No Word About Love


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The clock is chiming in our wombs
Ready for a new world to be born
Time never outlasts our heroism
If only we realized the end could be near

It’s austere to love this world and her music
Too much, I think sometimes I do
Farewell to another lonely year
How had you loved? Who cares what you did!

Time is running with new longings
I feel them in you, in kind
Distance from afar, spooky action noted
Love’s feature-bliss has no casual witnesses

It’s something white hot inside of us
It’s the need to create more than
Software, more than poems
More than playing in the dark

The clock is running out of hands
And my intent is running out of eyes
I don’t have the eyes in this world
To see all the beauty, and participate

Sometimes in a revolution, when the
Activists have all died, what shall we do?
When there’s nobody to read the books we write
No word about love, in such a brutal world

No men to embrace, no women to educate us!
And this moonlight looks for the end of all adoring
But I cannot help myself, I’m foolish in all things
The clock keeps me grounded in absurdity

Never a nihilist, I laugh shyly into the wild
I’m always the honored guest at the feasts
Of the imagination, where I roam freely
But, the partners are sourly missing

I’m holding my own hand in this anonymous playground
Committing blunders for my scanty hope
So long I’d live and work alone
That I might forget all heart and mercy
Or suffer time’s designs with stronger plans.

If Loving is Destiny


hae-mi

These poems mine, created early
Are nothing but the soft sense of gratitude
To life, what offered us so much!
If we took her for granted

Let it be known, that I’m drenched in dream
That I hadn’t known of your art yet, Hae.mi
I hadn’t felt your little joys
As a kind of graceful thunder

In my world of watching the eyes
Of human beings doing what they do
These poems mine, are reflections of nature
That drop from fountains like

Our toes wet in the dew, this living
Is so beautiful, even without possession
The feelings melt into a cohesive whole
Integrity with identity, wishing with hope

Touching briefly as light upon branches
Making love with a spiritual connection
The poems, on youth and ruin, are fading now…
I am nothing but a spy upon your divinity

Set in your beauty, hungry for your soul
Ready to deeply bury myself in your goodness
With the water and bread, with you as the last drop of honey
These poems mine, they just whisper

And there’s no grave to them, only endings
I’m talented in endings, as I am a decoration
For the muses, to life and all that we can never touch.

 

Photo Courtesy.

Soni’s Hour to Rejoice


“I must admit, I sometimes find it useful in my practice to delineate the various typologies of personality as cats and hens and ducks and swans and so forth.” – Women Who Run with the Wolves

son

Family, love, adventure
My skin breathes sunlight
Like women, who run with the wolves!
My heart beats stardust

Turned inside out with love
For creation, and our journeys
We who spell sacred syllables
With our blazing thrilled minds

And identity cascades in gratitude
With optimism, shining as the sun
A golden halo of all we have become
Family, love, adventure

More than thanks giving
My heart bleeds promise
With a hunger I cannot contain
For bliss, rapture, synthesis

Where we are the Earth
Where we came from, the lineage
Of so much destiny compacted
Each week is an ancestor’s mood

Each whim, a thread of Gaia’s moon
My soul contains all cosmic ingredients
Laughter, seduction, poetry
We’re like lost gifts completing each other

Where it’s not about being whole or strong
Or simply the attainment of goals
Security is following our intended course
And who’s to say what failures

Can teach us the most about ourselves
Family, love and adventure
I bounce like a nomad through the years
A boundless unfurling of miracles

A scriptive love of my own fate
The lyrics I was born to sing
If only at the center of my loving
My ability to create hope in life
And my duty to serve a higher truth.

The Growth Hackers


 

 

To have freedom Is not enough

In the half-sun where the future occurs

Faster and more brilliantly forever forward

I to innovation, must agree

 

That my life isn’t mine, it belongs

To the world, to a future I help build

To answers in my deepest questions

I resist the apocalypse of selfishness

 

Which is breeding, belonging and complacency

I do not accept comforts of organic repetition

There are enough billions of lives here

I give my life to something else

 

To have dream is not enough

We must be entrepreneurs, thinkers, philosophers

And create the light that changes

Our own apocalypse of meaning

 

Existence is then to be a coder

To self-learn so hard, we become

Another person, every decade, every moment.

The Second of November


Death

It was in the white of the year
That Father left the Multiverse
But death was a sweet hour
OF faith and dazzled face

For Time and God to converge
Or that Ethereal zone to confide
No longer to be confined on Earth
And little self and tea for beggars

With sons and friends to hold
One’s life, and to hold the ears
Of memory and all that was left unsaid
Unknown, private for paradise

The soul should know what the body doubted
The heart remains silent to fend off grief
The dying need but little, dear !
The inner room is where it is said

We forget our name for Good
The self is but a collection of choices
Some temporary disease of identity
How trivial the flesh, the spirit
Lives eternally, in wood and words
In a hush of prayer that blankets everything.

