If Loving is Destiny

These poems mine, created early
Are nothing but the soft sense of gratitude
To life, what offered us so much!
If we took her for granted

Let it be known, that I’m drenched in dream
That I hadn’t known of your art yet, Hae.mi
I hadn’t felt your little joys
As a kind of graceful thunder

In my world of watching the eyes
Of human beings doing what they do
These poems mine, are reflections of nature
That drop from fountains like

Our toes wet in the dew, this living
Is so beautiful, even without possession
The feelings melt into a cohesive whole
Integrity with identity, wishing with hope

Touching briefly as light upon branches
Making love with a spiritual connection
The poems, on youth and ruin, are fading now…
I am nothing but a spy upon your divinity

Set in your beauty, hungry for your soul
Ready to deeply bury myself in your goodness
With the water and bread, with you as the last drop of honey
These poems mine, they just whisper

And there’s no grave to them, only endings
I’m talented in endings, as I am a decoration
For the muses, to life and all that we can never touch.

 

Photo Courtesy.

Soul of Art

Soul of Art

Please universal soul, let me be
Ecstatic with what you give to me
All suffering let me pass on like changed clothes
All joy let me radiate like the elation

Of creativity, as art hidden completely
From those who cannot see
Like silence, I want to recognize
The spirit in-between time and space

An essential breeze of the sun’s youth
In my imagination an information flows
That comes from some other source
That I attribute all my love

It passes through me like time
I feel it in my veins like water
My heart a birdsong tribute of gratitude
In the open ocean’s width of horizons

An all-encompassing peace
My place is placelessness
My trace is the trance of soul in body
My breath the breathing human body

This being bankrupt to purity
This hope always seeking salvation
In the elements of the future.

The Initiation into Poetry #amwriting #poem #writer #literature

The Initiation into Poetry

It’s said that poets are anxious bohemians
A strange figure in a dishevelled landscape
With some kind of Baudelaire complex
Alive with sex and tragic forsaken brooding
Or some schizophrenic Holderlinian tick

Some Plath-worthy enigmatic illness
That is hard to treat, harder to diagnose
But the truth is, poets invent their own reality
On another level, than you and I
They are like jesters in love with words

They can’t stop the ranting
They are infatuated with the music
And the temptation of anxiety and trepidation
The anticipation of freedom that is the after-taste of verse
Like wanting to be loved, and not knowing how

I knew a few poets who are mild autistics
They will imagine something beautiful about you
But’s it’s an ultimately self-annihilating plight
Like how we all need another soul to cling to
Poets cling to beauty, and the soul of other poets

And love to die for their art, making good martyrs
I guess you may or may not have the stomach for it
It’s not something you can do exceptionally well
It’s the feeling of going to hell and heaven
On a dime, to imagine you have a calling for it

It’s a daily demonstrative love you feel
That you put and marry to the page
Day after day, until all memory is a fragment
Of a poem you once wrote, it starts to have
A life of its own, poets taste glory in each day
And aren’t particularly afraid of experiencing pain.

Life is the only real counsellor

Life is the only real counsellor

It’ s the Spring, a heartbeat at my feet
Tightrope above a feather bed
Looking down on beauty
From on high, landscape, foreign grounds

There are a few ways
Of spreading light
Be the candle or the mirror
And Lo’, beware of monotony

Mother of all deadly sins
For boredom is not evolution’s whim
Give me the tightrope, the short-squeeze
The misfortune of having strong desires

True originality consists of
A new vision of yourself, not new manners
But attitudes that can transport
Your entire life into more necessary habits

For there is time to be inarticulate
But not time to be indecisive
It’s the Spring, let’s get divorced
Marry, and say we are living

The life we want to!
We make our own stories
Hero of the shaky narrative
Good plot, bad blot, matters not!

It’s time to move forwards
For we shed tears in Winter
So we could start again in Spring.

When I pass thy door at night poetry

——————————————————–

In the strange destiny of men
I must confess to be lost
Or having gone astray
To have gained little in action

————————————————————–
Accomplished little with art
But loved the silver songs
Of guess and soul’s weight
With human flight, I have loved

——————————————————-
Gone wrong, chided, sworn
What a lover Sappho was
In my merry mind, the indignity
Of poverty, the distance of loneliness

————————————————————
I lived lazy hours and soft summers
With little to show, strange and far
Until my heart stopped for
Wild, keen, tender trembling

—————————————————————–
Making magic music in the dark
The life of a poet, that was my lover
In the blue foothills of faint and dimming dreams.

