D r e a m s of S p r i n g

D r e a m s of S p r i n g

O’ these unpermitted prayers
These poems of music welled inside
The tears of the heart of the brain

I wonton murmur dreamy my soul to fain
With averted eyes and heart-open wide
Not to humanity, but to the universe

I nurse my speech with the infinite
As a mystic cornered in a brutal world
That cannot feel the lapped tender light

May-time is here, grazing dreams
Of May-bushes that turn white to pink
I can scarcely speak of lyrics

Beauty is in the perfect sunlight
And happiness in the tips of the forests
The ocean that drives a sleeping wind

Across the fragrances of this natural world
O’ these unpermitted silent revolutions
What have we done to this world?

Where is the soft moss, the birds
The odours I used to know?
Drowsy with change I will have to wait

With heavy eyes and softer cheek
How to compose the perfect music
For such poor voices and poppied ears

Draw close the curtains to this place
I have branched evergreen in my veins
And sweetest tastes of the divine fountain deep

In my hopes for buds unseen
Wishes fading like the embroidery of rainforests.

A f t e r A l g e r n o n

A f t e r A l g e r n o n

O Spring what lutes heard in yellow
From the golden sighs of youth
Lost and drunk on lips and eyelids
That now have no remembrance

And how our sleeves beg for beauty
If not the Ballad of life once again
Or that flesh that dwindles each decade
Or skin that grows new lines and

Muscles that find in time little praise
Where went lovers and passion
Whose laughter and magic
Felt so intense as if a grievous thing?

O Spring what have you done
Under your breath to us
O smitten lips, O sinful having breasts
O erotic flattery and temptation’s bell

How the passage of her days
Have made us less brave, less apt
To carry our taunt flesh in raiments
Woven with the mirth of curiosity

So we must go on, in gracious last days
Remembering dreams of fair maidens
And flowers as if we lived yesterday
The gold raiment of starkest youth

And bravest obstacles to win a secret
In how we came and parted our loves
How we kissed, embraced and bowed
All our noblest parts bruised and soul-caught

Now we must take our marigold leave
From all these shelters and insincere hands
To let the love of righteous adventures
Find peace in the spoilt gold of our minds.

A Sensitive Man #amwriting #poem #micropoetry #erotic

A Sensitive Man

I love the April rain
And your soft little moans behind
Behind where my wandering hands
Felt the cool embrace of tomorrow
I like the encore of our sweet thrills
These encounters we repeat

In different seasons, with the same bodies
You taught me a rhythm of your blood
Where you squirm in secrets
And behind your eyes
I can predict the pleasure

Of your hidden chambers
Where your soul invites me
To walk along those corridors
Where lust might turn to love
And like May flowers, you might become

The secret I craved to discover
That a touch can save your life!
Kissing like this is frankly
Kicking death in the ass while singing
And like a window to your soul
I only want to make love with you.

Realization of Solitude #amwriting #poem #NationalPoetryMonth #micropoetry

Man is the only being who knows he is alone

This morning, let me drink the silence
Let me swim in my own solitude
Being the profoundest condition
Of my humanity, you’d think

I should get to know her better
Intimacy and silence, that’s all
There every is, I cannot often
Penetrate another being with my love

Since surrender must occur mutually
And there are times my emotion
Does not require reciprocity
This morning, let me forget about altruism

For we all deserve the dream
Beyond myself, somewhere, I shall
Then wait for my own arrival
The slow enlightenment of lifetimes

Because two bodies, naked and entwined
Soul and body, mind and heart must somehow
Learn to live together and leap
Over time, we are not invulnerable

However in the silence of today
I realize there are no yesterdays, no names,
No you and I and no tomorrow
This morning, I want to give myself up
To something higher than I ever was.

Tomorrow is Today’s Dream

Tomorrow is Today’s Dream

March on, do not tarry
Said the tip of the soul to the pen
The pen whose laughter
Could be heard
Across the centuries
Laterally from planet to planet

Star to star
To go forward is to
Be aware of your own perfection
If love is a real force
That surrounds every being
Internally and externally

ii

Would my letters slowly embrace it
Like a witness, of liquid gold
To print cherry fruit fragrances
On the lyrics of my days
March on, do not tarry

Said the tip of the sword to the pen
The pen whose muse was revolution
And could be read
On graffiti walls
In some war-torn future
As if the pain we were exposed to

iii

Broke the shell that enclosed our ignorance
Out of that suffering we stood
Stronger souls with massive
Characters and impressive scars
We wore them with pride.

The Harp Weaver #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

The Harp Weaver

I will be gladder
Than the gladdest thing
Because you are here

I will touch a hundred flowers
Just to feel your grace
With quiet eyes and more than a little wonder

I will wait
An entire lifetime if need be
I will see the grass rise

The greenest of new spring
And the Moon floor
The Ocean up to the tides

I will learn to love blackness
As if the unpatented light
Will not spread without horizons

Into morning, I will be still gladder
The day you arrive in my life.

Wisdom we acquired in each other

Wisdom is acquired in insight and experience

I want a silent woman to console
We’ll be together
A hush over everything

Silent women wait for love
While the world waits for spring
Spring is here and life has

Loveliness to sell
We’ll be those beautiful and splendid things
That have no price but youth’s offering

Carless and content like
Holding wonder like a cup
My own spirit has a feeble mastery

Of the deeper emotions that you stir
Whose vision is a warmth unconcealed
And a nudity of sense and soul

I want a feeling woman to explore
We’ll be together
The art of joy, joy of art
And thirsty range of the bounds of beauty.

Celebrity of You

Celebrity of You

Parting is all we know of each other
And God is all we know of heaven
So why does it feel

I walk to heaven to meet you?
They say that God is everywhere
But I felt him most
In your presence

What does it mean,
So tell me the truth and tell it with a slant
I want a love that is anterior to life
Dying a wild night
In the arms of an eternal youth.

