In Winter, Merits have a Woman in Mind


dreams-come-true

Listen, Hae.mi, there are no paths closed
Between you and I, where optimism points her passion
Where the door is to the universe
This is not the time for prayers

But the time to act, my lovely field
Where I play in all that is Heaven
O’, I’ve known thee in thy dress of whiteness
And in the tempest of thy insomnia

The league of ours is beautiful
Based on the soulful arts, and
I feel as though I’ve not seen the last
Of your smile, in my poet’s arms

The sacred sacrifice of the bard
Is not nearly over, the muse bends
In a festival of tempting destiny
Such being the idol of my consumption

To the beauty I know I rest in thee
To the wonder and harmony of all that’s good
Hae.mi, the secret entrance to your life’s totality
There are no citizens or policies there

Only the abode of ritual and sweet shyness
The last warm flesh of hope and gladness
And all those things not native to me
That you possess like jewels, fruit, perspective

An abundance of so much radiance I keep
Following your spark for a hint of the luminous
And at the court of your entrepreneurship
I’m firm like the dawn of the world

For your sunsets and miracles of action
Your nurturing of the beauty in all of us.

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 Chant Goes On


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What you love, you become
The dream of being is identity
What you feel, you attract
With the whisper of the cosmos

Always around you nurturing time
What you imagine, you create
In the Tao of sense, there’s only the future
A living universe intersecting

With every part of you, a thousand
Times per second, you are energy
Happiness does not depend on circumstance
It is a gift of perspective

There is no path to happiness
No escape into pleasure
No particular opposite of suffering
The experience is paramount and important

What you love, you will become
So learn to love the highest and truest
Of what you are, let your love encompass
The whole world, so you will not be small
Or live smally for yourself, and be miserable.

Dying into Descendents


Artist is Naomi, Montreal. http://naomipaints.com/gallery/mosaics/

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Dying into Descendents

Someday, somewhere, in this life

You’ll find yourself hungry

For a freedom from the necessity

Of hope or despair

To be an animal is not

The only way of being

Everything carries you to her

The evolution of your mind

How your soul aches to be

Something else, better

A future of instant information

With senses as great as galaxies

And cells and nodes like planets

And continents, that’s how

The future will feel like

Until then, enjoy your biology

Those small desires and human monotony

You won’ get to keep what you have

Not even who you once were

So borrow and blend until

You and I meet again

As the hymns that fill the worlds

As the lights that are born from stars.

C a n P o e t r y M a t t e r?


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There is a proliferation of new poetry
You won’t see it called poetry
It will be called sunrise
Like an anthology of all the sunrises

And it will have ingredients of
Dawns and sunsets and won’t care
Who is the poet laureate in that state

It won’t wake up to be famous
It will be just, words on public loan
For a species going extinct

The will be in denial that
Their world is going extinct
Just as poets are in denial true poetry

Is dying or has died, and nobody will know it
But the hearts will only echo it
And closed groups will try to invent it again

There is a frantic literary ambition
In writers, for they know they
Don’t have many decades in which to make it

Poets like to dream their work
May be discovered posthumously
But the problem with that is
There are too many good writers

And nobody might be around in two hundred years
To discover it, and it goes on
Poetry will be published in the
Hearts of youth, by unknown authors

And we won’t call it poetry
It will just be something that reincarnated
In them, something we inherited
Something in the brain

We didn’t’ have to take credits for it
In some undergraduate program
It will just be innate like speaking
And describing, what really matters.

Further reading:

http://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/unbound/poetry/gioia/gioia.htm

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.

The End of Sunsets #Inspiration #Quote


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Changing arrangement of Sunsets

There is no plan for sunset
It occurs spontaneously without regret
It spells an end to twilight
There’s no awkwardness in beauty
Spilled like milk into

The commonly visited public areas of the sun
There’s no avoiding its heavy furniture
Of color, it’s secure room of visual silence
It resets your day with dignity
Sometimes you just need to burry

Yourself in a moment, and pay attention
By not paying attention, and viewing
The macrocosm for what it is, your tininess
That’s anxiety hitting the fan
In Kaleidoscopes, that’s commitment

To art in nature’s intricacy
It’s an honest joy to be shocked by beauty
Cradled as if you were young, thrown back
Aesthetics is synthesis, appraisal is infinite
Experience is fluid, that’s where art begins
And you learn to shut up.

To You, With Poems


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To You, With Poems

I won’t wait for you, forever
My poems are faster than I read
Words tongued with fire

I’m the last of them, they
Live in me, it’s not a gift
To be self-forgetful
To urge on, the inner supply

Is endless, so who’s to say
That I didn’t witness
The destruction of all of man

Love is thicker than we forget
More thin than we recall
Because love is the price of everything
It’s more seldom than the wave is wet

And more true than the sun
Love is less alive than living
Subtract it and there is no fun

I won’t wait for love, I’ll live it
More frequently even in failure
More nobly even in error
And that’s why these poems

Multiply in landscapes rare
The architects must be most courageous
To let us love again.

