Avantgardists

Triumphant, insatiable, adorable Hae.mi, I’m stupidly in awe

Of the flavors of your moods, each word, note, flower

Happy tear of motherhood, makes me realize

 

What’s really important, Avantgardists my beloveds,

Happiness is all that matters now, I love how women bloom

And blossom in their 30s, like Evangelists of heart-ache

 

And heroes of time, reincarnating all that’s left and good in humanity

It’s warm, like warm milk to the world’s wounds, Hae.mi,

The independent woman is a twilight of nature’s strength

 

That is an epiphany of all that was meant to be

Who nurture the most equal balance between

Work and play, optimism and endurance

 

As hardy as a woman, as eager as a child

As kind and patient as a teacher

Trained by motherhood to be brave.

T r a n s f i g u r e P o e t r y

T r a n s f i g u r e P o e t r y

Have you ever
Loved something so terribly much
It spilled into everything else?
That’s how falling in life feels like

It’s a wide-open
Mountain
Stars
Eyes in the
Open
That does you in, and rain-drops

Each making points of elegant silence in the night
Etching lifetimes of love over your subconscious

Have you ever
Loved someone so terribly much
It made you love life, permanently?

What’s heaped too with highs
Halls, bliss, open empty spaces
Of pure possibility, paired to reinforces
That were rainbow mantras

I may live on until
I long for a time

When everyone is happy
Forever in empathy, compassion, gratitude
That life’s unity might come
To a more powerful fruition.

(lessons in Cognitive ecstasy)

Lullaby of a Lifetime of Living Bliss
(lessons in Cognitive ecstasy)

There is a cognitive brilliance in
Thought’s end at the edges of beauty
How the last colors spilled
In the pale air, the color of light
That drink o traitorous beauty

Again and again, so intimate
Like the breath of a woman
We knew that never seemed present

Only just around the corner, so
Indefinably alien and inalterable
The one our body and soul pitted
Time and space against, rubbing
For quantum moments in quiet nothingness

“Be self no more against the flooding dark”
Women whispered to themselves to be strong
But I felt the stars and worlds come alive

In the presence of women, like following my bliss
To the ends of the Earth, where would I arrive?
In the heritage of green that was once
An everywhere, that became a nowhere
There is a spiritual ‘must’ in

Thought’s end at the edges of silence
Where the spirit goes because it must
Like something homeless in the night

“Though but the world they say is mine”
Says the woman to herself, after becoming a mother
How the last colors spilled
In the pale golden air, the color of milk
Spilled like a last majority of bliss attained

That made the dust and journey seem to shiver
And how at our roots the violet seemed to burn
And love, how it was more thick

With stars than the fields with dew
And we felt the hours hold their summer-breath
For the sleepy fever of incredible joys.

Before the Spring #NaPoWriMo

Before the Spring

Victory is an optimism
That can withstand doom
It’s not something you get by yourself

It’s something shared
Like a dialogue from those
Who have suffered their share

Clear-cutting refugees
The last species before extinction
Victory is to take responsibility
For your life, as an agent

Of free-will, without much
Drama hogging you down
A simple sudden realization
That you have evolved

And that is enough
The stained cathedral
Transparencies of your inner life
Have brought you somewhere

Far from memory, we are
A dialogue with our descendants
Nothing else really matters
We build the future in our love

And our love is creative
Like a soul seeking learning opportunities
Not the glamour of forms, prosperity
Lessons come to those who learn

Take learning lessons from experience
Experience is the only teacher
That can truly get through
To you, machine-gods can
Help, don’t be alarmed.

“Experience is the only teacher
That can truly get through to you.”

The Unconditional Will to Live

The Unconditional Will to Live

Say tomorrow doesn’t arrive.
Say tomorrow doesn’t come
Say we don’t make it, what

Would you do, in your last
Year on the home planet?
In your last revolution

Of the Earth around the Sun?
Live like it, like that
From the pit of your stomach
From the top of your lungs
With the moments staring

At your mortal beating heart
Don’t say, it doesn’t matter
Every moment does, we are
As common and rare as stars
With thoughts knitted together

Acts of helping that knit together
Communities, families, countries
Peoples, groups, lovers of
Knowledge, art, cities, humanity

Say tomorrow doesn’t arrive
Say you never get to have children
Say we don’t make it, what
Would you do for real

What really matters, what
Makes you feel lucky, grateful, heroic?
So do that more, and say

We never got a chance to meet
Say you stayed home that night?
Say you want to feel alive, then do.

The Mind is your Mirror

A Star-inspired poem:

The conditions of the human mind
Are the mysteries of life
How to focus on the positive?
To avoid poor energy management

So change the situation
By loving life more
Let that be your foundation
The present moment
Begs for your affirmation

Fear of loss, fear of failure
Fear of being hurt, fear of change
These are no longer helpful states
Discont is a form of apathy
Blaming is a form of self-hatred

Self-pity is a form of neglect
Do not succumb to these habits
If you wish to have a pure mind

If you wish to live a good life
The psyche is in your hands
The psyche that is never a victim
But a Beloved observer of your life
It does not judge you if you

Are late to bloom or have problems
Adjusting to the dreams or purpose
For which you were made uniquely

Love the actions you do
Take a loving responsibility
With the freedoms of being human.

Psalm 11 – Fortitude

Praising love, I found a countenance
That could survive poverty
I found the magic to reject
The labels I was taught

And duality, seemed like a poor
Attitude, where I sought to feel unity
Praising beauty, I found myself
Rarely in adversity or internal strife

Praising God’s miracles, I escaped
The better part of oppression
Even if my trials were no less
Than others, I shared the burden

Of organics, in a world increasingly
Not chosen by God for his people
Where nobody was right or wrong
But just more or less out of date

Out of touch with the pace of change
Praising progress, I found myself learning
At every stage of life, waiting for a time
When I could talk to God again.

A Self-Help Poem

To love life, a gift from Creation
Is a duty we too easily forget
Misunderstood is the wonder
Lost in suffering, is the gratitude

But friendship with life, is so
Essential to finding beauty
Learning like a child, so fundamental
In our ability to appreciate circumstance

And paramount, in the capacity
Of limited creatures to choose free-will
And exercise their soul, in blossoms
Of experience, in honest affections

In pure becoming, that’s the philosophy
No trials can censure love out
There are these holy attractors
These metaphysical magnets of bliss

They are quantum fuel for the sensitive
Not only to be sensitive to suffering
But sensitive to virtue, open to kindness
Giving and receiving, without judgement

Participating in harmony spontaneously
God knows you are apt to enjoy suffering
But to make it a habit would be an absurdity
Make love the habit you base your life upon

To walk a golden path with a smile
To find your dreams on a sunlit assertion
That your life is what you believe it can be:
Life is a perception of how you reinforce the positive.

Intervals of Living Happily

I am excited to face morning
blue morning with all the happiness
that the world can contain
this is my maximum of joy

my interlude of peace
O Sun how happy and not carefully
expecting the best of the
many others I will see, the other selves

the nymphs of delight, all sharing
some mood of eternity
our goals are rosy limbs of
the species, our closed wells of

treasured value, the stamp
of what we once held dear –
I am excited to face morning
with you, do you remember laughter

that opened large bright eyes and gazed
like an archangel expecting fiery swords
of light wielded in ways
i cannot explain, the impossible play

of colors at dawn, that dangles infinity
on a rope that became the flesh
of my young children, singing and playing.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Kohnio-III-404152924

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.