Soni’s Hour to Rejoice

“I must admit, I sometimes find it useful in my practice to delineate the various typologies of personality as cats and hens and ducks and swans and so forth.” – Women Who Run with the Wolves

Family, love, adventure
My skin breathes sunlight
Like women, who run with the wolves!
My heart beats stardust

Turned inside out with love
For creation, and our journeys
We who spell sacred syllables
With our blazing thrilled minds

And identity cascades in gratitude
With optimism, shining as the sun
A golden halo of all we have become
Family, love, adventure

More than thanks giving
My heart bleeds promise
With a hunger I cannot contain
For bliss, rapture, synthesis

Where we are the Earth
Where we came from, the lineage
Of so much destiny compacted
Each week is an ancestor’s mood

Each whim, a thread of Gaia’s moon
My soul contains all cosmic ingredients
Laughter, seduction, poetry
We’re like lost gifts completing each other

Where it’s not about being whole or strong
Or simply the attainment of goals
Security is following our intended course
And who’s to say what failures

Can teach us the most about ourselves
Family, love and adventure
I bounce like a nomad through the years
A boundless unfurling of miracles

A scriptive love of my own fate
The lyrics I was born to sing
If only at the center of my loving
My ability to create hope in life
And my duty to serve a higher truth.

A Woman’s World

 

To fight alone Is not brave
It’s suicidal, the Calvary is a family
Success is empty when not shared
The heart is not a solitary thing
The kingdom needs a female ruler

A smile suffused with creation
A bliss larger than heaven
A womb whose content is hope

No, to live alone is not healthy
To hide in the virtual worlds
We all require the skin on skin
Of happiness, the fruit of labor
The ripeness of summer

Success is not devoid of love or grace
It is for relationships that we conquer
The value is always in giving

I have a missing friend in my heart
Who taught me the joy of service
Fighting is for the tribe, not the individual
A harmony of identity diffused
In a higher aim, in a greater glory

Accessible like an inherited thrill
Or a gene that shines for everything
The dopamine of a better world.

Princess of the Sun

 

 

 

 

Xiao Wei, how could one indeed not

Repeatedly feel the wonder of this world

This cosmos, so green and so vast

With eyes like yours, with the twinkle of Shengyang

 

The sun from the honest world of the north

Xiao Wei, over whomever one really

Wanted to meet, I must give salute and bow low

This world is full of goodness, if we

 

Know how to find it, and sweat the

Speechless feverish fires of passion

That break our trembling months into

Golden prosperity, we are all ghosts and memories

 

Xiao Wei, how to find experience

The spring blooms of our native touch?

Until the seasons grant us some joy

So free and pure that our hearts are broken

 

Open, in the fields, beneath the stars

With children and the legacies of our minds

That ache and aspire to repeat the experience

You may not recall the Shen river

 

Where we once met, I had another form then

And you were the bride of the entire world.

Quality of Living

Quality of Living

There is divine earnest in mood
That drives me with madness
To divinest sense that earns
Inspiration and majority intuition
The survey of my own many hearts
That can prevail over custom
Handled dangerously, combat habit
And in this, I am fortunate
Gifted with the jousting of many moods
The inner multitudes revolt
And I know, I am no single self
These myths we portray, my brain
Is a cosmic event that can never come again
So there is glory in a discerning eye
That is not attached to self
But revels in the experience
Like a baby boomer waiting to retire
To become an entrepreneur
Or pioneer a new way of aging.

The Sealed Letters

The Sealed Letters 1

In the metrics of loving
Do they feel our thoughts?
The symbols of our inspiration
Objects of our adoration

It’s unfathomable, yes?
That we could influence
Each other from a distance
Like memories influencing the future

Spooky action at a distance
I trust, poets can time-travel
In their mysticism of monk like dedication
To the magic of language

The alchemy that reformed you
And the passion that saved us
How do I know, of course I know
We’ve had a similar experience

Horizons of semantics, paragraphs
Of being alone and jaded
Disillusionment, nihilism, heart-break
Human experiences for a tapestry

Of the brain’s inability to cope
Art becomes a refuge, a little
More interactive than religion
In the metrics of being

Do you think the algorithms
Will calculate that I understood you
Ethereally, perhaps more so
Than people on okcupid were likely to

Ha, I hope so, it would be amusing
To be informed that you were
Mentioned in some obscure corner
Maybe another country

You said we all wanted to be recognized
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
I’ve been absent for a lifetime
Your lips speak right through me.

Wasn’t the Road Filled With Eternal Welcome?

Telling you all would take too long
About the wholes and misfortunes
These breakthroughs through errors
A memory more persistent than love

But I’m okay, perhaps our lives
Are no more than the fire’s reflection
Complicated by Plato, flabbergasted by Nietzsche
I must sing the years full of
Sweet abandoned voices

Places I have been, what I have seen
Vulnerable in the public squares
Telling you all would be seriously wrong
We have our special secrets, our wanton surprises
The double anguish, wounds that

Won’t probably ever go away
Prisoners, genuine humble pilgrims
I want no descendents, I want
No shadows in their blood
No more serotonin misfits

Tell you all would mean mourning freedom
And I don’t mind being alone
For in solitude I’m always in ecstasy
Always writing poems to nobody.

The Prophet in Me

I’ve driven myself mad

With the world like a Prophet

To nobody, I am not special

 

With my private ardor

For poems and the eyes of peacocks

All this worshiping

 

Will bring me nothing

Dots, like lost saviors

Lines, like hollow martyrs

 

I resign myself to poverty

And horrible lethargy

A vast elegy of dissonance

 

I’ve driven myself mad

With hope and anvils

I’ve unfinished and extended myself

With water and disquietude.