No Word About Love

The clock is chiming in our wombs
Ready for a new world to be born
Time never outlasts our heroism
If only we realized the end could be near

It’s austere to love this world and her music
Too much, I think sometimes I do
Farewell to another lonely year
How had you loved? Who cares what you did!

Time is running with new longings
I feel them in you, in kind
Distance from afar, spooky action noted
Love’s feature-bliss has no casual witnesses

It’s something white hot inside of us
It’s the need to create more than
Software, more than poems
More than playing in the dark

The clock is running out of hands
And my intent is running out of eyes
I don’t have the eyes in this world
To see all the beauty, and participate

Sometimes in a revolution, when the
Activists have all died, what shall we do?
When there’s nobody to read the books we write
No word about love, in such a brutal world

No men to embrace, no women to educate us!
And this moonlight looks for the end of all adoring
But I cannot help myself, I’m foolish in all things
The clock keeps me grounded in absurdity

Never a nihilist, I laugh shyly into the wild
I’m always the honored guest at the feasts
Of the imagination, where I roam freely
But, the partners are sourly missing

I’m holding my own hand in this anonymous playground
Committing blunders for my scanty hope
So long I’d live and work alone
That I might forget all heart and mercy
Or suffer time’s designs with stronger plans.

Whatever is essential to Female Poets

Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe women can be writers
And achieve fame and livelihood

Without barren men to falter their craft
Maybe ten thousand martyrs are enough?
For women poets to be read and loved

To flourish from the pen of their wombs
And not find society admitting incapability
We who live in an increasing illiterate world

Must fight the language of our times
For all those who would profit, must
In a way, abandon their love of art

Technology being mobile, is a visual parade
Where books, and sages of wordsmiths must
Write alone, or else post on very tame blogs
Imagine private authors doing social media?

And become published in niche magazines
Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe writing in elegance has been lost?
We who ornament our lives with so much skill,

The ethereal spark of creators a transient tenement
Sex is not sex, when gender is so fluid
Are we satisfied with being intelligently ignored

By a world so satiated with mass media
That we do not respect creativity in its earth
Or share a sense of reverence for the philosophical
The poetic, the artistic that requires some thought.

And, if poetry is surely dead, then become novelists
Industrial poets, digital marketers, online journalists
Geniuses of new media, invigorated by the liberty
Of online avenues, content writers on applications

Be the interface with the poetry of the past
Reincarnate your gifts for a new world’s mediums
That publick faith that women best express
In allowing the world its distinguished femininity.

The Womb of Everything

Eun Ji, life on the planet is born a woman
I’m not ignorant to the fact
In their wombs the magic is held
In their bosom sweet like fresh gossip
And the roots of familiar chimes

The moment of change is like a woman
Changing fairly well I assume!
Adapting and socially connecting
Though a thinking woman sleeps with monsters
We false name the beast we loved

In order to call him a Man we admired
It’s exhilarating to be alive near a good woman
You feel in her the idea that
The planet is awakening though
I sometimes wonder what a mother’s battles are for

Her child with sickness, poverty, lack of education
Waged in love and with the passion
For survival, how many women must be sacrificed?
And art whose honesty must labor through artifice
That cannot change the place of a woman

In such a barbaric society, as this?
Let them rule the world, I’d say
If they had the time, birth rates are declining
So what’s with the glass ceilings, friends
It’s their bodies, it’s the destinies of women

That have to change, to change the world
The world won’t change without them
False histories are made up of
The power, money, politics & war games of men.

An etude in misplaced desire

To His Mistress the World Going to Bed

I have no license to touch
Your soul, if a soul had qualities to touch
No permission to enter your sanctuary
No heaven’s zone of glittery
I have no intimacy of the variety
That which my state could renew

No pass into the beauteous state
Of harmonious chime of feeling
I have no novelty in this condition
Of incessant repetition
Only hopes and sensations private
Like an imprisoned youth in an older body

It’s hollow here, beneath this flesh
This kingdom called my life, the sameness from
I have no insight into the women
Whom I admire, I used to have female friends
For they go on, like a lifetime of having children
Becoming full with roles

But for the men, they are wild in another way
Hair in their destiny, alone in their temple
Of peculiar tastes and defied responsibility
I have no license to touch these lives
Who are so full with duty, so unlike my own
We cannot truly coexist, only perhaps

Exchange a passing smile on our way
Until I labour, I in labour lie
A foe of women, a foe in sight
And I only have the power to observe
And it’s a hollow temple
Not to be able to touch the world more.

