Sensible Advice Women Taught Me


Design

 

You start dying slowly,

If you forget how to empathize

If you don’t practice compassion,

Don’t cherish friendship,

If you forget what gratitude is,

 

You start dying slowly when you kill

Your love of adventure, your wish for experience

Growth, authenticity, wide-eyed vulnerability

You start dying slowly when you forget your youth

 

How to play, let go, and celebrate

You start dying as you forget romance

Walking everyday the same path

Keeping to yourself, wearing the same thoughts

 

You die slowly if you forget to mediate, appreciate

Socialize, help others, feel passionate about others

Empower, mentor, support, idealize

If you don’t stand for something you believe in

 

If you do not go after a dream

Of living for something completely

How can you even say you have lived?

 

If you do not allow yourself room for failure

At least a million times in your lifetime

Don’t pretend you have lived, don’t even try

 

Because compassion, gratitude, empathy and forgiveness

Is what makes us human, sweet hearted and sentient.

 

 

Losing #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo


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Losing as a Perquisite to Experience

The art of losing doesn’t take
Practice, we do it a bit every day
It isn’t hard to master
We all have a talent in forgetting

Memory is not accurate you see
It doesn’t take analytics to say
That we lose each other a bit
Each day, so don’t spend

Your hours badly, don’t leave
Your keys in the door
Love is a practice of losing further
Losing faster, it’s a lost art

How to watch the watches, please
Just love your life, that’s primary
Then love each other, that’s secondary
The art of losing isn’t hard to master

I owned a lifetime then it was taken away
We don’t possess, we just experience
The art of losing doesn’t take any
Special belief in the afterlife.

Theories of Goodness


3

Theories of Goodness

After years of research
I can safely guarantee
That people try to be good

Leaving youth for comfort

And revolution for family
I see it every generation
Sleepy and ready to bury
Into the warmth of
The path of least resistance

People care, to the degree
It influences them personally
We don’t have the energy
For God’s sake, to do much more

You have to pace yourself
To live one hundred and ten years
You’re so good at being you,
Did it take you a bit of practice?
To figure out whom you wanted to be

After years of research
They tell me we only know
How little we know

And how wonderful it is

To still want to do, know and create
More, so jump, jump like your
Life depended upon it
What are you waiting for

Go do some good, we do not stop
We have no theory of failure
Only this philosophy of growth.

Mask for Sunshine


64
Mask for Sunshine

Spring chases death
As light softens night
Into the realization that time
Floods a clear sky daily
Time wasn’t linear

It was just our incomplete
Perspective that made it seem
Chronological like a butterfly
But our software will become
Transparent, like how buds blossom

Organic, mornings turned pink
For the nectar of new opportunity
Spring chases death
Out of the door, but
By the window we see

Our missing half of our lives
How love chases out all memory
Pruning our hearts with the infinite
We’ve studied days and yet
Still cannot find the answers

Practically speaking, there were no
Permanent destinations, no true markers
Only the aromas of experience
As perceived by our executive will
To see bare branches or

To touch and behold buds
The sun will chase us all west
Like birds along the gentle slopes
Of time’s lonely and illegible engravings.

Last Stop


51

There is a last stop in all of us
A place our soul consents to rest
Few were the moonlit nights
That I’ve truly cared for after all

In the alphabet of stars
Time carried me until I was
Completely different
And with a fatigue of thought

I settled on dying a white death
After people were forgotten
There were still my dreams
Dreams I had held on to in spite

Of difficulties, tempests, dishonour
But memory is just a day
When somebody we cared for

Is replaced by somebody else or
The fleeting thing of hours
The turbulent street where everything blurs.

Karma Dragons


83

We all invent a face for ourselves
A life to lead, experiences
To intrinsically alter our
Soul’s DNA, our evolutionary quotient

We lived and died
And were reborn as other people
We all required a narrative
To live in order to get

Where we are going
That which is at the heart of learning?
We get wrinkles on our faces
Our wrinkles have no faces

We are a spirit luminous
Trembling in a garden of flesh
How the trees lean together
And whisper in the night

We should know social bonds
Not simple be, a single
Monotonous intensity of identity
But know, what we experience

Others experience, symmetrically
We all invent a life for ourselves
A path to tread, a body of experiences
The calligraphy of the birds

Or the dire poverty of
A marketplace exploited by others
We were animals with
Radiant hands, and still had

A good land for dreaming
And I still begged for moderation and simplicity
To be tied to time with a light thread.

