Poets are Wild Roses


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Eun Ji, whatever our souls are made of
Would’t it be nice if hers and mine are the same
That we embody shared attributes
She’s more myself than I am

What if that which hugs the seas
Hugs us in our deepest heart
The sacred reason for our lives
Is blooming almost constantly

We just have to listen to its spark
Eun Ji, I bloom almost constantly for you
And you won’t see the flame
And you won’t feel the nectar

And everyone is invisible sometimes
To that which most matters to them
As stars to the sea, as green to the eyes
And sunlight to our human cheeks

The our of our everafter draws closer
And I’ve never craved friendship
The way love introduced me to
The wild rose-briars of elements of poetry
Poet who are too bright for this world.

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For Poetry’s Sake 


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For Poetry’s Sake

The urge to write poetry
Is inborn, like prophecy
Not all poetry wants to
Be storytelling, or rhyme

Or sound like other poets
We might have heard or ignored
Neither does poetry require a topic
Or a message, it can be

Just a matter of lovely language
Just beauty on the stray and loose
It doesn’t need to suffer
For the page or owe the pen anything

Poetry is of so subtle a spirit
We might as well discuss with our soul
What to write next, it’s learned
Through decades of loving

Words and having an itch
To write when nothing else is going on
Speculative metaphysics and art?
Try poetry, and unremember your life

Create layers on top of memory
Write poems, create destiny
Out of the fictions of your mind
It’s like a spell and a sacred hearing

Learning poetry by heart is then
Learning yourself by heart
And there is nothing like
Loving yourself in a poem.

All My Sorcery Nobody can Imprison


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Shall I then honor and obey?
I who only heed the Autumn whispers
That my spirit might flutter and utter
Poetry who is the wife and master
Of my piercing eyes of December

Now I am filled, with happiness and quiet
I’ll hold you even dear, you passing friends
I have found my pilgrimage shelter
The gold-hammered love of words
It’s enough for me, to write a while

In encrimsoned freshening dew
For Autumn soft-wind-twisted leaves
And emotions in the freight of my heart
That abides by wild beasts, forest brothers
I take all these into my good report for keeps

And do not ask the Lord for anything
I am self-sufficient in my lonely work
And I kiss the cruelty of fate at every turn
No little thing to barter one’s life with
A little art, forsaken love of something

That brings no direct external profit
Only a sense of what the seasons serve
My Amageddon’s vast terrific hour.

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Photo Courtesy:
1.
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumn-267769428