I Like to Feel our Spine as One

I Like to Feel our Spine as One

Lady, if I could touch you with my mind
I’d paint you alive and shyly wanting
You would be long of soul
With eyes hard as love on fire
You’d wear silence as a dress

And nothing else, and hope for a shocking smile
Of the parted lips of time
Lady, If I could touch your spark
I’d be the warm glow of a tickling ache
That does not abate, but steadies with warmth

Gushing the garden-wall with after-thoughts
Or roses and our faces kissed
By the longing of impatience on the edge
Of passion so subtle it would be torture to endure
Lady, if only you knew the shadows

The clean dreams of love before we are doing to die
The galleries of faith where a woman
Can save, and these moments can empower
The sharing unity against all the futility
It’s quite a new thing for me
To have a body next to your body

To respond in your tangents of possibility
And shocking fuzz of parting flesh
Whose love crumbs are spiritual signs
And stroking cries break my self-limitations.

Lady, if I could touch you with my mind
I’d paint you alive and shyly wanting
You would be long of soul
With eyes hard as love on fire
You’d wear silence as a dress

And nothing else, and hope for a shocking smile
Of the parted lips of time
Lady, If I could touch your spark
I’d be the warm glow of a tickling ache
That does not abate, but steadies with warmth

Gushing the garden-wall with after-thoughts
Or roses and our faces kissed
By the longing of impatience on the edge
Of passion so subtle it would be torture to endure
Lady, if only you knew the shadows

The clean dreams of love before we are doing to die
The galleries of faith where a woman
Can save, and these moments can empower
The sharing unity against all the futility
It’s quite a new thing for me
To have a body next to your body

To respond in your tangents of possibility
And shocking fuzz of parting flesh
Whose love crumbs are spiritual signs
And stroking cries break my self-limitations.

Definition of Manhood

Don’t Ask me Who I am

It’s ironic to me then that a man
Is an arrow shooting into the future
And a woman is both the aim
And the place of strength from which

The bow shot the arrow in the first place
Oh well, It’s not like my mother failed
Just that I was a bit too pure for war
Not to be shot off into the world so quickly

Dying by that same arrow is an art
Though I think courage has died out
I’m not a man, in the sense of who they used to make them
Let me just live, love and say it well in

Good sentences, and I’ll be happy
As I commute from one hand to another
Like money, like the catalogue of value
I’ll be the unpublished writing

Who drowned in hot baths
Or a disclaimer than I never truly
Learned how to write but
I’m dying to get my soul back from you.

In some Secret part of Her #FreeVerse #gender

In some Secret part of Her

I felt a pang of loneliness when
I watched the lives of others
I could not place the appalling self-consciousness
I felt, surely horrible and common?

The inner words we dare to utter at ourselves
Cramped in the dark for so long
God, but if life is loneliness
Then every act is one of saving ourselves

We get married for companionship
And have children to grow old together
We volunteer our time to help society
Yet does the neurotic element

Ever truly wane, wanting mutually exclusive things
And not having them, we make do
For the rest of our days, this
Is the great compromise, feeling misunderstood

We learn to not take anything for granted
As if the present is our forever
And forever is always shifting, flowing, melting
And as a woman, we are required to serve

While men can escape social roles by rebellion
Or male privilege, or utter irresponsibility
As women we were required to give life
Until we forget who we were without them.

Scarcity of Silence #FreeVerse #poems #micropoetry #silence #amwriting #NationalPoetryMonth

Scarcity of Silences

Silence isn’t depressing
It’s being with yourself, oneself, myself
That’s quality time
I knew it perfectly well

Nature is always present
Like when I used to walk in the woods
I wasn’t alone, I was surrounded
By trees, the forest, the snow melting

There weren’t windows, buildings noise
It was silence glittering and blinking
In terrible moments that were
Beautiful because they felt innate

Flat as a poster I walk this city
Without silence, or a clear mirror
Perhaps without silence, we
Find ourselves wanting everything

And everything we cannot have
I blame too much breeding
As the cause of the scarcity of silence
Dare I say it’s gone extinct?

Poetry takes me back to nature
When all the nature has been stripped
Searched, and taken, sort of how
The world treats a young woman
Who once knew what silence was.

Smile to make me believe

Smile to make me believe

When you smile
lift me from breathing
conquer joy so I can submit
to the eternal feminine and the grace
I am tired of man’s world
of war, politics, corruption, smiting enemies
so dear make me dizzy
with thoughts of intimacy, children, the home
arch me with your gold decoration
that I might feel young again
lead me to small feminine laughter
where you cradle the shining sun
and my life becomes the blue body
of freedom, the skies and the ocean
when you smile
realize, please, the influence
of how the spring submits to rain
of how my skin was made to
let your heart in, like laughter
and the foreign verse of beauty
I being a man, am so alien to it
When you smile
cry for me with the inexplicable
for I have no tears left
numbed by cruelty and maybe defeat
smile for me, like unconquerable music.

On the truth in gossip

listen to the stories women
tell other women, O’
I miss my women friends
who would talk a history in a needle
listen to a name, gossip a little
that sound of other places
with a foreign taste
the ripeness of a voice
made vulnerable and accessible
I am no longer a hunter of women
I have only empathy left
In my bones, in my half-smile
You can only live and learn
In this world, there is no disgrace
That lasts forever, only heartbreak
That is extremely normal
So don’t fret, the falling seas
The falling snow, we’ve seen it all before
Listen to the stories of women
To the wisdom passed down
On hearing a name long unspoken
Take a guess as to why you hear it now
Our cries echo in unique ways
And our voice reaches the heart
At the appointed time, maybe
Centuries later, our love is recognized.