“Love is thicker than we forget
More thin than we recall
Because love is the price of everything”

Slowly I would rise and not dress #NaPoWriMo


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Slowly I would rise and not dress

It was the Saturday of birds
To hear you speak
When April turns on Spring
I’d wake with a song
Caught in my throat

With a labour to tweet
And a blaze of lyricism

For love’s austere office
This craft of poems, that never
Get tired of writing each other
Sunday felt like eternity
How many words would be
Written before then, my hands

ii

Were always empty, as if
I had nothing that I possessed
But beauty was my mantra
And I spoke indifferently to the Spring
Because I knew the Spring
Well, it would never fail me

Not with its tip-toe light
Not with how happy the people would be
Not with the great call to life
And the end to all of my patience.

Moon Words


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Moon Words

My heart is dilated
The pupils of my soul
Are freshly open, because of you
It’s a kind of madness

I assure you, to be influenced
I fell into you this morning
I clearly didn’t intend to
Be pierced to the roots

**

Bathing in every vein of your inner voice
All day you appear to me
A prize of one’s sanctuary gone
By literary temptation

The journals you left, I read them all
We are two songs so far apart
But I know the words, I created them
A pure happiness to know

**

The jewel of so many years
A sweet flower that was lost forever
Across the continent, I am
A mere bystander and yet

Sometimes, there’s a moon-race
Of how we both dream
On the same frequency
And a split-second after

**

In a different language
Through cultural exchanges
We both murmur the same sentence
Beneath our window into the night.

The Medicine Collaboration #NaPoWriMo #Gratitude


When I was a young poet, toiling on the writer’s cafe (www.writerscafe.org), there was this one constant presence. One indomitable giver of praise, recognition, reviews. I won’t forget WHO that was, or their quality of compassion, generosity and their human spirit: it’s

https://johncoyote.wordpress.com. This poem is dedicated to him:

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The Medicine Collaboration

Life is hard, they used to tell me
I didn’t not understand
Until I found out for myself

Life punishes the ones we love
Enough, to internalize kindness
Is there a cost to being kind?
Mercy, forgiveness, gratitude

It’s not an investment
Altruism isn’t a burden
Being nice isn’t difficult

Life is hard, I heard it again
From my own mouth
Later in life, and I could see
What they were saying

Cut jobs, heartbreaks, divorce, debt
Living had a silent toll

Art was a release of the good & bad
The chronicle of our relationship
With a God, that wasn’t going
For an easy life without errors
Failures had a place in our learning

Evolution wasn’t afraid
Of tragedy, dying young, cancer

Life is hard
So why not try to do some good?

A Pilot from Uncommon Language


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Freedom in Obscurity

I never imagined I’d experience
The repetition of experience
As pure freedom
The inner grammar

Is the failure to criticize
I am walking rapidly
In the slow-motion

From death to dream
To birth again, to be a poet
Is to obey letters of water
Powers of lucidity

Discovered in surrender
I never imagined I’d experience
Freedom in self-limitation

In the simple twilight of
The same landscape
I found the underbelly of genius

Where I reached the lines

I was supposed to (have)
The drowsy nerve of soul
Where all pleading stops.

Forever New Beginnings


32

On Days like Immortality

On days when I think of myself
As a clean stranger, I get
To start again a true new beginning

Mirrors speak casually to me

My name in the voice
Of others sounds different
I learn to measure
The world’s feedback differently
ii
Once I am unleashed
A new person, something long-term
Changes in how I treat others
That’s when I know

I am Immortal, a soul on a mission
On a tiny gem of a Planet
Reciprocally I become
An interaction in real-time

iii
I speak up more, and say less
In a few gestures
Than ever before
There was no annual

Catastrophic disappointment
Just me, on days like a new beginning
Mirrors became windows
People became mirrors.

About Solitude and Infatuation


Screen Shot 04-05-15 at 08.20 PMScreen Shot 04-05-15 at 08.26 PMBeing Alone Does Not Make You Crazy, It Reminds You Of Who You Are. - E.J. Koh

Alone Quotes | Forward this Picture

Being alone with Eun Ji

I’m five down dead in red

I bend where the sun hits

I shift to gain access

To the bursting shadows

Voyeuristic to your ghosts

The rains is like a lullaby

But the blood of a writer

Eun Ji, I’m a secret manifestation

 

Of your psyche, both silent

And wounded in existence

Both everything and nothing

For your eternity of being

And there is a vague red trail

Leading from my life to yours

It’s like an avalanche of nostalgia

When you shudder I feel light-headed

In this way, I have swallowed

The memories of someone else

And I would gladly color your body

But after all those dreams of dying

We learned to love dying

In each other’s arms, disguised

Like lonely vehicles to murder the world

Our solitude didn’t make us crazy

It just reminded us who we were

And for that I am lonely:

Loneliness is not being alone

It’s to love another’s soul

To no avail, but I have time

Time to tangle myself into

The spiral veins of your inner voice

Maybe the only voice

That can reach me now

And I write about you because

I’m scared of writing, however

I’m more scared of not writing

Eun ji, in my mind you have become a poem

But I cannot stop writing or speaking

Because you amplify the my inner Asian-ness

And the zero-point of all poetic intent in me.

Happiness Didn’t Pick Another Day


I’m happy with a new content It’s called feeling altered By the Universe’s care That comes unbidden like Appreciated Air, and a gratitude For clean Water, abundant Green Such a fate that I was ministered Must conclude in happiness The … Continue reading