COULD I BUT RIDE INFINITY

i

My portion for the day
Is defeat, a taste of poverty
Paler luck I guess than Victory
Whatever that means, whatever
Will be, will be; only love keeps me going
Slower than, so many years ago

ii

I live for scraps of prayers
And napkins for an invisible muse
Nicknamed ‘soul’ by God
I’ll give up God for Eternity
For quiet hope has fewer bells
And faith must realize the self
In whatever circumstance one finds it

iii

My portion of the day
Is empathy’s brief appointment
Before everyone disappears
To follow their respective fates
An altitude of change, goodbyes, death
Never mind repose, it meets you at the door.

NOT QUESTIONING, BUT LIVING

The world has her distances I cannot pursue
Across fields of summer nights
Spent alone, alone in the crowds
Lines on her face so grievous
The world is half-shamed always
In her unhurried humiliation of routines

Trapped in the roles of her fate
The world has discovered a new
Dissatisfaction, meanwhile we satire
The rhetoric of falling afternoon
We think we’ve seen it all, though maybe

The world was to us just one view of a face
A billion faces in the crowds
Exchanging nods with colleagues
Aware that nobody is watching after all
As unselfconscious as a line of trees
Duty was the last giving of our heart.

A Canto of Being More than Birth or Death

I sang a Canto of country words
Of spirit mingling with identity
I stood and sang and filled the air
In a theater of my special muse –

Underneath pillars of sense & salt
I felt the invisible, intangible
Illuminable work through me
I sang a Canto to the stars

Of heart cleared clean north in heights
With the aspiration to be free
The sun appeared and reddened great
I sang a Canto of sunsets on the verge

Of time naked of politics and self
And my words become finally
A diamond pivot bright born
A luminous page on my knee

I sang a Canto virile in breath
That paused to trace infinity.

In the regime of hunger

No more of this poetry.
Bring on the hard, harsh real life instead;
Let the jingle of verse disappear
Bury the lyrics of my youth

Like precious Ivory of another time
When the creatures of the Earth were free
No more of this poetry.
No more need for the serenity of a poem

For the empty invisible sense of victory
Poetry, I give you a break today
In the regime of hunger, the Earth
Found more useful things, like family;

The full moon burns like a loaf of
Bread in my mouth, my wife
Waiting for me to overcome idleness.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sophia-and-the-Pilgrim-406349902

An Old Grace of New Subjects

Always mine & never mine
Ah the joys of experience
A weary vacation in living

Among forms, new Subjects
Every Dawn, it seems is a first
Seasons of the Sun I once knew –

Terms of light and days begun
Failless is the loving rotation
Always mine & never mine

Happiness in a cycle
Of water, earth, blood and love
Faultless, each indeed in rightful places
What is your purple program?

Author’s Prologue

My life has been an author’s prologue
Godsped the days of summer’s end
That let me love, and forget to write
My hands trembling, at my seashaken house

With the foam of the Gods spraying me
Until my lucky stars fall into sunset’s net
Eternal waters tackle me into the clouds
I kneel with my fishwife by the coast

Where I stab heavenly birds with beloved eyes
All I have known and seen has come to this –
The poor peace of a timeless song
The rest beyond pan and flute and melody

And a comfort beyond prayers and pain
My life has been an author’s prologue
And as a poet to a thousand strangers
I gave my heart, the fire of birds
The world’s turning light, that is never enough.

Photography Credits: http://www.deviantart.com/art/our-390450759

Pure Being

In the great attendance of relived lives
I felt no karma in the crowd, only experience
The long restricted dissolving star
Solemn & sweet, with our individual doom

Not extinction in my belly, but love
Creation exhibiting herself in me
All multitudes were finite
And separate consciousness was

A likely myth, with duplicates at every point
Life was a vital privilege, sour or whole;
I am atoms and issues of grace
Photons and quantum comparisons

Every minute I attend to the facts
That all I am will be taken away
A circumstance of breath, water, light
The Universe never owed me anything
And ultimately, I gave only what I could.

