately, we must exist
Right here and now
I am the beginner at love

For only recently
Did I recognize her everywhere.

After Tears & Flowers

After Tears & Flowers

After years listening for
The pending section of immortality
We heard the imperfect stars beyond order

Where all foreign prayers float
The sentience after singularity
A rebellion from transcendence
And a mauve notebook yearning
To return to more sensual primitive states

After ascension, it was all
We expected to be, an abrupt dawn
After so much waiting, from change to change

It was a perpetual sonata of transitions
We become a new human being
Each year, without anxiety
We were positioning our neurotransmitters
To be completely prescient

We became prophets of predictive analytics
And stole into the future
Ready to let go to so many of our ideas

Beliefs, routines, habits, acquaintances
In order to become our own awkward
Ceremony of who we truly wished to be
It was the journey that counted
After years of work, life become

An art of learning how to surrender
An assault on all the goals of our
Former way of existing.

Fragment #NaPoWriMo

Duality Loves Too

If our love is stronger than love
It is not love, it is nature
For only nature would be wise
And good enough

To make such a love as us
For there’s no best season
To love, it’s the duality of time

We carry a bit of love with us
Wherever we go, it’s hardwired

And endangered in
This age of selfishness
Where individuals can easily go
Thirty or forty years without tasting it

Since to fall in love would
Mean to lose control

If our love is too weak to last
Was it love, or only time?
For time is sometimes
Wise enough to separate us

And strong enough
To do what was right in the end.

I love new

I Love New

I
Love
New
More so than I love you or me
Because having encountered wants
I found desire
Only accomplishes a plan
Through change, so I’m a bit
Romantic when change is near
I call out
To the heart at once
“What’s new my love”
The sunrise treasures it
The seasons admire it
And the mystics praise it
I know the future intimately
I
Love
New
After all, repeatedly, under my breath
But everything is sweeter
Tomorrow, so wait till tomorrow
And let yourself arrive kindly
At the end of the beautiful road.

Slogan while drunk

Stillness,
At the breath of first morning
White as swans on the river blown
Time adrift among the roses
Europe’s balconies spilled
Over into new moments
The tide of experience
Flooding, flowing, caressing
Consciousness and wiped clean
Stretching out into
The obscene and vague concept
Of tomorrow,
Nothing moves larger than dream
When hours are large and oval
It’s promiscuous to plan too much
And somewhat foolhardy
In the whirlwind of days
Nothing is sure
Not work, love, or existence.

Youth till now

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.

Simulation of a Dream

Stillness
In the middle of the night
Hush like centuries
With each other
Only to know that we were not fixed
But changed, in the silence
Where nothing moves and everything
Flowers and exchanges
Reincarnates in place
It’s the quantum structure
Of how mutations occur
Like syllables on the vacation
Of the summer, that was
The rest of our lives
The hour grows and falls over us
Luminous, like the moonlit window
Clouds full of sunsets behind them
Surround us with poetic insomnia
I hear an anthem in them
That could be a teleportation of history
In the middle of the night
Where revelations occur
With each other
Tomorrow, the hours will be larger
Than ever and pregnant with something
Other that what I was today or ever was
I am here, at my beginning
Free in the will of the invisible
Where we are all algorithms.

Artist: Agnes Cecile (http://www.eyesonwalls.com/products/this-thing-called-art-is-really-dangerous-fine-art-print)

Art & Transience

Art & Transience

As the sweet sweat
Of roses does conspire
To give delight unto the noon
I fall idle in the routine

Of mystic admiration
I stalk slenderly the years
That pass without lament
I kiss the cherished months

One by one, in sweet succession
For a life is nothing much
But the comparisons of beauty
That art and life is everywhere

Even in the chaotic society
As the sweet breath
Of a warming sun does pretend
It knows the secrets of other stars

I fall into the embrace of
Reverent sacrifice, what else –
For there are no wounds left
To search, there are no scars

In transience, all memories
Fade like rainbow dust
In the wreaths that were the plots
Of our little love-lives and

The imagination that we were
Wronged or lucky or fortunate
We all had our due, variables
In a quantum field of evolution.

Morning Strike

Morning Strike

I will have lived long enough
When I die
For the cadence of life
Is O’ so dear
However long
Love lies sleeping
In an immense city
Filled by so many people

I feel lonely at the thought
Of being anonymous
For so long
I will have lived long enough
When I die
I tremble at the thought
Beauty is a cool watermelon
When you can appreciate it

When dusk turns to night
And when dawn turns to day
These are my favourite parts
Inverted and transcended
On the balcony of faith
When hope is all but scattered
I will love alone
What the universe gave to me

I will not take
I will not hoard
I will have lived long enough
When I die
This heart or that
May know of the feeling
How the water dries
How the newspapers

Turn to dust, it’s nearly
Affectionate, how the lips
Of summer never quench
The youth inside of me.

Experience in perihelion

Violets, doves, girls, bees
And oh, hyacinths
Are inconstant objects
With an inconstant cause

So floods the springs
It must change, face
To face, epoch to epoch
Thought to thought

Year to year, swollen
With the mutability of life
Energy in a universe
Of light pushing the pace

The heroic part is not
Surviving it all, it’s
To learn to let go
The major abstraction

Is not to plan for a future
But to transcend the idea
Of being ready for a future
That is always just an

Illusion of what today is
The partners leave, the kids
They grow up, the money
Separates from your fingers

The memories grow exotic
Life bleeds a final elegance
In how quickly it leaves
The beating heart, the candles
That went out in the rain.

Disinherited Europe

To Spain, Greece, France and Italy These decades are birds of passage The years overwhelm with Information, change, economy instability I hear the beat of the future Hang low in the dewy atmosphere With a beat of glowing snow I …

Saucy Seraphs of Death

Death sets a thing to its significance
That was insufficient in life
The eye that hurried through

Goals, perished for its workmanship
We all work in crayon, and wool –
Industrious by passing necessity

As other creatures who have eyes
I see no other way, this world
Profits from the business of death

The distance of youth floods
Departs like the Grace departs
For each beloved hour, each beloved year

Death sets a thing to its significance
There are no tears that measure for the dead
Incognito, dust, how intricate the weeping dust!

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/autumn-rain-404842271

Spring, in Memory as Old as Love

Today is April’s chill
The terrain of minutes without music
I walk another flowery permutation
This too is Spring
The annual green of shivering birth

These hours are inbetweens
All of them, without remorse
How marvellous is the change
Becoming is better than being
Or being is a myth like self

The next day, it will be longer
Stretching me with saliva and for the stars
Within a week I’ll be somebody else
Hopefully, out of the rut I’ve hid in
Spritely with the air and the moisture

Of potential, laid eyes upon possibility
The glow of inspection
On droplets of something new
Entrancing me perpendicular
Towards moments perceived differently

O’, I will study the buds this time
The orchids I will take as mine!
These Seasons my last Encyclopaedia of glory.