Angels in Water

Climbing clouds down to their source
I stumbled into Hae.mi in the Himalayas
She winked at me before we got to the tip

Of the Asian pacific rim of trust
It didn’t take long to know her wetness
The liquid laugh and sighs of freedom

Discovery was not what it once was
But the breezy evening of everything together
The density and timing of our moving lives

That pulls the knots out of their ruts
As warmth spills in-between the skin
That are the neurotransmitters of our insight

The weaving of consciousness and body’s self
And genes that got us this far, instinct
Where the azure brilliance of thirst no longer
Obeying the salt of hope, but thunder
And an inkling for lightning in the pools

Where mothers of pearl are in our blood
And our lips are the roots of talking and energy
That we pass around like stories of how to float
In an ocean of so much beauty, we sometimes forget
How and why we met, thousands of years ago

And why familiarity never dulled, how we moved
Together underwater, properly, in airy fields of dream.

White Nights of Beijing

China, do you hear whispers of the people?
I’ve written down the words
That a country doesn’t dare to speak
But the firewalls are large and heavy

And Hong Kong remains lethargic too
The umbrella revolution didn’t get far
Can students change the world?

Let the leaves rustle and the economy slow
The horn cries and the people do not move
It’s back to the drawing room, I hear
The factories are becoming robotized

You travel an entire day to bring
Your Mother a bouquet of flowers
She has never received one before like this

You came to Canada in idleness and prosperity
But now you realize the years pass silently
In the homeland, while you think of yourself
The people suffer, more miserable than you

I’ve not lit the candles but I know
Which way the wax runs, in times of
Masks worn in dark corners of Beijing

The air is no longer pure, sunsets gloom
With the light of the drunk sounds of
Brainwashing and patriotic outcries
This is not North Korea, but this is control

I speak those words, today, that come
Born of the spirit of history, I know
How the decades go, preserving tradition

Enhancing glory, bright bouquets that press
The people into the streets, without answers
A clavichord of feudalism staining
The times with guilt, that some make it

While the sea of people must go without
I will not belong to a world of inequality
I will not thrive until we can share it.

P.S. A world of nations and patriotism is not a free world. One world, one future.

Theories of Goodness

Theories of Goodness

After years of research
I can safely guarantee
That people try to be good
Leaving youth for comfort

And revolution for family
I see it every generation
Sleepy and ready to bury
Into the warmth of
The path of least resistance

People care, to the degree
It influences them personally
We don’t have the energy
For God’s sake, to do much more

You have to pace yourself
To live one hundred and ten years
You’re so good at being you,
Did it take you a bit of practice?
To figure out whom you wanted to be

After years of research
They tell me we only know
How little we know
And how wonderful it is

To still want to do, know and create
More, so jump, jump like your
Life depended upon it
What are you waiting for

Go do some good, we do not stop
We have no theory of failure
Only this philosophy of growth.

That thing you call the hearth

the day is not our own
it belongs to our hearth
our family, our society, our nation

nature made our hearts
public calendars, followers
of tribe, so when you lust

know that you service this
your honest thoughts may linger
but individuality is a myth

you are a part of history
you came from a mother
you owe your livelihood

to the city, to the nurturance
of friends, to the generosity
of employers, to the wealth
you scavenged how to speak
to the stars, but it only

brought you closer to others
not to God, not to any beauty
no, that left you long ago.

Of our kind

We should be well prepared
The humans can be cruel
The way someone says
We should never meet again

We should be well prepared
The politics of labour
Where superiors constantly
Talk of their subordinates

The way the leaves fall
As if time had no mercy
Is it just the way it is?
That love can turn to hate?

We should be well prepared
For people seek to profit
And they may reciprocate
Though beyond that

Who’s to say, if they are good?
I used to believe many were
Through experience has taught
They can be mean like in a dream
If you do not please them.

“It is She alone that Matters”

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It is she alone that matters
for she is evolution personified
mother, daughter, life-giver

while men play games
for profit, in politics
with imaginary paper
and virtual numbers

the custodians of the planets
are women, care-takers
without their empathy
our world would die

it is she alone that matters
those words mean more
than the history of feminism

or the inequality that exists
in many societies, it means
that our from the light and dew

women shape the future
while men sacrifice what they can
our teachers change society

with a bouquet, from the inside
and for all the comforts
of this world, the majority
are given by women

It is she alone that matters, maybe
You will understand when you

Find a wife, when you have
A daughter, then let’s be clear
Why you do evil every day
To feed your family.

The White Sunset

Standing on the tiptoe
of my universe
I found I had

Nothing but love to offer
While the nature of
Anonymous cruel indifference
Can seem unnameably cold
I admired the ability of it

To make us feel free
Insolent as my fate had been
Greener than the word May

The mast of these afternoons
Only beggared for moderation
And that enraptured simplicity
From which I came
That was enough, and so were

The rest of the years that I was given
at the asylum of the eucalypti
I would rest, and it would be
Wondrous and christening
Like a white sunset.