The End of Sunsets #Inspiration #Quote

Changing arrangement of Sunsets

There is no plan for sunset
It occurs spontaneously without regret
It spells an end to twilight
There’s no awkwardness in beauty
Spilled like milk into

The commonly visited public areas of the sun
There’s no avoiding its heavy furniture
Of color, it’s secure room of visual silence
It resets your day with dignity
Sometimes you just need to burry

Yourself in a moment, and pay attention
By not paying attention, and viewing
The macrocosm for what it is, your tininess
That’s anxiety hitting the fan
In Kaleidoscopes, that’s commitment

To art in nature’s intricacy
It’s an honest joy to be shocked by beauty
Cradled as if you were young, thrown back
Aesthetics is synthesis, appraisal is infinite
Experience is fluid, that’s where art begins
And you learn to shut up.

Easily Aroused by the Present #Poetry #AmWriting

Aroused by the Present

I am the throng of sense
That lives in the inner trance
The watcher of all glory
In the present moment
The recurring Spring is my time

To eat lyrics for breakfast
I am not along in this
We are transparent authors
We pretend we write for ourselves
But in reality, we write

In a universal field of
Mutual atonement
We follow the same inspiration
Vibe, tone, reinforcement
The bliss of writing is well known

There is no happiness like ours
We have been eating verse
For many years now, like our own
Librarians to the cosmic sense
The poems are gone

But the stories are vivid and live on in us
Like laughter, and sunsets
I am a new man because of her
I romp with bookish joy
For all her intended felicity.

– “There is no happiness like ours
We have been eating verse
For many years now”

Slowly I would rise and not dress #NaPoWriMo

Slowly I would rise and not dress

It was the Saturday of birds
To hear you speak
When April turns on Spring
I’d wake with a song
Caught in my throat
With a labour to tweet
And a blaze of lyricism

For love’s austere office
This craft of poems, that never
Get tired of writing each other
Sunday felt like eternity
How many words would be
Written before then, my hands

ii

Were always empty, as if
I had nothing that I possessed
But beauty was my mantra
And I spoke indifferently to the Spring
Because I knew the Spring
Well, it would never fail me

Not with its tip-toe light
Not with how happy the people would be
Not with the great call to life
And the end to all of my patience.

A Grand History of Culture #poetry #writing

Fed on the Universe

In the belly, in the brain
Vocabulary is drawing
The long-dead past
And the descendent divinity
Of the future
The sun producing

Powerful dreams
In space-time
A word can do this
The stove of love
It burns, cooks, is fetched
By hungry onlookers

Underneath my skin
Even in the simulations
I observe and create
The layers of magic
In the heart of mirrors
That print, rock, hologramize

II

And for a moment
I knew the hand
That is the mover
Nature, God, Time
Feeding on everything

More than dopamine
Fill there is nothing
But one supreme
Love of life, the endearment
That survives all wars
The gratitude that endures

All obstacles, persecutions
Struggle, that spirit
That feeds the fire
To create, to sing, to write.

Fragment #NaPoWriMo

Duality Loves Too

If our love is stronger than love
It is not love, it is nature
For only nature would be wise
And good enough

To make such a love as us
For there’s no best season
To love, it’s the duality of time

We carry a bit of love with us
Wherever we go, it’s hardwired

And endangered in
This age of selfishness
Where individuals can easily go
Thirty or forty years without tasting it

Since to fall in love would
Mean to lose control

If our love is too weak to last
Was it love, or only time?
For time is sometimes
Wise enough to separate us

And strong enough
To do what was right in the end.

Seasons to Sing

Poetry is another philosophy of life

I’ve been drunk on words
For a decade of my golden-bronze
Youth that found inner maturity
On reading poems

Finding truth and beauty
In the voices of human hearts
That were left on pages

There, as if for me to read
The writer is the sacred audience
I’ll never roll my eyes
At a work of art, because

I know how much sweat goes into it
It’s a labour of love
I’ve been drunk on lyricism

For lyrics of a few minutes
That burned and blew
In so much mental well-being
It made divinity accessible

And the stars seem more near
Broadening the inner horizon
Like a fresh mind

Poetry does not require
Work, it’s a play
Let me explain
Just read more of these words

Inserting images of rebirth
And autumn unimaginable
Of the destiny that was spring

The spring I have found again
In mental vocabulary
We all possess this poetic capacity.

A Pilot from Uncommon Language

Freedom in Obscurity

I never imagined I’d experience
The repetition of experience
As pure freedom
The inner grammar

Is the failure to criticize
I am walking rapidly
In the slow-motion

From death to dream
To birth again, to be a poet
Is to obey letters of water
Powers of lucidity

Discovered in surrender
I never imagined I’d experience
Freedom in self-limitation

In the simple twilight of
The same landscape
I found the underbelly of genius
Where I reached the lines

I was supposed to (have)
The drowsy nerve of soul
Where all pleading stops.

抒情詩 (lyrical poem)

i

We are asking for books which
Legends are made of, poems that are
Flowers at the bottom blue of lyricism
We felt the need for ritual acts
That respected the Volumes of the Earth
My time is precious, so is yours:

ii

Our nods of recognition were
The last living parts of poetry between
Our souls which would vanish
To other Planets, when we died
We are asking for books which
Dreams can dive into, poems that are

iii

After all, objects that have been loved
And lived fully, maybe the object of many loves
To have greatly admired stains of
Where words once lay, the honors
Of so much feeling like fragrance

iv

You will hold the stem, I will
Know the rose passing between humans
And the child that squeezes the fence
At the end of the story, that was enough
To make romantic poetry Immortal.