Ghazal of Lost Souls 


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In the dress of night
Words come to us, like silence
The weight of hope

The fragrance of unfamiliar faith
I walk into the fresh breeze
Like so many others before me

All the verses within me come out
Like uplifted loneliness realized in another sense
In the quietness of a pearled moment
I am nothing and everything
My individuality breaks down

With the failure and wishfulness
Of life, that is departing within me
My delight is quick and short

But what will the summit of my dreams realize?
Not flesh, or power, or brilliance
But spirit, marathons of poetry

Whose gentleness will go extinct
With whispers and drowning breaths.

Deprived of Flight


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I’m tired of days drunk
With the sameness that doesn’t realize
Innovation, experience compressed
Time encapsulated with love

O but are we exiles then
Migrants who must walk mountains
Slumbering in the mire of silences
My blue memories are fading

Like the pure golden statues of youth
That were maybe nothing more than
Projection, silver mooncraft gone
Discovery and identity shaping embarrassments

My mouth dry and caked with dust
My love departed in their early faces
I’m tired of being plundered by experience
As if the rogues of time knew something
I do not know, do not possesses, cannot reach.

Wonder of Aging 


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It occurs to me now
How our soul is honed by love
Not the love of barter and exchange
But the love of inspiration
That changes a heart
To become a better person
You simply smiling, that is
Enough of the forever kindness
To fuel me for a quiet lifetime
There is no answer to the questions
We age, wander, wonder, mature
Until we accept everything
Like eyes on a shelf of time
Ready to empathizes and stumble
A little longer, every goodbye
Isn’t gone, it’s just the stirring
Of chatter, breath, blood, wings.

Rated for Mature


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These Homosapiens Do This

In the innocence of bare thighs
And candle scents and pleasing breasts
And dark long black hair, and black tights
That roll off, olive-yellow skin
And golden ankles down to your soul

And a womb that gazes for warmth
Is a renaissance of delicious hands
That please in pink panting parting

The please master pouting of looking into eyes
And seduction with need and kneeling
And flowers that lift but do not turn away
Their flicking moist buds for youth at play
In the master strokes of kindness on flesh

I feel the comfort of a thousand generations
The games evolution plays in our brain
And the animal in us, moist and thick

And the beauty of a mouth or a whimper moan
And the urgency of taste, and the clutch
Of golden feast, and the fragrance of need
And the sound of a muffled whisper affirmation
And pleasing down to the bottom of the eyes

Where the heart is a pulsating joining mound
Of clitoral tremors and soothing trembling.

Ravisht Girl


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Whilst my muse in your shadows sought

The gift of the source of your nobler solitude!

Let me not retreat from your happy cleavage

Of youth and soul and merryment

For in the thick shade of your fruitful fate

I see a part of myself left there

As if the prize of our hidden stores of choice

In little choosing the ones we love

And sung to new anthems and skyes

For ladies like stars must shine the hidden shores

As brooding blooms of Spring shall in Summer blossom forth

We all have our time, our Goddess of days

And themes divine in human fortunes

That changes in perswading time

And to our glorious course we must divine

Our paths and witness and anticipate

The eyes of scattered truths and lost harmonies

And scarce winds that touched our face.

My Diamond Sutra 


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My Diamond Sutra

My daily activities are not me
I am not what I do
What I do is just a harmony
Of action in the world

Neither am I this or that
Or any of the roles prescribed
I am a free being
Drawing water, carrying firewood

Watching the moon because
I can, I grasp for nothing and
In a way I discard nothing
I’m a marvellous activity

Of loving the universe that created me
That is my true function
The wind won’t settle
My mind won’t rest

The birds will sing
The sun will shine
I will be ignorant and simple
The mind of the past is ungraspable

The mind of the future future is ungraspable
The mind of the present is ungraspable
So I learn slowly to
Stop grasping at things and people.

