In Need of Angels

I suppose, I was never the root of everything
There’s no golden women in silver mirrors
It was all in my mind, that smooth paradise
Where I loved life more than I knew how to show

And calling down the long echoes
Of the longest sleep, I existed with struggle
My time-travelling was imperfect

My heart knew not how to open
I suppose, I walked a lot of paths alone
And my dreams became my last illusions
Because they were all that I had left

I had no music, only stray words
Accounts of creatures that had impressed me
Planets, suns, bathed in the futurity
If Reality is the beginning not the end

I never walked into that universe
Where everything was new again
My haunted hope was never incarnated
My slow motion moments never felt pure

Like an evening that evokes a violet ray
I was the last white light of something inside of me
That wanted to escape how notes fell in August
The harvest days were coming, and I was
More in need of angels than ever.

My Diamond Sutra

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.

To Creation

If yet I have not all thy love
Remember this, I was born
Into your world, strange nature
I breathe, because of you

And your Deare evolution
I shall never have it all?
Being poor, and who made me so
And all my inner beauty is yours

I have nothing to bargaine with
Anymore, time can have me all
I have no great goals for my
Lofty mortality, “it is what it is”

So they like to say, I am tree, river
Stone, and just a bit of flesh
That grew in your womb never
Saying oaths that others do

If yet I have not all thy fortune
Let me be as you intended me to be
I can only love so much, do so much
In the fragile state for which I live

My remaining days, there are no letters
Like my genes to bring me home
Home is the planet I live upon
God’s riddles are for the absurd

Faith is not the kind of jewel I wish
To store in my brain, fruitless hope
Nor was any return love vowed by thee
Life does with me what it wills

I am as a fish in a polluted sea
Or as a tree in the last forest
I am as a world in ruins
For the sake of the greed of a few

Men who could not win your love
Any more than I could make the
Universe be aware of my existence
Love is for those whose hearts are young.

SILENCE IS A GREAT GEOGRAPHY

Silence has stripped me bare
An influenza of silver nothing
Stretched like a skin

Over meaning, Bud of transparency
Music clouds the inner listening
Philosophy, a simple play on duality

Silence, is my legitimate voice
Nearly impossible to put
Into words, the feeling of transcendence

Absence of self, how do I exist?
After questions, I will not
Let answers influence me

I become pure neutrality
I would love to cease to hear
My own thoughts, then I might

Finally clarify us together
In a stare, as wide as our unity
Where poetry could say
As much as the quiet night.

Photo courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Riihivuori-450664430

At The Hinge of All My Days

If I shouldn’t be alive –
Let others do, what I could not
Let them not save me
Any memorial crumbs

Our stories are all retold
Again and again, like being fast
Asleep and dreaming life
Our lives, they come and go

So quickly, if I should die tomorrow
Perhaps I will have been asked
To go abroad, to some further star –
And there I shall take compact Sunshine

With me, my first well Day in ages
If I shouldn’t be alive –
Let poets rise from every circumstance
Uncertain of themselves, so –

We all cheat ourselves, dropping
Threads of our youthful dreams
We conform to routine lives
If I shouldn’t be alive –

Maybe it is for the best?
To fade into tomorrow with
Rainbows held, like brief recompense.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-Spices-412283366

I’ve Watched Myself Perform Small Nobilities

When I look around for proof
That I am alive, epistemology aside
I am a living metaphysics scattered

In the wind, dreams bought by books
There is no defragmenting this love
It’s the self-search of sheltered legacies
*
And I become a candidate
For door to door sustenance
Looking for proof that I exist

In these empty faces, these cynics with luggage
Perhaps I should be practicing not having
Because possession, isn’t in the cards

I’m no longer waiting, I’m simply
Pressing my ears and eyes into everything
Hoping that I don’t abandon hope too easily
*
I won’t rush death a bunch of dust
But leave what I am, stuck with you.

Lyrics Gravitate Within

I perish with wishful recitation
Each word is a trance to

An Audience scattered
In time & space, the last frontier
Of the Theatre of the self
Is to write, the Owner cannot shut

The transaction with Eternity
We are the Drama arisen –
With a solitary acre of purposeful design
Love Maintains her themes in us

And our God is of a General Nature
We obey laws of congruency
A presence of Departed acts
Remains with us like a karmic trace

There is no adequacy in art
Only lessons and beloved topics
Poetry doesn’t have to enact beliefs
But only portray adjusted Dynasties
Nobody is exempt from Change.

Prologue

Time for me has never gotten comfortable
Once upon a time, there was me
Not I, but a coexisting us
Many selves splintered
Unable to resume existing
As a significant whole
Like a prologue of all known things
These of the self were finite
Mortal, braided with the stars
Mirrored, like wandering hands
That renounced the light
A long time ago, time was only a context
The symbols of neglected bruises
Reminders of ancient Sanskrit terms
Gray cathedrals of spirit-space
That were not witnessed, before the age
Of a thousand eyes, before consciousness
Could be downloaded and uploaded
Time was a little girl who
Announced her arrival each moment
With a big pillow in her hands for sleeping beauty
Down from the sorcerer’s tree
I swallowed the fruit once again
A blind witness to my blind hunger
Leave the wisdom here said the bird
In the seed, throw the seed into the river.