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.

Ode to Epigrams


Wordsmith

 

The Sun also rises

So says the Epigraphs

The fragments of Sappho

 

Lost to funny history

Pithy saying, clever last wishes

Give me liberty, dreams and poise

 

For wisdom in brevity

This world is blind to the

Causes of her true happiness

 

If life were fair, art would not rejoice

In the disbelief of suffering

The aphorisms of despair

 

Axioms, Hakiu, sermons of sentience

There are no couplet daffodils left

Only perhaps epitaph tweets

 

That go unread in the hoodwinked hours

Of our celestial clowning

And commonplace anonymity

 

Where to err is just, and to fail is to incite

Our soul to rest from brilliant heights

To put on the puns of last resorts

 

Insult the world before she revels her riddles

The night is young, the days are old

The Sun also rises and a quote feels divine

Here’s another epigram, here’s another universe.

The End of Music


music

 

Go my lost songs of failure

The stars are bitter with a billion lives

They experience the lights as I do

 

More free than water, more alive than

Summer, or the organics that celebrated there

Go, my songs, that were never mine

 

We briefly hold on to life

Though lonely or unsatisfied

It does not matter – we are just

 

Visitors filled with the contempt

Of an imperfect journey

Wedded to ignorance and desire

 

Though I bend with night and rise

With the dawn in my mind

My heart coloured thirst born of this

 

There’s gentle music here, and open speech

In the cadence of all I see

But inside of me there is oppressed counterpoint

 

Go my songs, lost as I would end my search

In the silence of the subtle chords

Which is the fading light, and the years spoiled

 

Hungry for the return of octaves lost

And for the sport of voice and omens and lyrics

In the timeless commerce of beauty’s quivering vein.

 

The Unexpected Death of Idealism


Instagram

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Oh, there’s reason for these sighs
And peace, from maturity
Inertia of no longer fighting
For ideals that are bigger than self

That’s the vague grey canvas of age
Talking, strangely through time
An apathy of our youthful heroism
I can wish now late, with words and spitefulness

But nothing empties dreams faster
Than poverty, student debts, a harsh economy
I said goodbye, to art, to fantasy, to women
But my heart keeps coming back

I pray to the soft ray by the window pane
And to my peach hibiscus that has blossomed
Unexpectedly, there’s a white peacock
In my dreams, that wakes me form my silence

I brood for a future me, and for a feminist hysteria
But there’s no raspberry jam, no honey and tea
I cannot forgive a world that doesn’t fight
For a better world, that’s not the legend of love

That I’m a part of, I want a higher cause
A championed course, and kids that believe
In more than profit and competition
Oh, there’s reason for these sighs

That come with a price of actually caring
About what’s happening to the world
A world that doesn’t beg for your love
It only evolves quicker without you

I’ve no cure for happiness, when
The majority has it worse than I do.

Instagram

Letters from my German Soul 


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I should think I’m a better ghost of a poet
Than a human being, why?
We no longer share a language
I’ve become too abstract, like

How sometimes everything seems
So subjective, until I lose myself
In the dream of a body
In the hopes of a mortal life

That nonetheless anticipates ecstasy
Even when I have learned to fear pain
Trusting the moment, walking through fire

To get to some place that was
Inside myself all along
The most solid advice my soul ever gave
Was to burn my hand about the nature of fire

To live as a poet might live
But I’m, more heart than alchemy
More curiosity, than temptation

More innovator, than life-traveller
Poetry and astrology were my mother-tongues
Until I had to learn new languages
Software and smiling, to enter

The Sunday of my brief life
Dying to myself that I might
Feel the bliss of a frozen moment
That melts perfectly into the here and now.

Jupiter Rising for Those Who Love 


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When I can look at life in the eyes
Of the heart, from the heart of my eyes
I see the calm of everything
The current of love beneath time

And it shall not be memory
For existence is only fresh in experience
Silent as a woman waiting for love
It’s not enough to act or listen

The world waits for the spring
And youth comes only once
In meagre compensation for biology!
I should be glad for loneliness

And hours to wonder what is divine
And a thirst body that amounts to
An empty heart to fill the jewels
Of single songs of people dear

And lovely melodies full of light
If I have loved much and been loved deeply
It is enough, enough to say
It will soon be over, on a hushed winter’s night.

It is a terrible thing to be so open 


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I like people too much
But God, how lonely it is to do so
They fail you like how their goals
Supersede their interpersonal ethics

If I didn’t love others so much
I’d be much happier
And where I am now
The clouds are flowering

And I’m able to see the lifetime of
Each one of them, the face of their stars
And for me, poetry is not the evasion of life
But the processing of it, prose has such

Bad characters, they are flawed
But poetry speaks of the full subjective weight
Of ideas and emotions and people
Narrative and timeline is not something

I can afford, I’ve had enough of time and space
I’d much rather create in the ether
Where I can proudly create
Let me live, love and say it

Well in good sentences
That’s all I ask, is it too much?