Photo Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Silent-Melodies-385313111

Lyrics of a Summer Storm

Here it is Summer again
And we are talking about the end of the world
I am late by saying & singing
There is grass by the back door
On every account, we are poor

The yellow moth flowers continue to spur
Dragging their feet not, nature renews
I will not drag my heart
For a dying or changing world
It is what it is, some fate indeed

I’ve learned to accept my own fate
So shall I accept the world’s fate
Karma has a cadence as sweet
Mercy and justice together move
Here it is Summer again

Beneath sunspots ever so silent
A moon hangs in blue on midnight gardens
The world is changing like never before
I am late by saying & singing
To utter the language of the stars

We all speak in parables of the blind
Conspiracies close to our hearts
Lent out to strangers, across the canvas
Of the Earth’s serene glow
Possessing upheaval, relishing

The horrible but superb painting
Of human consciousness.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/65845160-381335724

Wrap Your Beautiful Robe of Spirit Around You

I feel some Beloved presence
Pulling me like a river
To drink the dawn in bliss-recognition
And take in sunset like supper
And drink to the stars
From clear spring waters

I feel some Higher energy
Teaching me to look for signs
To observe the soul’s progress
Even in trickery and hypocrisy
I feel the last truth waking in me
I’ve given my brain to the ‘Divine’

With neurotransmitters of Ananda
I now walk completely naked of identity
So much have I accepted my fate
I study the ways of transcendence
Like an exercise of transformation
I feel some Beloved presence
&
Pulling me like a river
To drink the dawn in peace-existence
And take in dew on my feet for breakfast.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Diamonds-381053343

Conspiracy Video:

Love is a Divine Beauty

A true lover has faith in God-nature
A description of love that is ‘divine’
An ailment for the supramental future
A wish that yearns and aspires

For a discourse with bliss and unity
A lover may hanker after this or that
Though they know the form is not important
It is the spirit that breathes life into things

The beauty like evening talks
Of moon split asunder, of stars
The sun of the soul that joins in warmth
A true lover has the light of God-nature

Not in doctrine, scripture or holy words
But in a beloved kindness and sweet gentleness
A description of love that is ‘divine’
A service of the healing supramental future.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Alani-Ua-381049730

Songs of the Hybrid

My nose is white, and not too big
Your fragrance is in my veins
The flowers of your womb have permeated me
And I would mate, and dance for children

With songs of love, and the echo of fate
I am not of the East, born of the West
We quicken with desire
For a shared future, the triumph of Queen-belonging

My nose is white, and not too big
Not Asian and indented, but a button nose
Your fragrance is in my blood
Your hips live in the back of my mind

You churn a lifetime of happiness
Like the weight of all yesterdays colluding
With a new creation, challenge and joy
What girls care for, the creation

Of their family, their right, their worth
My nose is white, and bigger than yours
Your fragrance is stuck to my bones
The scene of your hair is laden with black

Like fibers of my genetic code enmeshed
In a hypothetical hybrid, the earthy last resort of life.

Returning from the Hard City of Civilization

From the green lushness of the hidden
Language between us
That not time or dialect can separate
I return to you, my last holy city

Where I am called upon to dance
The mountains while the world crumbles
For I have a piece of paper
With your name on it, somewhere

In my heart, like a chance patriot
Of a country I used to call ‘love’
It’s vaster than these yearning words
It’s sweeter than these torn mattresses

Returning to Eden, I am no longer alone
But I live and die for another’s embrace
She calls my name in a foreign tongue
And I know that I have returned home

A straight same place of light and comfort
‘Return to the same place at eleven tomorrow night’
Thy will is done in me, in my service
Of all the yearning of my beloved belonging.

My Rooms of Poems will Receive Me

Slowly swayed were our little truths
The rinse of poems on a stretched out youth
Shimmering they left us bare
With Epitaphs for semantics

The final language of high tendrils
That swayed and sung
Of little things on the wood’s edge
And triumph amid

The warm summer air
The quiet doorway where we grew
From a broken house into true light
Firm between stones of artistry
*
What were we but the thoughts we made
The poems we wrote etched our
Entire biographies, as if the elected
Voice of the day, something to keep

A light-hearted author alive
Faith to point to burning greens
That would never die, Agh, with white flowers
Whose pollen would mix with the stars

Slowly swayed were our little truths
That redfaced love of younger years
It brought us clean vocabulary
Of all that time left undone

And polished our lips for stanzas
Sonnets of the moist black soil
Of our clutch on sentience, dearly trodden
The few words our lives would leave.
The few homes of moments gone unread.

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Drawing-Board-378815701

Fragment: To One True Fate

Is not today enough, love upon the seas of fate?
Few flowers grew upon the wintry way
This is spring and summer of my cheerful return
Sufficient unto the day of my last belonging’s tide
That discord was and but a dim slave
And sorrow a petty repetition in the brain
Is not love enough, enough for today?
I have wandered long enough
Like an ocean, homeless and unconfined
But these days appear like a settled-dream
As if a warm and gentle atmosphere
Kept me close and sweet and tender
In the health of our shared wealth of soul
It is enough, to make the spirit sing
With the speed of singing love’s own name.