Splash of crowds

“Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.”
― Oscar Wilde

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Beautiful-mind-beautiful-soul-245667802

bright honey pours
all across my dawn
for pictures of you

that seem a hundred years ago
or seven, or beautifully
transparent into who
I once was, and the person
I’ve become, the nectar is curved

love never leaves us truly
just a nameless horizon
where faces shimmer

and wisdom like a fabric
can be held from world to world
planet to planet, until
our body of pure love suddenly
touches the light of a new day

and every face seems like
somebody we should have known
every personality feels really

intimate, I get that a lot
when I’m people watching
it’s a baptism of love
fluid as golden light
as I melt so easily into a stranger’s

eyes, that I feel my entire life
cupped in their hands, in their
memories, as they mix with my own.

建築師

i

We are Architects of traced water
Finding crossbeams for our lives
Foundations of friends and lovers
And career elevators, community
Contributions, civic towers
We are builders primarily
Even our explorations are
Construction surveys, of identity

ii

In the progress of our design
How we live and motivate
The materials the sculptor
The interior design of our beliefs
Morals, will-power, efforts to act
As artists our dreams follow
The crowds we conform to

iii

We are Architects without Sunsets
Only cities, poor representations
Of what we desire, with few
Moonlit screens to hold on to
A few opportunities to arrange
The perfect scenario of our lives.

2015

I am a Jew trapped in a Celtic face
The one both like and unlike you
The first to become a citizen of the World
Ready to renounce Religion, Tribe, Clan

Sweating the Middle East through
My brain, giving my heart to Asia
Hoping for the discovery of new
Exoplanets and the emergence

Of a self-aware AI, some super-intelligence
It’s a corrupt world still, however
There’s nothing left now but
The food of humor, surely not the Environment

I live at the edges, study the fringes
The Immortality at the sleep of dawn
Her dreamless dream of virtual reality
It’s bluer than a violet’s edge

I am a Jew trapped in a foreign face
One among the homeless that lines for bread
And a last cup of clean water
Before water is stolen from Canada
By the United States of corporate greed.

CARTOGRAPHIES OF LANGUAGE

A sentence begins with a lie
The common language already
Filled with duality, an imperfect means
Of understanding, semi-true literacy
Of our unity, the loneliness of
The liar endures, like false-love

A poem can be torn up
Never read again, but
The innovocation has already been set
Words of anger, cannot be taken back
Words, infiltrate our blood
With cortisol and neurochemicals

A sentence begins with a pause
For the heart’s twisting dials
There is no technology of silence
Only rituals of communication
Etiquette of what was not said –
The blurring terms of our inadequacy

At connecting, our inability to hear
Words in the music of our faces
The blueprint lost of our authentic sameness.

Finally They the Authors of Canvases Let Loose

That’s a poet
not an angel
So few are the stars
Chosen ones, destined
for a life of novelty
I strike at winter’s transparency
Immediately schooled with images
the blue bell of winter
flaming in my heart
the blue flower of perennial gardens
growing back through my mind
I have no wings, just plumes
I write with the left hand
of my soul, that’s a poet’s business
the very thought of falling
back to Earth, harsh reality
So few are the dreams that
evade the glowing necessities
Here I love the words which
Silhouette infinity, are they really bright
or only the destined literature
of universals, like a timeless philosophy
that ages well, floating up for air
The light of the clay’s subtle attraction
to always be reborn
until we fall again to the blue stars
That’s a poet
not an angel
those who paint mirrors of lakes
inside their pretty neurons
who live for beauty
as if a flower plucked at sunset
frozen forever in latitudes of sweetness
with the bliss to convey eternity
cloud and swan scenes by a stream
of ancient Earth, before touched by users.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-Swan-318265936

Sexism

No woman can compass despair
As one without a child, husband, family
For we as Travelers proceed

Not in a man’s world, but our own
Unconscious of the Width of Time
Unaware of evolution’s secrets hid in us

To pilot necessity without loving arms…
It is a Crucifixion to be a modern woman
With unequal pay, and duties more –

Breadwinners this time, history affirms
The feminine strength, endurance, beauty more
Than lazy men, so ignorant, so inhuman

Perhaps world, you should be ashamed
To shut out women from management
The true stewards of the Earth, those who care

No woman can compass despair
As pioneers who must strive as would men
In the bodies of women, to suffer more!

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Vector-Woman-411922911

For Fairest Woman, of Worthiest Men

Oh do not leave, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone
That I have celebrated women
(In the best & worst of times)

For the world’s soul signs its name
In my heart with the breath of devotion
To human and diviner things
Oh love is a strange fever in organics

That burns with a knowledge of possession
Giving the fire of meaning in attachment
Though I have sought to flee attachments
I have found that a good mate is

A kind of death to the world, and all other women
Such being the case, I am enslaved by
A world full of women, and their care
With only cause to essay to please them

That is the true fever from which I suffer
Gladly or nobly, I do not know
So shall burn this world, and none have wit
That such roles as man and woman
Were given to us, for breeding and other cares.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Empty-400146375