God employs several translators #poem #wordsmatter #blog

God employs several translators

More than kisses, letters
Alphabets of musings, mingled souls
I to writers, for writers, must watch
The scripts are for minds
Such as them, and verse

Like love built on beauty
Soon beauty dies, we have but
One small voice, one timid note of Spring
These poems be it said
Were as my own personal serenity of heaven
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That drip, drop, sunsets in my mind
To bathe in harmless greatness
With enlightenment, nature’s masterpieces
May your words, be thine own palace
Thy own lover’s make, repeat

These mantras that God employs
In us, we are but translators, preachers
Of the doctrine of the universe
But I do nothing upon myself
Yet I am my own celebrator
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Since you would read none of me
I will bury my freedom here
In symbols of pleasure derived
And delivered solely unto me
For myself as kisses, letters

Alphabets of song and ruin
Pleasure diversified, words not ignored
For God’s sake do not hold your tongue
But speak your part to the world’s
Brittle make, not often is a poet born

The days will break, but not thy heart
And a thousand poems be born form thy pen.

The Right true end of Love

Love’s progress does not wait
For Elegies or romantic verse
The right true end of love is
Carried over, in the next generation

For how long, whose to say?
Until our children are born immortal
Until our machines talk back to us?
By our new nature, from planets

Harvesting stars, equally at peace
Love’s progress no longer rests
In the story between a ‘you and I’
Love is a thing for society

To share like virtue, soft and free
Perfection to unite, and value more
Than gold, more than wealthy
Or any physical kind of security

Although we see the celestial bodies move
Love and time have their own marriage
These swelling lips that sing of passion
And these serene hearts that dance
For a brief lifetime, that went too fast?

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Regnsjon-Morning-II-491904144

On the Ascendancy of Bitterness

I can lecture on the darkness
I’ve tasted shadows like burnt milk
I can lecture on the shadow

I’ve tasted her tongue-dried appetite
The way she cowers in fear
For what is new, in confronting change
I am older now, more fragile
Being had, enjoying how love decays

I’ve grown simpler in these hours
Dying, a bit each day
Though I admire great things that

Can somehow outlive their maker
Even if they have a false shine
As most human things do
And have a tinge of exaggerated
Self-importance, their relatively silly grandeur

I can lecture on the cruelty of men
And the sadism of women
Who care more for clan and religion

Than any real human goodness
We live in ignorant times
And the world is growing more illiterate
Each year, but that is not my affair
The disgrace of catalyst has yet to unfold
And how I shun the self-righteousness
Of the young, what they don’t know yet….

Elegie to the Spirit’s Freedom

We are bound to nature
Not bound to any one man or woman
Truly, we are free in the

Will and whim and wit of change
Likeness glues love but how
We art all similar, all shaped
By the wild roguery of the age
We are bound to nature

And to her we rebel
Not bound by the custom of our day
But free to resist and gloat and panic

Against the conformity of the times
We are not even bound to love
Some live in a pure state of individualism
Managing their wealth and health
Just so, and finding new paths to happiness

If I have caught a bird, let him fly
For in flight have I witnessed
The Soul of the Earth

In heights, in speed, in liberty
Women are like the Arts
Forc’d unto none, open to all who search
The liberal arts thus never go out of style
Nor the women who read

Those sort of books, the seas
Receive their contemplation of nature.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Place-for-dreaming-489692545

Promises of Earth

There is no freezing eternity
Not time, not my picture, not video
Nothing can capture who I was

Though I bid you farewell
In a thousand soft loving poems
Thine, in my heart, lived
Where the soul dwelled
That soul that brought dreams alive

Not of my own volition
But for my love of you
That is the weather-beaten

Secret of the human heart
That the sun beams a thousand times
On our years of mirth and toil
To labour was simply another
Way of exercising love

For the world and those dearly possessed
For a few weeks, a few key interactions
That shall this be true, that

All good things come to an end
Should now love more, that once was lesse
All Elegies to their doom must last
In the rest of the moment’s embrace
That is where I left my soul

That is where I left my body
That is the favourite moment
Of such an ordinary heart

The purgatory where my life-force
Rushesth violently in melodious promising retorne.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Afternoon-fog-489632694

The Charm of Simplicity

I have possessed nothing
In my short life, but have on occasion
Been the unworthy messenger

Of confined love, or idealism
And a sense of hope
For the future, but aren’t
Other creatures so, is this not
The destiny of youth?

