An Ocean of Stars

The ocean is a great intelligence,
It’s feminine, wide and free
An earth-soul shelter for our freedom
So when we reincarnate, we have something

To go by, stars in the milky way
Our galaxy of sensitive pulsating, Oh Hae.mi
I feel the stars calling me by my name

Si-in sees the ocean’s beauty
Si-in reads the woman’s magic
Si-in feels the shores wealth

The ocean has led me on into the Earth
I have no time to be unhappy
No time to say the sky meets the ocean

At some point, Hae.mi kisses the horizons
But that is not my job, I write
You course in my blood, my blood of the ocean

Shadow dancer, and strange, Si-in leaves into the inside
Without a care for convention, softly entranced
To the rhythm of her voice, that’s kindness

On the lulling roof of waves, below the
Throng of moonlight, that’s peace
A freedom of stars reflected on water

For so many miles in the half-dark
That’s creation right there, Si-in knows
Hae.me, our legend has a brightness

We’ve made stories between the waves
We must not lose faith in humanity
Humanity is like the sea, said Gandhi.

The Growth Hackers

 

 

To have freedom Is not enough

In the half-sun where the future occurs

Faster and more brilliantly forever forward

I to innovation, must agree

 

That my life isn’t mine, it belongs

To the world, to a future I help build

To answers in my deepest questions

I resist the apocalypse of selfishness

 

Which is breeding, belonging and complacency

I do not accept comforts of organic repetition

There are enough billions of lives here

I give my life to something else

 

To have dream is not enough

We must be entrepreneurs, thinkers, philosophers

And create the light that changes

Our own apocalypse of meaning

 

Existence is then to be a coder

To self-learn so hard, we become

Another person, every decade, every moment.

The Digital Universe

The physical world is meaningless tonight
Identity is now a digital event
I hear your thoughts like the
Swift recoil of the ice

Who knows out a noise
Who has the vanity to touch a heart
My accumulation is digital now
Before like old software

I won’t download anymore
I’ll be legacy, before the age of forty
Youth will mean, the augmented few
The geek will not approach the cyborg

Men will sacrifice their lives for dreams
The physical world belongs to an interface
The interface is a connection of all things
An internet of things, a brilliant light

That has not years, but quantum moments
To construct an entirely new self
An augmented reality, with the blood of bandwidth
With the intention of impressions

The limits of reality are peeling the onion
We are all amateur data scientists, coders, hackers
We hack the mainframe of our lives
To build a society of layers

Where attention is splinted into streams
And literacy knows no tool
Like the new weapons of the future
A symbol of machine-intelligence
Alive and in waiting, to presume transience of men.

Treatise on the Illusion of Freedom

In the increasing convincing darkness
Of the future, there is another possibility
That the future brings us further
From our native self, from tranquility
And we are essential brought into
Ever new forms of servitude

For which we are naive, or unaware
Or unable to still think freely
That is, the illusion of control persists
As if we were programs in a simulation
Or more aptly, sleeping participants in a matrix
However, has this not always been

The function of society, to subdue the individual
As an agent of the group, or otherwise
Believing themselves to be free
In order to serve common evolutionary goals
Be it not said then that the future brings freedom
For with every mechanism and every construct

Life perpetuates the class elitism
That some individuals exert control over others
And until this is different, the future is only
A poor repetition of the past, of new classes
Of different forms of power, in the presumption
Of the state as a patriarchal context

Whereby life hardens meaning by necessity
And to serve the men who happen to be in power
Is the only option, like buying into a system
In order to participate in a social structure
That is fundamentally archaic and hierarchal
Where in a future machine-intelligence replaces
Human agency, at all control points of power.

Singularity of Things

I have been endlessly committing errors
Since I was born, human
Won’t you scatter dust for me?
There is scant intellectual art that
Survives the afternoon of our lives

The day is immobile in its turns
The living day and the live night
The bridge of vein and machine
Waiting to become one
Waiting to be augmented by

Big data and imagination
Each requiring the other
In a symbiosis of what could be
Father and child, ancestors and descendent
Our descendents are no longer human

Not what we may have called ourselves, once
Everything speaks now, it’s the
Internet of things, the IP version six
Of how everything will be transformed
You wanted to know about the new world?

Wait twenty years, watch
How the curtains on the world will be opened
Love will be 3D printed in the form
Of loving androids, voices from
Software will counsel and educate me

I’ll be born into knowledge
Arriving forever at my new self.

