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.”

Your Poems became my Confessions

 

Your Poems became my Confessions

The poem began innocently
As lumps in your throat
You shave and trim them
Until they are perfect

But I don’t do that, I won’t
But when I read your work
Emotion finds its way
Into the architecture of psyche

Past the layers of skin
Into the bridge of passion
And as a symbol, I spontaneously
Burst with what makes you tick

As the same think that makes me whole
And that’s a powerful catalyst
For truth from grief and power
From sacrifice, and I’m an alchemist

When I read your work, and that’s
A crazy audience, uplifted from poverty
These poems begin innocently enough
So be careful what you do to me

Your words burn into me like erotic memories
And chatting about who to blame
For who we are, I fell for your ancestors
And by association, you, we both wanted

What we cannot pay enough to have
Pain became our meaning
And writing became our life
And if the present is indeed the

Revenge of the past, I have a feeling
My poems will reflect your silence.

Privacy Unveiled

Privacy Unveiled

Eun Ji, remember when we
Were young? We liked to say
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost?

We used to think in terms of freedom
That had the ability to feel:
So I love you without knowing how
Or when, or from where, or how lovely.

I love you simply, without problems
Of pride, like poetry
Full of sleep as you close your eyes
So intimate to the music that remains

In your heart when all words have fled
Eun Ji, remember we who could not
Remain silent, you who taught
Me so much, from so little contact

The powerful feelings of intoxicating
Mystery, to read a poem of yours
Is to hear it with your eyes
But as a nightingale, Eun Ji,

I cannot find your source
Or where you have gone
And when I feel impoverished
Socially, emotionally, materially

I remember that perhaps I’m not
A poet enough to call forth life’s riches
For the Creator, there is no poverty
Eun Ji, I have heard in your writing

The place where people can speak
Their original human mind
And there all privacy is unveiled.

In order to understand

In order to understand

It’s quarter after three, in my life
That’s a lot of life gone
That’s, a lot of life left

I’ve learned to listen
To the notes in the margin
Before the pages are
Completely erased
Everything lingers with me

In my heart, the world works
In mysterious ways, we are all
Perfect strangers, and perfectly familiar

The poets are eccentric and figures
I’ve rarely conversed with, sure
I’ve read dead ones and the like
Literature is after all

The most agreeable way of ignoring life
And it’s not, that I’m consciously
Trying to ignore my life
Life is beautiful and mixed up

While my past is everything I failed to be
My future makes my soul impatient
Everything interests me
But nothing holds me

Dreaming all the while
Both my soul and I
Keep our distance
I wake up early in the morning

Only to find it takes me
A long time getting
Ready to exist, so here we go

We never love anyone, no
We love the idea we have of someone
Strangely, it’s our own concepts
Our own imaginary ideas

That we love, intrinsically
We are dumb like that
And in order to understand
Ourselves, we have to die to ourselves

It’s philosophy existentially
And the experience of the
Soul’s hidden orchestra
I know the instruments
All I can hear now is symphony.

Wuji on Instagram

 

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Like the Writing on your Hand

Like the Writing on your Hand

Do you think it’s plausible
Just wait a second, for a moment
That we take pieces of each other

Forever influenced, eternally merged?
If I swallow your poetry
Does it thirst and settle
And make rapture

In my voice, as if forever?
Do I carry a part of you
Your narrative, meme, genes?

I think my inner Korean voice
Can attest to it, scandalously odd?
While no one is watching
There’s no one to hear

The echo of me dying
To the new one I am now
After knowing of your existence

That thingess of absence
It goes and sucks like space
But space-time is permeable
To gorgeous quotations

And that is why
I have reincarnated a piece of you
With me forever

Do you think it’s plausible?
Take a guess, run away, write
It on your hand.

Paradox of Thought

I aspire to silence the voices
That I may speak for all voices
The function of a room is
To keep the body well

The function of a mind is
To keep the soul serene
I will never hear the one true voice
But in the Tao I find ultimate empathy

And I give it to all creatures here
And in silence I feel the snowflakes
The clouds, the trees, the light
In a whole new way against

The night, alive in the day
I become like the breeze
That rustles the leaves
And by disappearing to myself

I have room to identify with everything
That is the function of silence
My friend, we’ve thought of how
The poet spoke the thoughts

Of history, well as a finger points
To the stars, the mind dreams
In silence, language finds God.