Treatise on Sol


81

I remember the gifts from the Earth
Insensible as golden clay
Delicious as emerald Spring

So we go there, where nothing is waiting
One in five stars has an Earth
But my home is a living ruby

Of humanity’s journey through history
A magical thorn of slow winters
Shadows of silent waters

Bouquets of fields-flowers dancing in the wind
My home is Sol, friendly palace
Of crazy roots, dreaming forests

Intelligent Cities, helpful beings
I remember the gifts from the Earth
Her love that rocked me like

The source of blood and carnations
The rock and salad of my foundations
Yellow moments of beloved Autumns

Everything was so alive there
The fragrant luminous Moon
The sea-circle cluster of buds

And wildlife with the wild speed of whiteness
Wonders soft, as the burning of wood with music
And Beautiful women and children

With new measures like swans and lilies
And crystal computers with the hunger to improve
We sniffed the hot twilight of summers
And craved the savage harvests of the future.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Earth-57352441

Autumn Festival of Dawns


16

I have kissed the Autumn dawn
laughed at the blond of her lips
running beneath the orange finger-tipped red
half-moon, the vital breath

of silver summited dew glistening
on the stones of marble
the damp violets enslaving conclusions
of winter’s breath over the last butterflies

I have kissed the meadows of october
laughed at the clouds dissolving
through a pillar of the treasured-sun
running through the breeze against

the memories of a few dozen autumns
it all comes first circle as life dissolves
but beauty remains a poor man’s dream
it comes every Autumn like an old traveler
ready to submit to red and gold.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Home-is-where-the-love-is-403015730

To The Moonbeam of Mirroring Trance


119

Art though pale for weariness
O Supermoon, comet stricken between
The ocean & the stars

Golden of milky blue horizons
Wandering reflecting, forever mirroring
Light, gazing on the Earth

With mellow agriculture of changing moods
Art thou joyful with inconstancy?
Forever cycling through different birth-hours
*
Creating in thy gaze moonbeams that bathe
My brow, inciting wild-flowers
And orbs of clouds to star-studded night

With intervals of shadow and burning brooding
Why are thou so pale for memory?
O Supermoon, comet stricken for

Nature’s tired reposes, radiant with disclosure
For another midnight of Death
Gloomier never, only more silver

In burning mimicry, with an orb so bright
Golden of milky blue horizons
That even a twilight of care, might mirror thee
&
O’ moon, with pangs of the poetry of the Eons
Forgotten destiny born to repeat.

June 25th, 2013

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Supermoon-201643429

Last Words of a Poetaholic


40

The moon sets, like an anchor
Of the Stars, a tide of white silk
Floating down to the Oceans
A tree by our house waves
In the milky light of Tonight

Reaching as far as the little boat
In my dream, I am the river
Of light coming down as a bird
From the mountains, swift as
Time, the moss covering my youth

These rustic windows look out
On to flowers by the shore
Spring never needs to hide behind the sun
Steep cliffs block the Moon
From my view, hermit-clouds

I envy you Nature, so masterful
I am only a guest in your blooms
Not even the path that leads me
Up to daybreak will remember me.

Like Wandering Bards Falling in Love on the Road


4

I sleep
With the bosom of the moon
Inside my belly
An ache so ethereal
I take back language

From my spirit’s script
I dream
Outside of indifference
With a contempt of sensitivity
So prophetic when I awake

I burst for reveries
Paths diverging until
I want your truths
Like the beauty you hide
In your remnant mind

I wait
To taste your victories
With you like choruses & refrains
And canvasses where our
Hearts melted together

On a page like words
Next to each other, following
Thrust into life
Without punctuation
It was

How you and I met
Sweet nudes of lyrics
The expired caress
Of love-beams
Shown into the

Darkness of our paragraphs
Much like the bed-side goblins
We became
So walled-in
The pink snow of our

Wild Spring of fauns
Piscean gardens
And purity in vocal-speech
I decoded you in strips
Of lingering poetry

And I spoke myself through
Your tongue into
The sorcerer’s longing
Grafted with lightness
Into the bridge of your
Armenian nose

Your secret parodies
I sung through your
Transparencies.

Under the Hands of Art


This rapture of the colors shivering
Strikes at the heart of my instinct
I secretly want to join

The future without consequence
To flood forward with the whims
Of imaginations not born yet

To strive, astonished and irreversible
Cutting all sense of abandonment
With the infantile revolt

Of seeking the last freedom
The hidden God within the eye-of-youth
Like a revolution of pure enthusiasm

I secretly want to join
The optimistic hoards of perfect melodies
A specter of notes, proverbs of lost moons

I give myself to quantum fragments
On a green canvas I plant my hunger
As an illusion, that no longer wishes to exist.