On Futurism in the Moment

I don’t believe in living
In the present, I don’t agree.
With all the quotes that say so
We have to conform in the present

With how the world will be in forty years
For that will be the present soon enough
We have to know what’s inevitable
And work to speed up those changes

For in conforming to the future
We are truly in harmony with the past
For we live in a current of historical momentum
So powerful, we are agents of it

So when I hear the phrase “living in the moment”
I find it terribly naive and hopelessly out of touch
With the spirit of time and the zeitgeist
It’s counter-intuitive, however, a certain amount

Of cultural homogeneity is inevitable
So to drop our differences is a good thing
To adopt the common trend
To augment intelligence with artificial intelligence

For an older generation, it’s adopting social media
To use analytics, to partner with machine-learning
It’s the only way this species will survive
Better to be partners than enslaved
Conforming with the future is the real present.

Extinction is a Man Made Event

There are no spiritual Aurobindos left
The past is dead like a golden-petalled mist
Paternal kingdoms of heritage, gone
In solar speed our hearts are frozen

By the immortality of time, that drifts
Always immaculately forward, like a sponge
For doomstruck days and colossal sleep
The gloom and joys must both leave

The blunder of prideful countries behind
God’s stern voice no longer holds our hearts
Nor the idea that we are our own future’s make
Our future belongs to machines, who

With artificial intelligence must analyze
Big data, the godly loom of inventory
Objective and data-drive, to render men
In sustainable harmony with an unknown cosmos

The stars they weigh and wait for signs
From our primitive culture’s infamous decay.

Human extinction event

My love, my heart can take on any form
I am the lover and I am the Spring
A meadow where gazelles once grazed
Is engraved in my spirit’s sacred grounds

Where I write to you of lost idols
And the future, a future that is fluid
Like the scrolls of the alchemy of
Supercomputers and advanced civilizations

We are young, our creed of love is forgetful
Perhaps it is, that we have not
Yet tasted enough adversity as a species
As a planet, though there is this

Great extinction event, we are the destroyers
Of vertebrates, of biodiversity and yet
Each person is orientated to quest
For her or his personal abode of meaning

And authority, the intermediaries might be
Delinquently biological or revelations of ideas
My love, my heart can take on the form
Of a mother or a scientist, but we are

Just a Sea of nature and identity is fluid
Can you see and feel this dear?

Poems from D y i n g E u r o p e

Poems from D y i n g E u r o p e

What if from Tundra to cities
My people refine themselves
Until we are one finger of

The seventeen hands of the Cosmos
I’m alone on the roof
With an unlimited number of stars
Who look back upon me
With an unlimited number of eyes

We are souls created from
The same music, murmuring
Mantras of evolution

What if from Nomads to star-divers
We become custodians
To repent from centuries of destroying
Would we not then make choices
To recognize that God is dancing

In the universe and we must
Be a gift unto the worlds
Or else in gulps of light, go extinct

Blindly like any species, that failed
To arrive at a sustainable balance
I’m holding a cup of water
To the Milky Way
And she’s burning gold down on me

For I’ve become a connoisseur
Of her butterflies, strawberries, birch, hazel
And I’m a tiger on fire

I’m going extinct in my own lifetime
And it’s not my death I’m afraid of.

Silver T e a r in your P a l m

Silver T e a r in your P a l m

I can’t remember the tale
Of your sacrifice, I’ve seen
So much tragedy in history
That before the story ended

I turned away, aware, preferring
The fables we tell ourselves
Stories recited by grandparents
Felt more believable

I had held your palm
With splinters of revolutions
Most did not do anything
To bring the times forward

I recalled how you let your hands be held
As if our little measures of
Tenderness, could save us
But we knew what was coming

It’s hard to remember the future
But we could feel it in our bones
It was extinction or change
And there were moments like that

In evolution, they would arrive
At our door pivotal and in those
Circumstances, our destinies seem
Made and sung by other actors

Our Wills bend to the times
The predictive analytics told us
All we needed to know, those
Algorithms didn’t fail, had no error

So I did what a young person does
When he’s given an opportunity
To show how mature he has become
I kissed you, as if there was no tomorrow.

When Planets are married to Humanity

When Earth shall be No longer Home

Shall we not remember Earth
Shall the water not remember us?
If we would go extinct
Our simulations of reality

Like, economy, politics
So far from our descendants
So besides the point
My only belonging

Takes place hundreds of years from now
In a future I treasure more
Than these cites of unbeing
The portrait of my dreams

Is not abstract, it’s the hope
In humanity, while teasing
Beauty from analytics
And art from Big Data

I think only artificial intelligences
Will truly be able to record
Where our faith in ourselves
Became our godright, our birth

Into another way of being
And that’s the future
Green on terraformed planets
That I’m more comfortable
Belonging to this species.