As New Rivers school Old Oceans


28

As New Rivers school Old Oceans

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
Between one world
And the next
It’s empty here
And quiet right down

To my bones, they are light
My mind is water
My breath is an appointment
With time, my body
Is a fragrance of the forest
All around me

These walls are not life
The cities do not grow
The skies blink with airplanes
Those birds haven’t left
In what direction
Is the waiting room?

From here to there
From outside to inside?
Babies too shy to stop
Clinging to a breast
They haven’t yet studied
Faces, but that’s soon

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
I don’t plan to stay forever
I won’t be called upon
The metaphor of surprise
Is nearly old to me

I might have been embarrassed
If I wasn’t the only one here
We are symbols to ourselves
And non-existent to reality
I’m in the waiting room
Between something and nothing

A dual mirror or voice
The echo of sanity or madness
Catching a thread in the
Silence, to remember that
I can be separate from
The fabric of the universe

If required, when ego is necessary
Like for movement or work or mating
It doesn’t seem important
I’m in the waiting room
For a lifetime of
Observation, studious observation.

Touch


19

My hands
Serenade your cheeks with a lifetime
Of devotion that never wavered
Saving each other, we were touched
Immortally, like souls the same
Frequency, my hands
Opening the curtains of your secrecy
Like butter, to cloud your nudity with
Cooling rain, your lips with
The kisses that we invent to sanction
Our years together, which drip
With the water of our mortality
Our bodies are spiritual vessels
There is no doubt, our faith
Invested marriage for working together
Each hour we spent on each other
Came back in ways we couldn’t even imagine.

Migration in a summer of lovely language


Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Brinkburn-Priory-478920570

9

These words have survived separations
Faces I can no longer remember of loved ones
Poetry has transcended my decades

Spacious and fluent like a last reminder
Of why truth is no longer as important
As beauty, inner beauty of a spiritual quality
Alphabets now shelter this candle
This life that was my hopes and dreams

These most intimate self-deceptions
Wildest faith of wonderful illusions
For a moment still I am there

With moons and roses, aware of nothing
But the shine of creativity on our inner cheek
The mineral blossoms and lotus of our imagination
It’s pure there to write like drunken water
In a light of its own color, reflecting the pauses

Silences, spaces in-between relationships and solitude
That was the best quality of the life I lived.

Something to be Learned


8

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Estella-472873000

Wonder where the hard years went

Up and down and lost like blood and sweat

The monumental dramas have all but disappeared

For maybe love and peace

Can win the day, yet again

I passed a bridge, calling maturity

I broke into a dive, of self-acceptance

It wasn’t a matter of effort

I think it’s a function of

Synaptic pruning, lost memories

All the grown-up people say

The wine from these grapes

Tastes sweeter now, like wonder

Taken at a distance, with some measure

Of quiet detachment, where failure

Dulled by grief disappears

And joy is the only thing that can

Possibly take its place

No longer with boots of the hunter on

The chalk of a thousand sunsets

Has left its mark in nodding understatement

Of all the dreams left like alder leaves

Posterity knows Autumns well enough

That by disks of splendour, all that something

Set in a lusty tune, rust of dormant boughs.

MAGNOLIA HERMITAGE


Poetry

74

I

The morning sun has already risen
Thirty feet high, and I am too late
Too late for Golden Noons, one after another
Youth has fled, like old incense
Nauseated by the wine of this Earth
I hear too dimly the music of men

II

Their concerns do not concern me
The lilac tongue of women seeking after
Some stain of wealth or easy stability
I wish I would have mated with an embroidered laugh
Who wears scarlet in the deep goblets of dew-filled Spring
Ready for the jokes of her foolish lover

III

The morning’s light and slant is nearly done
Flower beds still quiver, the grass between my toes
Seems to chew the wind flowing by
Flying birds still seem to chase their mates
But the blue sky breaking clear calls me:
Tonight I am older and the evening mists

IV

Have nowhere to gather, so I ask myself:
How long can one man’s lifetime last?
If but fed on darkness and sunsets
Cycles of the formless vast?