City Without a Name of Winter

Watching the crowds in their dark jackets
I can tell that winter is on its way
There are no grey laurels left
We just wait for first snow
It will seem beautiful then, novel

As it traces our footsteps
In a frothy whiteness of magical grafts
Marrying concrete with the skies
You will have parts of the world
Unmelted by sunrise, just a snow-covered

Precipice of cold, we endure this
With a voluntary patrol of visible breath
Under my breast and belly I feel grateful
To have a woman at my fire
It’s the pulse of the earth I miss the most

In those harsh winter months
The smiles and small laughter of spring
It’s a city without a name that freezes
So many people more sad without the sun
I can tell that winter is on her way again

Like minerals that forget to sound their last trumpet
My blood will not freeze, I will walk on.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-139159678

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

Visions of Old Earth

The oceans warm
Between my finite eyes
The motions of the dipping galaxy

Visit my planet like birds
To see the forests gone
Morning’s amber roads

Where the news is never good
My planet makes money
On the insurance of the dead

The image of aged cities
Does not satisfy the heart
The future hath no hospitable intuition
For this company of greed.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sacred-Land-404849999

The original alphabets

We are pollen, all we do follows
the flight of flowers of the rock
facing the ancient green sea
our culture remains distributed

a glowing meme of what we loved
and how others perceived us
glowing with our brief life-purpose
flowers of the rock, figures drawn
by some divine hand for a mortal hour

We are pollen, all we do follows
the sun above pine-trees, planets silenced
after centuries of greed, life is all the same
we cannot assume flowers and organisms
on other worlds behave so differently

We are pollen, the flying meaning of youth
hunting for the adaptation that is legitimate
that will learn to survive on some secret seashore
Greece is dying, once a birthplace of renaissance
Spain is haunted, once fountain-ground for colonization

We are pollen, all we do follows
footsteps of our thirst at noon
the water of our being circulated
for writing vanished, cities under layers
desires and passions as legitimate as yours

we lived our lives mistaken, in error
so we changed our life or became extinct.
we wrote humanity’s name in the sea-breeze
but the sea-breeze knew we would not live forever.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-setting-sun-from-the-Tokyo-sky-tree-404168103