The Golden heart of the two of us


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The Golden heart of the two of us

My soul’s weight is in thee
Thoughts that stray in the dead of night
And morning lest the rise I come
With dresses of spiritual

Vegetation to bury me
And all that I once was or might have been
My want is to pull the garments
Of the cosmos over us

So that we might choose a body
To inhabit and a heart to hold
As strangers who hold hands
But do not know why, in that

Appointed hour, how it comes to pass
Or how the goddamned sea will kneel
When all the life on Earth has passed
I have lips unused to thee

And bashful knowing nods
And Handel in my ears
It’s a long road to freedom
But a short road to witness you free

Shall we blush the eternal blush
And face the fervent and feverish muse?
Together as a fine distraction in May
To enthral the life-force from our

Glands and organs like biological magic
And find tempestuous civility
In the weight of our need
A delight in the disorder of our sense
The hope too precise in every part?

About Space


5

To Speak with Unknown Citizens

I pray to the light every day
Watched by every human love
For a summary of beauty and vision
Softly round this dreaming Earth
The mortal world is not enough

For the lover of the cosmos
The winds of dawn still blow
Cursive upon my humble cheeks

Midnight burns me with a look
Such green welcome how I’m sure
But stars have involuntary powers
Given to them long ago
And age insults the ancient Night

Should heart find sanctuary there
In things larger than our cares
And in views further than our eyes can see

I long for a Bureau of the Universe
To be a tourist of a Greater Community
To mingle with and speak alien tongues
And catch a ray of something sublime
From the mail of the galaxy

Anything to flee the smallness of men
And to be entertained by something
More holy than our collective ignorance.

L i t t l e Acts of G i v i n g 


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L i t t l e Acts of G i v i n g

Love won’t be taken back
It was given freely like always
Gratitude behaved good today in your heart
It will circulate in you like a diamond cutter
Night after night, those positive affirmations

Are echoing poems with forgiveness
For this world that does the unthinkable
To bodies, lives, souls, communities

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I used to think about the aftermath of idealism
How pragmatists forgot their youthful selves
So in the meantime, I’ve found a recipe
For staying young, in the spring-values
Of a lifetime, the heart hoards roses

And everything else is secondary
And everything that sings is that which listens
It’s an aerial visitation of summer

And every word rolls in the mouth
Like a delicate poem, like a tender bud
Love won’t end, it’s not a pie to be divided
It’s a sheltered free-flow of freedom
We’ll move higher and higher until

iii

We breathe the stars with likeness
Our simplicity will be a high-speed review
Of identity and shared identification

We’ll be thrill on the narrow streamline
Of mortal nights, and dive into a hundred
Pockets of hidden meaning, arriving always
At a new state of wonder, that’s gratitude
Some part of the heart that finally
Learned to receive by little acts of giving.

We’re all from immigrant fathers 


1

We’re all from immigrant fathers

I’ve been busy I must admit
Performing an autopsy on my shadow
It’s a tedious tumbling of self with not-self
And I’ve come to the conclusion

That it might never be finished
That I might have to live this skin

Of bone-flower-elegy of psyche
I’ve been too busy trying to be grateful
Moon stiches and a refugee of the sun
My body is slowly collecting lightning

And sound from this dimension
Like a magnet for the magical realism

I’ve started to remember dreams for
Maybe the first time in my life
With a magical aspect of eroticism
From which I believed myself immune

There is a serene aspect to feeling abnormal
A little illegal, a little uncouth

We were all bohemians in our own minds
Our conscience filled with pink juxtaposing
The encounters of thumb with mouth
Nipple with chest, facial hair with the mirror.

Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not


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Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not

Whatever talents I possess
May suddenly diminish or disappear
In my education was beauty
I had to write indiscriminately
For with eyes such as mine
Time was the lovers lost
And a kind of rage against the dying light
Whatever poems I wrote
Were a kind of toast to the worlds
That if this star should go extinct
I might burn one last bridge with a song
And if posterity learn to look after itself
Never be lucid, never state
That you have found yourself
For poetry was the function of a journey
And it won’t end with you or I
It will go on as long as doubt, questions
And beauty and suffering exists.

Eulogy to Poetry


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Eulogy to Poetry

Think in the morning
And poetry has died
What would you say to her?
First language and eldest daughter
I saw you in grains of sand

Your love trapped in wild flowers
I set the seas to your lips
And burned a thousand dreams
In your skies of velvet pink
I knew you as infinity of evolution

Guiding me to future hours
The trees cried flowers because of you
And the sun made songs of her Spring
You never know love of language
Until language is gone, like Sanskrit

An exuberance of many ways
To the say the same dear familiar things
Which to another generation, might be unknown
That’s poetry, a rare bird going extinct
That’s poetry, a strange magic being replaced

That’s poetry, the kind of book not published
That’s poetry, the kind of soul that can’t be bought.

