Ode to Pinterest

Triketora, do you know how well I am acquainted
With the bundle of aches
Which is the rest of our lives?
It’s the light that knows my body best

My brain’s dreams and folds of
Where the cosmos is a Sea in a cell
And I am the ocean in a drop
Of me, and there, I know you

Like the wings of Taiwan
Where I summon the weeper
For a life misspent, in unequivocal caution
Triketora, it’s not that I don’t care

What you care about, but
How in reality lives don’t collide
We are like stars with our own light
Marred and married like souvenirs

And my authenticity cannot argue with yours
Though it wishes it could
You are not a singing bird
And I have only bitter words left

On the state of this world
I’m no longer young and foolish you see
Triketora, so I shall go on this anxious note
My buried love stored in descendants

Whom I shall never meet, having no children
The womb of my mind will burn
All roads leads to oblivion
And like a banished citizen

I will learn, which system to betray
And the secrets of the voices
Ten fathoms free. in a future inarticulate.

Human Rights

Intro to Nihilism

Self coward I’ve taken away the plumage
Gone naked, cold and flocked by doubt
I’ve given salt, cheese, my heart away
In wine I’ve tasted the thorny planet’s desolation

I’ve cringed at the noteworthy failures
Of Earth, my home, this arrogant star
These men lusting after power, so brutal
I’ve see the throngs scramble after banks

* * *

Went bankrupt and countries got stoned
I’ve seen propaganda of empires
Make a people crumble and become ignorant
I’ve left kingdoms of so called riches

To live in places more ethical and aligned
With the ideals that belong to the future
Shamed by existence, I’ve met my share
Of suffering, toil, regret, despondency

* * *

I have nothing left to say, death is what it is
Time will break our arrogance, the species killer
Will one day find a way to destroy itself
As humans expand in more meaningless dimensions.

Like Voltaire in a Frenzy

Like Voltaire in a Frenzy

I am in exile from prosperity
I study the downtrodden
Minorities, elderly, disabled, the poor
I’ve become one of them to

Realize what it means to be human
Perfectly happy in struggle and stress
I wonder why this is, for poetry
And prayer, and meditation

It’s the gardening of the spirit
In this culture of materialism
Sometimes to live you need friends
Partners, lovers, inspiration

Cajoling life from festivity
Scolding life from monotony
Screaming life from anonymous cities
Cleverly hoping to civilize

I am in exile from justice
I face discrimination, I would know what it means!
I eat poisonous GMO food
I am becoming obese and with diabetes

I hold religion up as an icon of identity
But I believe in the human spirit
In how to overcome adversity
I’ve met my match in this generation

Too poor to be a father, too poor
To know how to be patient like a peasant
I become my own revolution
And find in society a kind of apathy

That the uncomplaining stars understand
But in my lucid song, I do not
I suffering a martyr and I doubt
The world is a kind or good place.

Question & Answer

Question & Answer

We are the not famous poets
We celebrate the common person

Black, Hispanic, Chinese, gay, Trans, Disabled
Senior, teenager, semi-homeless, poor, impoverished
Please excuse this poem

A poem has no right to make a dollar today
Only to celebrate the breathless holiday
Of art, the tragedies of living

The news doesn’t talk about
The violence in impoverished lands
Where billions have no enforcement of law
They talk about the privileged

It’s a state of affairs run by the entitled
Were you born in an entitled nation?
Where you have the luxury of

Talking about God or the state or art
There are human beings out there
Who if they wrote a poem it would be

About survival, about how not to be
Drowned by immigrant traffickers
Off the coast of Italy, or how

To move to a county with some semblance
Of prosperity, those would be words
Worth hearing, but how many have no voice.

For Michael Brown and Fergusson

Beneath a black moon
I bled for the mountainside
And for the homeless
In the city of the valley
Where night spurs

In black flanks
Piercing the stars
With the cold whisper
In my throat, life had been
The scent of a flower on a knife

Survival had not come easy
Far away and alone
The black moon did not know
How to shriek for bonfires
The voice that did not know songs

What do you carry, oh
Black youth, beaten by police?
Mixed with your blood
But the true roots of Africa?
Beneath a black moon

The white man, the young race
Is still privileged, but these
Salt tears are not for them
Not for men in suits
Born of privilege and an easy life

I bled for strangers
Killed in a chase-down
Slaves to poverty and ghettos
Where children carry guns.

‘Mong Such Unique Society

When Diamonds are a Legend And Gold, the cry of moths Then will the riches be spread And Love, be accounted for The Human Rights of patrons Where each citizen is truly free When Rubies are a Fiction And Money, …

Poem from the 21st Century

My inner artist burns
to build a new world
past the last revolution
for something special like

Freedom and equality for all
from an umbrella of social concern
it is the youth that change
the status quo, certainly not

The hooks of flowers, the marriages
family builders, who must
play their accustomed niche
the biological imperatives

where years blur in ancestral worship
descendant divinity, evolution’s
meditation on forms: self-replication
my inner artist burns

For this corrupt economy to fail
past the years of anarchy
for something special like
an ethical communal setting

It is the youth who envision
a better future, the elders
no longer have the courage
to act upon once lofty ideals.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Revolution-91757837

Inequality

This is the secret: these hearts
I held out to you, they weren’t mine
They were all the broken-hearted

All the poets I read, all the wives
I’ve witnessed abused and thwarted
My sensitivity wasn’t mine, it was

My personal reaction to the tragedy of others
I’ve seen, our own obstacles don’t seem like much
It’s this world’s capacity to suffer

That astounds me, that outrages me
The exploited, the underdogs, the innocents
This is the secret: when you want to help the world

You put others first, somehow, for community
Is what binds us together, waiting to be cared for
It’s not only your children that need your help

Meanwhile, we refuse to do more than survive
Our comforts suffice, our legacies are private
After we have inherited so much more
Than they can ever hope to receive.