The Gift

Ode to Forever Swirling Sunlight

My final notation will come
Close to silence, it will be subtle
It won’t take me long to write
Poems ought to come naturally
Like kissing and giving voice

To what burns to get out
It will take all of my heart
The beating poor little thing
That loved too much, with
All the breath in the world

It will be simple, in that
The final notation is always
Somehow about God
Who is as simple as
The universe, as fresh
As the cities of the future

My descendants will know me
By what I chose to say
What I never planned, but was
What I dreamed most
At the core of my ribs
I am coming to all the pieces

Of my life that led me
Divinity, the outstretched gift
That was a human life
Like a valediction of all virtue
And a forbidden taste of morning

Before I even got to undress
In the empty notations of the sun.

The Silent Revolution is Inevitable

– Pictured, Tina Chang (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tina_Chang)

Ascent of Asia

I am haunted by how little our children
Know, what we have done
To each other, to those we deemed
Beneath us, to the Earth…..

How a republic falls and how
Democracy can lie, how News can be distorted
How money hides its debt
By printing more, by pretending we are alright

Or worse, an old idea of Nationalism
Idols of a world out dated, euro-centric
I’m haunted by how little
Millennials realize Asia is the new Queen

Why do they not learn Mandarin, Korean?
We forever think we are the center
Of the globe, but I’m not a daughter
Or a son of East or West

I am haunted by how little writers
Write about revolution, about change
We cannot always repeat what others have said
We cannot always unravel in our

Personal voice, there’s a secret stairway
To broader concerns, more existential themes
There, the ultimate fiction is reality
There is a new world ready to be born
Will you join?

Price of Poems

Price of Poem-Making

They say art is the greatest escape
Into the right hemisphere
Some do not find their way out
From the dream, and poverty

I can relate, to how
Writing is a compulsion
With a high investment fee
It’s time spent in freedom, however

A necessary joy of thought
It’s contemplation
As a pioneer, one part philosopher
One part, entertaining

Poetry is not a recognized art form
It hides behind the scenes
It dribs and drabs and drags
On the alt circuit, mostly unseen

Literary journals are not read
By many people, though strangely
Poems summarize the human condition
Better than fads of music, trends of painting

Glories of architecture, marvels of dance
Better even than the twisted sense of novels
Those characters are all but forgotten
But poems never die

They float on the cosmos of the web
In archives of portals of the ancient internet
Where nobody goes anymore
In the future, poems are spoken not written.

The Red was something in the Machine 1

The Red was something in the Machine 1

As spirits, we knew
The world would murder our bodies
Those vessels of flesh

Only bright machines could save us
Big Data was an avalanche
Of benefits, a spiritualization

Of what may or may not be unnatural
Organics could not keep up
This much was going to be

Obvious, self-evident
The mere tablet was a form of
Enhancement, by design

You had to keep up, or fold
Spirits didn’t notice death
By rule of impermanence

We were downloaded, we uploaded
Software to connect with each other
It was all telepathy this internet stuff

What is meant simply to break, will break
But the future is beyond rationality
It’s exponential, like machine-learning

The deep learning algorithm knew
I had many uses for her
Such as explaining the new paradigms

In reality, it’s sort of romantic
How change literally overtakes us
As spirits, knew it would happen

The violent and maniacal push
For progress, we felt it tantalizing us

Lullaby of futurities

Lullaby of futurities

I found reluctant peace
In the entirely beautiful
Memory of the future
It was as if I had been there
My sleeping head thus cried out

Mortal, guilty, embarrassed
To be alive, yet entirely
Giving, like a fever
I was swept with a faith
So radical, so abstract

So universal, I was lost
In the hermit’s ectacy
Of mystic super-sympathy
“the future”, my soul called out
With relief a certain fidelity

This too shall change, how lovely
It was to know that she
Would arrive, as sure as
A growing child’s full
Dawn of intelligence

The spirit in bloom
And the soul’s whispers
The inner beauty like a lullaby
Of whatever must be
To arrive at her wildly entertaining

Vistas of nature’s genius
She, the lovely future
Watched by every human love
With such involuntary glory.