I have loved and been caught
In the energy of a generation
That changed so much, not

Changing the world, but
Altering their destiny with it
Good is not good, unlesse
We refuse the curse of invirtue
To be virtuous is sometimes

To stand alone, simple and profound
Deare love of goodness
For nothing lesse than thee

Would I have broke these happy dreams
That made a dreamer out of me
To be possessed by a divinity real
In my short life, to charm
Fabled histories and enter peace.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/–490230783

Love’s Mataphysicks

If yet I have not all thy love
For loving is never enough
I must do more than pray
Both increased by gratitude

And the desire to love more
If yet I have not all thy love
I thought, dream it, enjoy it
I cannot deny, I share it

Fiercely and without restraint
If yet I have not all they love
I who am so little wise, so humble
So simple, deare perhaps I

Shall never have thee all
My stature was made small by
Nature, my wit outbid by
More generous fates, my time

More short and partial to trials
If yet I have not all they love
Be it said that love’s riddles were
Unpublishable to me, triumphs

As if out of reach, treasures
Undeserved, comforts unmet
If yet I have not all they love
Do not bargain but say farewell

Deare, well I know, I shall never
Have all of thee, never know thy
Full heart, love doth every day admit
The worthy choice of my lost destiny.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://bittersweetvenom.deviantart.com/art/another-one-inside-the-shell-440125761
2. http://bittersweetvenom.deviantart.com/art/don-t-let-me-go-439633033

The America of Her Body

He travels slowly down his
Lover’s body, she is passive as
An angel waiting to turn human

They are dancing in body-talking
She swells to meet him arching
Her back, her navel, her harmonious

Chime of thighs, once winged
He tells her she is his Delphic oracle
To fill his ear full of sweet nothings

Those chosen pearls of hers do swell
They, intoxicated wait for the pulse
Of joy in earthly motions, those tongues

That dwell, on a boundless sea of successful
Unity, they scattered their dearest cries
Like an alchemy of flattered death

That strange hands and lips would not deny
Those kisses she and he know best –
He travels sweetly in her soul of gold

Through her moisture to the other side
She warms to a hot liquid of clay molding
Her form into mortal awareness, at last

With two bloods mingling gently as one
With no sin, no shame, no inhibition left
The marriage is a temple; the feast divine

Free license to all roving art, from behind
Before, above, between, below, a new-found discovery!

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/–409074243

Thou Hast Made Me

Thou hast made me, a holy poet
What is this work, to observe and not despair?
And all these pleasures are mere words
Of yesterday, dim eyes any way
Of visions that run to death, from self to self –

But I rise again, in new forms
With poems that can myself sustain
Like breath and proven art
Thou has made me, a grand imitator
Of names in history, of verse

That contributes repair, spiritual repair
Repair me then, my little words, until
My end doth haste and in terror of feeble flesh
I must part, saying goodbye to all I was –
What is this work, to entertain and listen

Listing all that is below, without knowing
What is above, or how adamant drew my own heart
These are not holy sonnets, but all titles I must resign
Even being published, only a loose
Temple of my spirit divine, ravished in thy sight

For all paths that do converge I have found
Are found in uniting words, language pure
That I might in holy discontent simplify
For all coming ills have been pre-ordained
Though hast me thus, a poet at last
Alive at least in my own idol-making sympathy.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Peace-402773282

For Fairest Woman, of Worthiest Men

Oh do not leave, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone
That I have celebrated women
(In the best & worst of times)

For the world’s soul signs its name
In my heart with the breath of devotion
To human and diviner things
Oh love is a strange fever in organics

That burns with a knowledge of possession
Giving the fire of meaning in attachment
Though I have sought to flee attachments
I have found that a good mate is

A kind of death to the world, and all other women
Such being the case, I am enslaved by
A world full of women, and their care
With only cause to essay to please them

That is the true fever from which I suffer
Gladly or nobly, I do not know
So shall burn this world, and none have wit
That such roles as man and woman
Were given to us, for breeding and other cares.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Empty-400146375