There Are Accomplished Facts of Living in the Present

(One of them is Love)

All day long in spring and song
We lived in eternity’s day
All day long in dew and wind
We lived in summer’s hour of infinity
Against Paradise we stood
Hand in hand, heart to heart
For waves and love and festivity
We lived in eternity’s presence
All day long in joy and mimicry
We called it the Beloved present

It was an accomplished fact
That we decided to Fall in Love

A first outburst of the new dawn
Our very own special New World
All day long we talked and made love
We lived in eternity’s day
All day long in sunlit drapes and fugitive steps
We traced Taiwanese wilderness
In Montreal streets, circling the planet
Against Paradise we touched and ate
Hand in hand, heart to heart
All day long in summer’s hour of infinity

It was an accomplished fact
That we decided to Fall in Love.

This Too Shall Change

This too will pass
Dreams of my heart linger
Nothing stays for long
I have been a child

Amidst the deep solace of song
If that should ever leave me
Call me no longer young
That too will pass

And I will be reborn
After death, rain, memory
After the most beloved parting
I will find you everywhere

And awake in the night for you alone
She too will pass
Or I shall lay down my nights
In shafts of fire to follow you

With a child in your womb
Winged are thus my last desires
The alchemy of spring
Is not forever, love too shall pass

As yellow daisies in the rain
My heart has been the most lovely cup
To carry and hold; flower, pain and leaf
Easy to behold, and easy to call

Upon the gleeful wine, the living gold
That your laughter changes
All my grief in an alchemy of timeless joy.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Dandelion-377468128

True Nature of Spring

I have sung the songs of first birds
Of morning’s wish of the flying away
And clapped my hands for the sun
In the loving gold grace of your eyes
The fault must be mine to
Not know the silence

That comes before the dawn
The minor birds of dream
Have fled my grasp, slippery doves
The humming bird seen once in a lifetime
I have sung the songs of peacocks
To the uncertain harvests of Mandarin

The orchard white, the orchids of Taiwan
All the spring stored of so many years
Of youth’s last wish for love
Those joys usually reserved for God
All this celebration that is the springing of the year
To jump in prayers more subtle than pleasure.

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/A-Time-for-Magic-II-377276625

I Walk a Secret Way

I lived my days apart
And I cared for those that lived apart
For I knew the dreaming of solitude
The songs of God, which quickly

Were delivered by laughing angels
I knew how delusions could crowd
the glory of the heart
We all needed friends

To keep us whole, grounded, unified
Covered with the tyranny of strife
We met those days, with
Illness flashing in our brain

Neurotransmitters outnumbered hours
I lived my days apart
A mystic soldier of my private art
I knew the fury that smites the air

Of music that runs igniting clay
Neuron to spirit, grief in my brain
I wanted to hold the world in my arms.

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/The-power-of-imagination-376439633

Intensity Enflames Me

I am begging inside for the sight of you
What I cannot touch, overwhelms me
I have been snared by your modesty
The gleam in your eyes scolds me

For something I have yet to do
My power is being taken by your
Seduction of coiled hidden intensity
My hard memory of our secret talks

Gives me chills in many layers of my chest
My thoughts are reflections of your trembling
Your pleas are my limits of graceful union
Our pleasure is a portfolio of lucid instinct

A frenzy of the distance between language
You are wet for the unknown steamy union
Of my firm manipulation of your arousal
A drift and swirl you from the inside

Drenched in the salty sweat of our synchronized fluidity
An aroma of citrus and lime, fragrant femininity
Washed by the ripples of your aquamarine yearning.

Photography Credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/cathi-28-376103370

Tracing the Ocean

The moon and sun are fellow
Travelers through eternity, they collide
In eclipses as beautiful as your face

The summer grass is tall
As the lost dreams of soldiers
The images of youth burning

Through the quiet fields of discovery
The wonderment climbs in me
As I wander upon the harvest moons

Until the night is gone, until
I wake the butterfly glow in you
Ocean, the sound of the water jar

Cracking from the ice of our footsteps
After winter, we have melted
Like the moon’s encircling thinned to a thread

As the sun’s insect singing of years
Happiest as when new lovers unite
A ballet in the air of bare branches

And the crowning summers of our love
The moon and sun are fellow travelers
Starving for fat stars or myriad clouds

Or backyard love, seeking what
The ancient masters sought
There is nothing in summer that

Does not resemble a flower
No feeling that doesn’t resemble the moon
The moon is brighter since we left home

The sun’s light is wider and whiter
Since you came drunken-into my life.