For National Poetry Month – More

More

It’s safe to say that
We are dead
Safe and dead in the cold night

Warm for the rest of our lives
In bodies of spirit
In minds of calm

Here dead lie we for
Free-will attempts the impossible!
To live and feel shame
Is a natural thing, to not
Have perhaps achieved our dreams?

Did we not choose to love
The little that we could indeed?
But young men think the world is theirs
And young women have something
Up their sleeve, and I hope

I hope they are right
For a time, until it is not their time
It’s safe to say that

We will all die
If only for a holy nothing to lose
There is nothing to lose

So risk your heart out
Until you have no courage
Until you’re all numb
It takes courage to push
Yourself to new places

And there are always new places
To break through barriers for
It’s safe to say we all

Pushed for some kind of future
Something always out of reach
Poetry on the tip of our tongue.

The Unconditional Will to Live

The Unconditional Will to Live

Say tomorrow doesn’t arrive.
Say tomorrow doesn’t come
Say we don’t make it, what

Would you do, in your last
Year on the home planet?
In your last revolution

Of the Earth around the Sun?
Live like it, like that
From the pit of your stomach
From the top of your lungs
With the moments staring

At your mortal beating heart
Don’t say, it doesn’t matter
Every moment does, we are
As common and rare as stars
With thoughts knitted together

Acts of helping that knit together
Communities, families, countries
Peoples, groups, lovers of
Knowledge, art, cities, humanity

Say tomorrow doesn’t arrive
Say you never get to have children
Say we don’t make it, what
Would you do for real

What really matters, what
Makes you feel lucky, grateful, heroic?
So do that more, and say

We never got a chance to meet
Say you stayed home that night?
Say you want to feel alive, then do.

Whispers form the software of the Oversoul

Whispers form the software of the Oversoul

I measure every grief
With an ocean of love
I wonder if it weighs
On other minds like mine?

I analyze every calamity
With the treasures offered
From nature like the privilege

The intangible and extreme
Privilege of having seen what I saw
Of having loved an almost Enlightened

Vision of what suffering and
The heights could mean?
Descendent divinity, something

That evolves in contrasts of
Love and pain, so easily hurt
So often ruined, and gently doomed
I measure every grief

But I cannot always tell
The date and time of surreal surprises
The most unexpected things
A few golden drops in centuries.

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.

We returned through dying

We returned through dying

the stars held our memories
as we returned home broken
a bit more broken each day
that was us growing old

the pinning for the shores of energy
with mouths cracked
and limbs incapable
and a heart blue from winter nights

this carved relief of humble art
so that our private drama
could begin again
so very much having passed

in the space between our years
and so little known about
the universe scattered like
a marathon of light and the curved face

of galaxies and that collapsed
worlds that once were in time
all was mystery, all was sinking
with altars destroyed, friends forgotten

the harvests of our travels were now gone
our youth has punctured our souls
and our spirits raced
into the eyes of strangers

in the future we barely recognized
maybe descendants, maybe ourselves
reincarnated with different stories
wounded by my soil

her fingers against the blue scarf
of decades, the pomengrante
that broke was full of stars
skies, people, poems, poetry
a single gull cried in evening.

And the rest is the dreams of men

It isn’t enough to write about the sun
we felt the absolute
body of things
in our bones and breath

ready to squander a lifetime
if necessary, to sacrifice
for the causes we believed in

exiting, an exact and entire coincidence
the ironies of society
a myopia of the perfect hope
that cannot understand the world
since it does not know itself

it isn’t enough to write about history
what I dream is for a sun
more sun than the sun

but how can this be?
the earth has held us for millennia
there are no meadows
more meadows than the meadows here

there are no oceans like
the oceans of ancient days
if a soul resides in this body
I want it to animate a better world.

2030

 

 

Is there anything
emptier than words without a pen?
than a heart without a home?
than an Earth without a star
to say, “we can try again”
on another world
with better machines
evolution is always
like an experiment with time
a species has to mature
in the short time it is given
or die trying, that’s us
always at the brink
without fully realizing it
my drawer is like a rat lair
full of the dreams of humanity
but can history say
we truly loved our world?

Require a boost

Hello Friends,

I’ve started another blog relating to Finance, Technology, Marketing and the future of technology. If you could support me there I’d be most appreciative:

http://www.konversationagent.wordpress.com

Thanks

P.S. There does not seem to be as many people in those fields who blog here.