Henceforth I am my own Good Fortune


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Henceforth I am my own Good Fortune

What if, there were as many
Truths as there were lives
Let us celebrate them here
Whatever satisfies the soul

Is a kind of truth , then
My body is also divine
The beauty of independence
Walking, moving, smiling

This form that convinces with a presence
With senses as a human body was given
Evolved and sacred
When I give, I give myself

To celebrate the hour
The indiscernible freshness
Of living, here my voice is a poem
And I am curious about each one

I say to mankind, be not curious about God
But of each other, for
The Goddess of her is more intimate
Than the God of invisible salvation

Ever was, be merry
Satisfy the needs first
Then speak of metaphysics
A spirituality that loves the world

That is the audience of congregation
Those are who witness the miracles
Now I know the secret of being
To love, is the real artist in humanity.

God employs several translators #poem #wordsmatter #blog


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God employs several translators

More than kisses, letters
Alphabets of musings, mingled souls
I to writers, for writers, must watch
The scripts are for minds
Such as them, and verse

Like love built on beauty
Soon beauty dies, we have but
One small voice, one timid note of Spring
These poems be it said
Were as my own personal serenity of heaven
ii
That drip, drop, sunsets in my mind
To bathe in harmless greatness
With enlightenment, nature’s masterpieces
May your words, be thine own palace
Thy own lover’s make, repeat

These mantras that God employs
In us, we are but translators, preachers
Of the doctrine of the universe
But I do nothing upon myself
Yet I am my own celebrator
iii
Since you would read none of me
I will bury my freedom here
In symbols of pleasure derived
And delivered solely unto me
For myself as kisses, letters

Alphabets of song and ruin
Pleasure diversified, words not ignored
For God’s sake do not hold your tongue
But speak your part to the world’s
Brittle make, not often is a poet born

The days will break, but not thy heart
And a thousand poems be born form thy pen.

Courage to Smile #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth


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The Courage to Smile

There is a geography which holds
That life is just in our hands
You destroy yourself if you don’t know
How to laugh through

Partially-coloured hours
For I am moved by the
Multitudes of your intelligence
Of your gifted sayings and sometimes

Returning with an
Open state of mind
I come to you in my night, your day

To tell you I don’t think
I want to win anything
I think I want to die unadorned

Unknown, for ever pure and innocent
There is a freedom which states
A glass of papaya juice

And back to work
For I wear my heart in my pocket
I don’t dare go down to the sidewalk

Where labor feels dirty
You know, I might as well
Leave a tiny poem

In that brain of yours and bid you my farewell
For I’ve been writing and ate
A poem on the way here
It’s been that kind of day

But thanks, to you I’ll keep
To always embrace things, people
Earth, sky, stars and do it freely
Since mortality insures
I don’t have an appropriate
Sense of time and space.

The Gift


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Ode to Forever Swirling Sunlight

My final notation will come
Close to silence, it will be subtle
It won’t take me long to write
Poems ought to come naturally
Like kissing and giving voice

To what burns to get out
It will take all of my heart
The beating poor little thing
That loved too much, with
All the breath in the world

It will be simple, in that
The final notation is always
Somehow about God
Who is as simple as
The universe, as fresh
As the cities of the future

My descendants will know me
By what I chose to say
What I never planned, but was
What I dreamed most
At the core of my ribs
I am coming to all the pieces

Of my life that led me
Divinity, the outstretched gift
That was a human life
Like a valediction of all virtue
And a forbidden taste of morning

Before I even got to undress
In the empty notations of the sun.

A Capsized Life


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Capsized with Lightning

I want to catch edible stars
The kind that spill rare
Emotions, like gratitude
Or buttered up moods like
Wonder, gracious young-wonder
That fill your mind with

Wild fragrances, associations
You haven’t felt in years
I want the currents to pull me
Beneath the moon
Where the nets break
And I’m a prey to intense amazement

Where the masks fall off
And the veils are torn
In the poverty that deepens us
And you think of me as strange
But suffering has been kind to me
I’ve actually grown more sensitive.

Featured photographer:

To one of my new favorite portrait photographers: http://m0thart.deviantart.com/

Friction of Pure Being


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Aware of Moving Poems

We are moving poems
We don’t have to speak
To be acknowledged
Sometimes, we just sit

And watch the world
So much beauty, so little time
We don’t always realize
Each cell, each plant, each flower

Each star, touches other
Cells, planets, flowers, stars
Other human beings, that’s
How literature works,

That’s how the world is made
We are like moving poems
That do not need to create
For by existing, we are creative

We do without do
And influence without trying
By your very matter of being
You matter and radiate

The you-ness of your energy
It doesn’t take an effort
To live our one nature fully
But it comes out, in unspeakable ways

Surprising even the watcher
Time leads us to new poems.

