The Soul Achieves Herself without effort


118

Gradual is our relationship
with the grace behind nature
another spectral October Fall
how the wizard sun confines

and the flamingo sunsets wave goodbye
the fires ebb, the flowers cease
their sport, the stars wink
at snowflakes on their fall

to carpet a sparkling web
sapphire moments drift by
at dusk in the cities
there is a soft glimmer

in the streets, it is cold outside
as we bow one by one into
our brief solitude, with visions
to guide us for the labours of tomorrow

paralyzed by the savings of gold
or the lack of savings in our bank accounts
the wisdom of life is a brief release
the details we once scrutinized

no longer seem so important after all
to live a good life, means different things
at separate points in our story
and nothing in the end intoxicates

like the God neurochemical
call it what you will, the spirit
lives on after all these subplots
the search for a diviner brand

of metaphysics, philosophy, utopia
until there are no visitors to our soul
but a diviner truth, a more united feeling
gradual is our relationship
with what’s beyond the scope of years.

119

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Be-on-the-road-with-warmly-thoughts-482560577
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Deer-Collaboration-483167431

FOLLOWING KANT (The end of Philosophy)


20

i

For years I struggled with you
Left-brain, your categories and dissections
Your theories, your need to know
For years, I listened patiently
To your arguments, until I was
Carried off in my head by you

ii

All this, with a Castle in the Air
For years I felt belittled by your logic
Your floating world dreaming of the future
Planning, assimilating, dividing my life
Into cost, benefit and formula

iii

For years I thought I wanted what you wanted
To profit, exploit, progress, become a success
I may love the Jewish mind, but I’m not
Jewish, I was not socialized
Under a purely patriarchal lens
I maybe wasn’t born to melt
Constellations with my mind.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Teacup-philosophy-76801013

NEUROPLASTICITY


51

These metaphors they are not me
These Syllables they are not I
A poor representation of my last wishes
A silly image of my mind’s eye
Language she, is a ponderous house
Of education and culture
Speak loving words to me then!
That has nothing to do with guilt
Or anything of the disorder of the world
Dress her in innocence and heretic
Simplicity, not seeking profit
But only durable as a final
Translation of the spirit
That Reincarnates with every generation
Enlisted in the fantasy of
Immortality, I hear her charitable words
There, as the silver dew of every
New morning, as the sister-star’s breath
Of every new millennia, where
We ask the same questions
Until we forget to ask questions
Or do not care any longer for the replies
Of the feeling of our neuroplasticity.

Of Post Modern Poetry


13

The poem of the mind begins
from imitation, the sufficient finding
of ourselves in others, of language in mind

the poetry of the heart begins
from adoration, the theater of possession
when all the scripts repeat

the scenes shift with insatiable actors
I slowly construct my new stage
the poem begins with delicate listening

a repetition of silence between each vowel
with an invisible audience that cares
the poem of the mind beings after modern poetry

ended with a souvenir of free-verse
when everyone became a sufficient poet
confessing to learn the speech of themselves

now I will never know exactly how to write myself
though it is fun to make metaphysics my business
and in sudden righteousness, pretend I’m more than a spark.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-402575231

Evolution in the Information Age


12

Time became the acceleration
An algorithm of fractal patterns
Of the new physics reincarnated

The reader became the book
And the observer, became the experience
It was the global telepathy of a new Era

The tweet became another signature
Of the collective-mind in motion
The house was never quiet, but the world was One

The scholar to whom the world was true
Knew this was only a passing expression
Upon the mind of futurity impregnating herself

Time became the notes on the page
Of conscious being purging itself
Getting closer to the stars

Through broken cartwheels of choices
That would determine how many lived
And how many died, the supreme decisions

Of corporate turquoise monsters
Who would re-write the books of history
A continual conversation of the elite
With their doom-machines, supercomputers.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bird-in-ocean-398451836