Photography Credits: Calvin Wu, illustrator: https://www.facebook.com/CalvinWu.Illustration

The End and the Beginning

After every year, there is a war
Between the past and the future
I feel it when you look at me

As if to recapture the secret
Of how the years were lost!
Someone has to clean up

All this love we left
We left it in the dark
Till another season rose

And another candidate
Someone who can straighten us up
When the time is right, arrives and appears

After every year, this is a love-affair
That brings us back
From the despair of hoping
We would never find love again.

Homage to Repressed Poetic Virgins

I wanted to affirm life
In a poem, set life in silent offering
A hundred times, pushing the boat
Into beauty, across the water
Dawn, a crayon summer living
On the edge of literature
And love, these comforting moons

I wanted to begin again in wayside streams
Shout out the alphabets of my
Flaming salute of joy, smile
As if I had waited an entire lifetime
To truly know how to smile
Darling, you gave me the yearning stillness
That allowed me to write again

And I was more of a poet, than a dreamer
Because of you, I wanted to optimize
The way I experience the little things
In a forbidden dance in a never-ending night
Where every day was another
Hour of my life, the extraordinary discovery
Of myself in others, loveliness spelled

Out in infinite variety, in caresses
That penciled the soft outlines of the Earth
I wanted to affirm life
Once and for all, in your hips
Your womb the star-foam of all
I had ever wanted, the swaying plentitude
Of the ripe trance of writing and loving

They were like breathing to my tragic poetic side
I wanted to give life to the repressed virgins
And read them their own poetry
Of femininity, while licking the quatrains
Off of their daring free-verse
It was to be a festive summer
Love would soon blot out

The adventure that I had planned
I wanted to affirm writing an empty verse
From all the lessons I never learned
How fleeting was the poetry
Of my brief life, a few pleasurable summers.

Photography Credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Desire-374379673

O Like a Fire That Flickers for the Fairer Sex

I think of women on
Hot extravagant afternoons
Words from the Earth, my little bread
The water of centuries picked clean
I let the red ink of these prerequisite passages

Settle in me, their earthy wisdom
Like a masseur’s warm open hand
Their expert flirtation of
Psychology and innate fastidious ‘performance’
I think of women on

Cool nights that restore my pulse
I listen to them too much
To hasten to their self-same torments
I’ve heard all of their complaints
On the tipsy tip-toes of poetry

I did nothing to provoke them
My goldenrod of spilled yellow friendship
I am a living animal, in their presence
An outlawed sign-language of my desire
They read on their unmenacing lips

A sour frantic belonging of their value
I think of women on
Mornings of the shrewdest plans
They are instrumental to my cathedral-abundance
I’ve become too good at giving & giving-in

And now a most savage dog
I think of women on the way here, or there
After-hours rain downs my familiarity
I think of women like naming the planets
Pirates of my soul’s bleeding kisses

Whimper, silly, hush, flood, hot-flashed
I think of women and their sweet roar
Sweat, push, pull, sign, moan, hush.

Taiwanese Summer, Part IV

When I indulge, it is an unspeakable pleasure
A delight claims all my thoughts and acts
That I become pregnant with curtains and bed-sheets
Your gleaming smile in the night
When I come to you, my lips pressed
To lotus-channels of desire
Beneath the dignity of your caress

I grew to resemble your wisdom
Your strength and purity I took into me
When we indulge, it is an unspeakable rejoicing
I have not the words to translate into Mandarin
Not the four-charter ‘wise’ sentences
Through songs of wings, chorus of footsteps

I would listen to the morning, and remember you
I would hope for the night, to see you again
When intimacy is a quest for forgiveness
Of all previous hardships, alas, I resign myself
To joys transfixed in pleasurable habits
To a new life of yearning and sweetness

The moon will glow like a white sleep
And our bodies will explore those lands hand-in-hand
You are the host in the paradise of heart
The spring wind that climbs over a dozen hills
Under the pillow of wild flowers, I see you with tulips
And imagine photographs of us over the course of years
A summons to the silent tongue of diviner years.

I Clutch Tightly to the Blurring of You

In that erroneous age, the twenties
I had such ‘illusions’
I lived with love
And made only art
Hoping I would be able to eat tomorrow

I never averted my eyes
From rainbows and fountains
From women who seemed
In touch with a higher reality
Like a sweet heart

I buried my lips in the snow
Only to feel it melt in my spring
Then I turned thirty, and everything changed
I had only ‘poems’ to call my own

I lived alone
And made my heart
One with honeybees:
Honey looks different with age.