Congress of Red Mouths

We were all lovers
At one point or another
We all met behind ruins
And stared at flowers in eyes

And briefly became somebody else
In the unity of our flames
Our desires burned like youth
In our chests and leaped

Like breasts unearthed and dreams
Plundered and fantasies enacted
We were lovers to someone
And we gave our hearts, and cheated

And in the hot ovens of our exploration
We came upon beauty and nudity
And clasped the sweet merchants
Of sex, at some point or another

A history full of poems and lyrics
Of ancient knowing, instinct even
We were handsome bastards
And luxurious ladies, we were

The landscape of bosoms and blossoms
And it was fun, and easy to find
A richness in the company of gender
Flirtation with ecstasy boasting bitten

And unpairing passion like a fruit
The most natural fruit to be eaten
And tasted and treasured forever
The foreign district of erotic tongues.

I Seal Your Sex

My day exploded in your night
And my letters came to life
In your bed, all the poems
In my heart took shape their
In the undressing of our lives

Silently we approached
The hour of the Goddess
And all my dreams
Of platinum literature
Took root in the tree of your womb

I open the lips of your night
Without speaking, but with
A lifetime of poetry carried
In my soul, like golden grapes
I give to you the shadows of the moon

The whiteness of infinity
Your rose burns through the snow
Your flesh dangerously close
To the dawn, and we repeat
The cycle eternally

Male and female, active and passive
Lovingly with all the sleep
And literature and art in our bones.

To Be a Woman

What’s it like to be a woman?
To know the joys of Motherhood
To serve as if it was your duty
A man, a family, a community

Not getting paid for it
What’s it like to feel a woman?
To feel a vacancy between the legs
Under the skirt, a summer breeze

And eyes on me, like the feast of gulls?
What’s it like to be a woman?
To have closer social bonds
To never truly be alone, how

Does that feel? To have protective
Fathers, and possessive boyfriends?
What’s it like to be a woman?
I will never know, to feel the dresses

Caress you, as you blithely change
From mauve, to peach, to blue.
How does it feel to have skin
Like olive oil, and wear perfume

What’s it like to seduce a man
With just a pouty look, what’s it like
To have to earn your place twice
As hard, in the boardroom?

What’s it like to be a woman?
To be stoned to death for being human.

The Group

There is strength in vulnerability
To feel more, is to be rich
It’s an abundance of the inner world
Who cares for possessions?

I wasn’t born to be a profiteer
I’d rather be like the water
Touching here, touching there
Pliant to the relationship of relationships

Aware of how the unity shapes
The whole, of how the particulars
Transfer their energy, it’s morbid
To think of ourselves as isolated selves

It’s dehumanizing to go to war every day
In the marketplace, to the office
There’s a function in serving a group
To feel more, connected and belong

To an entity that is clasped on many sides
By the shared vulnerability of each one.

I was of three minds

A man and a woman
Are one.
They walk the road of
Fate and evolution together
Bridging beauty and wealth

Making prosperity mean
Something continuous
These families have
Shared causes, these
Societies need to work together

Every field required this
Unity and collaboration
For life to continue
For civilization to progress
And it all happens like this

A man and a woman
Become one
Learn to become one
Learn to look at the
Stars with new eyes
With children, it’s simple.

AFTER EARTH APOCALYPSE

Dead hands of foam lead me to
The stasis that is extinction of human life
Black sweet blood mouthfuls
Of the Cities we built, machines we taught

Like many species we
Drove evolution into oblivion
Becoming Gods of profit
For feeble hours, substanceless blue

Aware of short-term projects
Suicidal, reckless, individualistic
Ritualistically aggressive
Men sought to exploit other men

Women sought to breed and secure genes
It wasn’t the kind of civilization
That I imagined could survive indefinitely
We were the lowest common
Denominator of greed, fit for brief empires

Dead hands of foam lead me to the
Cloning stations, where I will get
A new body, because I’m of the elite
Last in a hierarchy of mortals.

Ode to Virgins

A girl to a man is an ascended tree
Who bears the most magnificent fruit
The tree has grow in my breast
Downward like arms of moss

Trees you are, nourished glee
Moss you are, ravished romance
A chill of violets in the wind
A girl to a man is the folly of the world

The gift, the goal, the great deception
A virginal biological imperative
Like heroin, a dopamine-testosterone high
For the spoils of estrogen and smiles

Slight her arms that stealthy subtle clearness
Her vague ethereal beauty, so remarkable
A girl to a man is the twin peaks of the world
The reminder of April’s shooting branches
The white bark of skin, the young lady’s hours.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Kika-403043718