At the center column of identity

At the feet of the sublime
Sculpture of this Galaxy
I am in awe of how quickly
The billions of years went by

A dream of the key of water
We walked upon a floor of
Crystal, in many forms
And our souls traveled to peaks

Virtual landscapes and subliminal
Recognition that we had seen
All that we visited there, experience
Was itself an invocation of

The highest order, capable of
Giving us emotions of the divinity
Of things, the lips of the sun ablaze
As a forgotten god laughing

Barefoot we made it through
Evolution like a story of all those
Sleeping lands, we created in them
With the will of our intelligence

It is not possible here to reproduce
All the characteristics of the original
Edition of the human journey
Progress is a succession of signs

The courses we adopted were somehow
Emphasized by instinct, like
The yearning to speak or the hope
That if we write about our consciousness

Something of our independent uniqueness
Might separate into others, like how
A poem influences other writers.

The White Sunset

Standing on the tiptoe
of my universe
I found I had

Nothing but love to offer
While the nature of
Anonymous cruel indifference
Can seem unnameably cold
I admired the ability of it

To make us feel free
Insolent as my fate had been
Greener than the word May

The mast of these afternoons
Only beggared for moderation
And that enraptured simplicity
From which I came
That was enough, and so were

The rest of the years that I was given
at the asylum of the eucalypti
I would rest, and it would be
Wondrous and christening
Like a white sunset.

Morning Song

Art Courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Nature-s-Embrace-478706780

Every morning
The world is created &
I am a new person

Purified by the tips of orange
Alive with sticks of the sun
Patting me, caressing me
Aching in me to be somebody new
And summer pushes me enlightening

My spirit in phases of existence
For hours I am drunk in
The possibilities of who I could be

But the day has its plan for me
As I submit to the light everywhere
I can feel it secretly working in me
Every morning
I awake to a harmony

That is lighter than snow
More wise than the sound
Of migrating birds, more deep

Than the green that always returns
And my prayers are no longer
Loud, but a part of the silence
From which all prayers come and go
Every morning

The world is created &
I am a new person
With the ashes of night

Sparkling in my chest
Like the reminder of past lifetimes
And in my soul I carry
Thorns like jewels
And it has become my nature

To be happy, to share it
To gift it as if soft trails
Of happiness existed everywhere.

I lose myself inside this soft world

Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods.
~Plato

Art Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/miss-universe-353517674

Everyday wonder makes a claim in my life
she kills me with delight
for an ordinary pleasure or a surprise

light on the haystack, breeze on the stream
hope in the eyes of the young
faith in the heart of a pure soul
I’d like to think I have acclimatized myself
To joy, but it’s not true

we don’t have an exceptional relationship yet
though we are bonding, building rapport
it can take years of untrimmed kindness

to sooth a weary soul, lips of spirit
kisses of altruism, echoes of passion
everyday wonder, makes a hole
in the place inside of me where
I make my daily presentation to myself

nudging me to celebrate, what I do have
love that has found me, friends who stay
poverty shows prosperity, hardship shows strength

while we are growing wise,
we are growing old, I’m not surprised
to feel a little more mindful sometimes.

POETRY: II

We learned how to live from:
Our inner being, the writer that awoke
It wasn’t transformation or escape
It was nurture-nature in her infancy

Our brain listening to our soul’s
Weary shreds of music, poised holograms of
Roses left hung in mid-air
Our words shimmered there like magic

In a corner of the night, it was there –
We taught ourselves what we most
Loved, it wasn’t knowledge, but art
The appreciation of mortality

From the background murmuring
Of the strangest physics, indolent lines
Of our youth while the water was running
A criminal joy of clarifying grammer

The mutable starts fixing their gaze on us
For a brief instant of prophecy and poetry
We learned how to live from it:
The beaded threads of fierce lines

That died for beauty, and loved the frailest
Etching of invisible messages
We married our mothertongues
In deft strokes of secret litanies
The conception, of whatever a poet is.