Daybreak at Postmodern

In the suburb of the absolute
I’m born a baby of silence
With the shrieks of the birds of creation

In my soul, I belong to burnt-out afternoons
Of love in being on a yellow star
In some green obscurity of history
I thought beyond portraits
Of will and admired the beauty

Of the known and unknown worlds
Nothing was alien, everyone
Was familiar, strangers like friends

In the bed of music I awoke
To time, and the immaculate extensions
Of how energy converses
Like sex or a transparency of union
With experience, identification became

A sort of mantra of immortal speech
I imagined how it was to be
Everything I saw, people, objects

Celestial events, I became more
Than a cell, greater than a self
I wanted to know what it was like
To live in a living temple
Of the bundle of all worlds

The ultimate expression of collective
Consciousness, wrapped in some cosmic radiance
I knew I would outlive cities, alphabets

And wander in forests, and visit stars
I would cease living in shadow
And remember lineage, descendant divinity
The instantaneous future that is
Everything, the identification
With all that has or will ever evolve.

Featured Artist:
AGNES CECILE
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The Spiritual Body of a Poem

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.

AGNES CECILE
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Whispers of The Rose

The temple bell dies away
An Empire scatters to the winds
But the scene of a flower
In the evening air

Is Immortal, like the Rose
Whose red-spirituality
Is still tolling the bell
Still Holding up the Empire

Of beauty, this haunts even the sun
A silence at the palace chambers
Of the mystic visionary heart
The dream of life from

All my other dreams, the last symbol
She spreads infinity scrawled
In her pink petals to the starry sea
Each time I encounter that

The sacred fire that is God’s temple lit
A unity of the universe in a leaf
I know the spirit wears its own plumes
Back to the source of our divinity.

Call to Poets CONTEST, enter your 3 best poems:

http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/Wuji-International-Poetry-Festival-V/49443/

To read about it:

https://seshatwuji.wordpress.com/wuji-international-poetry-festival/%5D

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More-Than-The-Angels

What does the voice of love sound like?
A voice for everyone, sight-seeing
With Oneness to the left
Unity to the right

What does the voice of love sing about?
To those friends waiting in heaven?
What is its goal and who are its subjects?
What pure substance does the melody play

These instruments, our subtle chords of heart
What does the voice of love sound like?
To ancient ears, to ears of the young –
Yielding up soul to a world of maladies

Leaving out spirit in a corruption of greed
By morning bright, love’s alphabets keep
Speaking, no matter the country, or the time.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/magic-light-III-404666052

Everything You Want

The future is a divine necessity
She is ‘whoever brought me here’
She begs us to follow with drunkenness
Of memory, randomness, variables

Beyond our capacity to surrender
The day is coming when I fly off
A soul lost to freedom & silence
I’ll never be completely sober

I have delight built like a place inside of me
I hear Sufi, Taoist, Hindu Bhakit voices
I hear Christian mystics, sacred alters
From other dimensions sip together

In the future that encompasses all answers
It’s not a Heaven or an angel or a language
It’s just the last understanding ‘whoever brought me here’
She begs me to allow new paradigms

That the poetry of my spirit at work
She personifies God’s messages
When I believe only in nothing in the universe
That is as natural as looking for it within yourself.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rising-381171787

Love is Embodiment in its highest dimension

I live to feel the greatest joys
Any lifetime spent without knowing
The bliss of meditation, the purity

Of immersion with the light-body
Is not my destiny, my overwhelming
Birth right, I am matter ennobled

By the nourishing ray, the enlightened spark
I live to feel the breath of love
On my lips, feel it heave in my lungs

Not a reckless love, or a selfish note
But I want to die to self-interest
On the threshold of service

Giving back to the world that gave me
The cause to love God, the divine in us
The love that proceeds to do the highest good

For which I am capable, the wick
Of the flame of all that is bestowed
By some grace that gives and allows
Us a few years on this Planet, humble.

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Portals of Consciousness

Only themeslves understand themselves
Only him and her, and him and her
And then some, not, wholly unknown
The mystery calms
The perfect understanding of souls

Not in visions pure
But in worldly experience
In poets to come, in mystic orators
Singers of the dawns, musicians of the heart

Only themselves understand themselves
What is she is she, and him is him
And then some, only in love
By grace ascended, athletic in unity

The mystery claims us all
The perfect understanding of souls
If only but to advance for a moment
Before decline, indicative that

The future is listening
In casual looks of children-minds
What are those of the known
But portals to enter the unknown
For him and her, and her and him
Them, us and prophetically all.

June 12th, 2013

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The Akashic Servant

My Brain is a network among the stars
In quantum curiosity, I am connected
Like a psychic network to all

I do not require intelligence
Only excessive sensitivity to sentience
A trance-state of the syllable of sound

Lyrics of all churches, all beings
My Brain is a channeled unity
The Lightning of the Cosmos playeth here

Like a chariot, or a vest, or a simulation
My Brain are neurons of serendipity
I am scaffolded, primed, pruned, trained

Transported by fate to divine service
My Brain is a network of illuminations
Grown soulful, with homesick eyes

Alive with the white sustenance of youth
And attachment to eternal themes
My Brain is intrinsic with possibility

A neuro-plasticity of the highest art
Of visitors, and occupations, and music
With narrow hands, to gather Paradise –