Poets are Wild Roses


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Eun Ji, whatever our souls are made of
Would’t it be nice if hers and mine are the same
That we embody shared attributes
She’s more myself than I am

What if that which hugs the seas
Hugs us in our deepest heart
The sacred reason for our lives
Is blooming almost constantly

We just have to listen to its spark
Eun Ji, I bloom almost constantly for you
And you won’t see the flame
And you won’t feel the nectar

And everyone is invisible sometimes
To that which most matters to them
As stars to the sea, as green to the eyes
And sunlight to our human cheeks

The our of our everafter draws closer
And I’ve never craved friendship
The way love introduced me to
The wild rose-briars of elements of poetry
Poet who are too bright for this world.

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The Womb of Everything


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Eun Ji, life on the planet is born a woman
I’m not ignorant to the fact
In their wombs the magic is held
In their bosom sweet like fresh gossip
And the roots of familiar chimes

The moment of change is like a woman
Changing fairly well I assume!
Adapting and socially connecting
Though a thinking woman sleeps with monsters
We false name the beast we loved

In order to call him a Man we admired
It’s exhilarating to be alive near a good woman
You feel in her the idea that
The planet is awakening though
I sometimes wonder what a mother’s battles are for

Her child with sickness, poverty, lack of education
Waged in love and with the passion
For survival, how many women must be sacrificed?
And art whose honesty must labor through artifice
That cannot change the place of a woman

In such a barbaric society, as this?
Let them rule the world, I’d say
If they had the time, birth rates are declining
So what’s with the glass ceilings, friends
It’s their bodies, it’s the destinies of women

That have to change, to change the world
The world won’t change without them
False histories are made up of
The power, money, politics & war games of men.

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As all the earth is holy ground


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I dream of you to wake the soul
A soul that dreams of remembering
The future while we are still young!
I lock my door upon myself
That I might write the most beautiful books

Better by far you should read
The eternal present’s experience
Than follow in my footsteps dear
The silence is more musical than any song
The goblin market of our mind is dreary

Say then, that your heart is like a singing bird
That forgets not to smile, and the world
Like hope trembling, will smile with you

Unsure of the hurt it caused you
But grateful for your attendance just the same
Do not take your injuries so personally
They are but the foam of the ship
Upon which we travel through the night

Of choosing love not in the shallows
But in the truest depths of the deep
Where my heart is breaking for a little love.

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Stuff We Learned


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Eun Ji, if people forget what we said?
I don’t mind, I just want to open my eyes
With my soul, for a day
Make people feel the flush

Of love’s light and the costs
Of living for a better world
For no price is too steep to pay
For that, we have to live by those voices

That love indeed recognizes no boundaries
No barriers and we write to leap fences
We celebrate with our lines full of hope
Cascading for an open heart

Racing for an open mind
We write to lift the veils from our own eyes
That we might see others as ourselves
And decide not to be reduced by our tragedies

And grow from every encounter
And innately feel how everything in the universe
Has a rhythm and we are a part of that
Eun Ji, how easy it is to accept

That we can be changed by people
Permanently, by the quality of their tenderness
The strength of their values and convictions
It’s time we no longer apologize for who we are.

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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.

The Crown of Literature is Poetry


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It’s the end, and we’re all set
To become stories, information
Some live the poetry they cannot write
While I write the poetry I cannot live
As a slave to the poverty
And the empathy that comes from

Knowing the downtrodden
Poetry is a fire that lives inside of you
Like an artistic expression of faith
Beginning in delight and ending in wisdom
Pleasure never has so much truth as this

I’ll open all the doors, I’ll review
All the possibilities, and there will still
Be more to write, that’s the universe
Swimming in our minds, that’s a jewel
Of the cosmos, stationed in our hearts

And you won’t find poetry anywhere
Outside yourself, unless you
Bring a bit of your soul
The secret inspiration of the stars.

Twisterella


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A conversation with silence slips
And begins with lightness
The speaker has only a language
And words to drift apart on

A poem can be a force of nature
Inferior to the condition of the experience
But as a subjective replacement for it
Or a stylized augmentation of it

Like a drug, creation neurotransmitters
Like a music station
In the hour of uttering syllables
That have a personal meaning

Like unsaid thoughts that twist
A twisterella of the technology of silence
A ritual to self, an etiquette of art
Blurring terms of white or black

Inoffensive, tremendous, revelatory
Like the quote that felt the cosmos
William Blake and Osho on steroids
Making all other illegitimate voices

Seem like poor echoes of how to exist
And how to drink silence in solitude.

Being Free is living Inside


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The universe is not outside of you
It took me years to see
And when I did I was already

Inside of myself, living
From the inside out
I saw you as an expression of me
And I wasn’t terribly important anymore
So I finally sold my cleverness

For bewilderment and my confidence
For simplicity, and then I suddenly
Found I knew what it meant to be

And it did not require possessions
Or achievement, or education
Or standing in the world of men
It only asked for a bit of meditation
And a bit of connection with

All that lives between moments
In the space where people connect
And how the world looks when
You empathize with it better.