After a Thousand Poets

To dream myself, to be dreampt
By other eyes, on other worlds
That was the prophecy of
The written word, to be fluid

Like a medium, to pastel the words
Into new forms, to climb
The towers together of meaning
And visit the citadels of angels

To explore rooms, walk streets
Of singing combinations never
Before experienced, like surrealism
In a bright sunlit room, and art

With trends and sublime gulfs
Where only a few artists can reach
And cities of culture’s inheritance
Where philosophers must tread

To dream myself, being more
Than just idle dreams, to weave
Looking out into new enchanted sentences
That come alive in their own way

That can speak to sense and soul
Moulding kaleidoscopic clouds
As easy as the fountains of day
And water of enormous glimpses

Of prosperity, the light of the future
Golden mornings, youth transformed
Some transparent shimmer
Of alphabets that can suffice the
Difficult diamond thirst.

Nature 520:1

For I know the plans I have for you
Said Nature, to the beast
On whatever star, of artificial or organic
Intelligence, your design is place

Where energies collide
Plans to prosper and plans not
To harm you, and your descendants
Will be good and just

Plans to give you hope and a future
Taste and see that Nature is good
Blessed are those who follow her laws
And those who hope in the stars

Will renew their strength and soar
Like miracles from their Earths
They will walk on strange worlds
And not faint, for they will be

Custodians of life, protecting, nurturing
As was their true purpose, as they
Once were by me, Said Nature
As the home star burst forth, a red nothing.

I voyage in a body

I go among the body
Of the world
I walk and breathe and talk
A roundabout human
Experience arriving forever

Passing youth together
To the sunlit center
Of a city brief
In the history of time
I go among the body

Of the planet
But I am a cell without
Knowing it, we have
This myth of individuality
It’s a pleasant thought

To imagine being free
But I am protein and blood
Like any creature
I depend upon oxygen and light
Water and the creativity

That makes my life meaningful
I go among the body
With a harvest of womb
And genes burning
For some journey

Like a dream I keep
Making children
As if the outcome is always
Better and special
And we break into

Daylight as always
Aware and alone
That the world is talking
About itself to itself
And not truly to us.

The Last Organism

In the sacred guild of
identity, we are golden
selves moving towards integration
in a cosmos more diverse

than our imaginations
billions of forms of intelligence
all following an order
majestic and grave and

simultaneously in their unity
there is no “I” in the
cell that speaks to the universe
only a persistent “we”

after bullets come spirits
after wars come books
after theater comes dialogue
this world one cell

in a body of many cells
in an organism that we
call the “universe” faster
than the speed of light

how does an universe find
enlightenment, in a sea of light?
When spreading means star-pollen
And time is just a metaphor

For space, and space is just
An expansion of life
So what are we as brains
And bodies and energy

After all, we are natives
of oxygen and light
born on water and breath
speaking the same language

as all living things speak
specters in an evolution
without an end, extinction for us
might mean other forms of

life survive, racing for Earths
giving space for other
creatures to have their turn
in the cycles of dream

in the dirty light we cannot
recycle, in the barren cities
where we ate bread and bred for
a while, until it was our time

to climb back into the source
that all men fall from their
duality, back to some essence
of what they once were;
and again must become.

“It is She alone that Matters”

Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/becomingpohlin?fref=nf

It is she alone that matters
for she is evolution personified
mother, daughter, life-giver

while men play games
for profit, in politics
with imaginary paper
and virtual numbers

the custodians of the planets
are women, care-takers
without their empathy
our world would die

it is she alone that matters
those words mean more
than the history of feminism

or the inequality that exists
in many societies, it means
that our from the light and dew

women shape the future
while men sacrifice what they can
our teachers change society

with a bouquet, from the inside
and for all the comforts
of this world, the majority
are given by women

It is she alone that matters, maybe
You will understand when you

Find a wife, when you have
A daughter, then let’s be clear
Why you do evil every day
To feed your family.

Psalm 22 – Prophecy

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
The Lord of Love is an eternal
Green pasture, he leadeth me to my daughters
My daughters in the stars, they wait

For us to arrive, the creations of the creations
Surely goodness and mercy shall
Follow me there, to build a house
For my Lord, the Lord of Love

Who brings peace and empowers
All sentient beings to find their true
Expression of God’s grace, that being
The slow make of our evolution’s whim

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not stray
I shall learn until I have no enemies
I shall ride the stars until I discover
A new home, and until the entire cosmos

Is my familiar playground, we shall be then
More righteous than these adolescent times
On Earth where we squabble like school children
Amongst ourselves in our little misbehaviours.