Featured artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Blue-sun-525756530

Notes that Played on the Piano of Us


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Notes that Played on the Piano of Us

We met on a day that does not exist
That is why I know you so well
At the Haiku
Where dawn meets sunset
You gave me
Wingbeat, songbeak, heartlift,
And I was an opening
To all that was pure again
In candlelight of a foreign house
Llike where we met
Some exotic place
Where Mozart, Bach, Strauss
Lingered longer than usual
In the speckled light
Where we feel young again
We are young together
Younger than we care to admit.

Dreams of Water


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The Holy Well

Sunbathing on hope
Empty of acting
I came upon skywashed seas
And an older me
Ankle deep in water
Faces hanging over
The cliff of tomorrow
Trying to see their
Reflection in storms
Salt-clear distances
Opal faith lifting
Us up out of thunder
Marked footprints
Of God carrying us
Two bodies, two feed
With bright light surrender
Our limbs turned west
Leaning into the
Hips of waves
Legends merged in us
Legions moved in us
Until we visited
Constellations as promised
Long ago, halos of thirty blues.

To Black Swan Job Applicants IV


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To Black Swan Job Applicants IV

Without writing, life would be a mistake
So here’s to crazy ones
Misfits, rebels, troublemakers, anarchists
Who invariable make the best poets

And sometimes turn into novelists
If they put the time in
Because the people who are crazy
Enough to think they can change

The world are the ones that do
Coding, writing, copyrighting
Everybody is a genius
But an innovator is someone

Able to sacrifice ordinary things
To dedicate themselves to a cause
A craft, a subject, to be a specialist
Writers are specialized dreamers

Easier to tire of reality than books
So many worlds, strangely we become
What we pretend to be, so try
To be a writer for a year, you might

Surprise yourself with dark things
Certain dark things are to be loved
In secret, in the shadows of your soul
Write from that place, and have experiences

That exhaust the travels of several lives
Everyone takes around their portable magic
Might as well put it down into a book
For if we are to become insane, may as
Well write first between intervals of sanity
It’s a clerical alchemy that was my favourite
Time of my life, writing alone was like
Visiting a wild place where I was the first visitor.

Malleable skins


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Malleable skins

There is a radical symmetry
Of falling in love in spring
It characterizes your entire relationship

Like passion for the dove
Beyond pheromones, hormones, gender
Every time we make love for
Love’s sake alone, I find you
Rediscovered like the sap of us

The man and woman of tumbling
The kidding and prodding for a deeper aesthetics
That to say, we are unified

In ideas, lips, values, family chores
It’s the skin of our brains becoming
Accustomed to all this
Here are days that I walk through
But I cannot hold them, and that’s the beauty

Of love’s cyclic offering
It’s divine intervention to fall in love.

Title Embedded Below


8

We Worship perfect because we can’t have it

Language, it has allowed me to dream
I’ve never done anything but dream
All experience is a simulation
Of what our senses tell us

We perceive, all relationships
Are 80% make believe
And thus, I come to the point
Where my ultimate concern

Is naturally, for my inner life
Is the book of disquiet over?
Is the meaning found that escaped me?
Are the idols ready to be pushed aside?

And the myths, are they ready
To succumb to new myths, new standards?
To make way for the new
Language, it has allowed me to feel

I’ve never done anything but feel
All thoughts have a quality of feeling
Objectivity is the greatest lie
But subjectivity is an ironic dreamer

Full of queer promises and casual observations
That do not register fully until years later
That I take a certain pleasure in the fact
Of watching daydreams go down in defeat

Words like any truth, are part duality
And what once seemed like a clever remark
Can later feel like the ghost of an imaginary friend.

By the spontaneous particulars of sound


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By the spontaneous particulars of sound

When I listen to the sound
Of poetry distilled by centuries
It’s not like poor music
If the poetry of x were music

Well Shakespeare still read well
Sappho still tugs the heart
So it’s wider than philosophy
Their rhetoric is hardly relevant

To the times, Descartes
Did not anticipate binary!
Aurobindo’s supermind < transhumanism
Without understanding

Poetry flows, Emily Dickinson
Will never grow old, no!
Her freedom is in a tongue

All her own, a symbolism that
Becomes a language, a devotion
To a way of observing

Better to live directly
In experience, without filters
Better without an author

To be our own author
Not necessarily to write myths
We live in myth enough already

But some brains reverberate
With the poetic sense, the
Future poetry, and that is enough.