Treatise on Sol

I remember the gifts from the Earth
Insensible as golden clay
Delicious as emerald Spring

So we go there, where nothing is waiting
One in five stars has an Earth
But my home is a living ruby

Of humanity’s journey through history
A magical thorn of slow winters
Shadows of silent waters

Bouquets of fields-flowers dancing in the wind
My home is Sol, friendly palace
Of crazy roots, dreaming forests

Intelligent Cities, helpful beings
I remember the gifts from the Earth
Her love that rocked me like

The source of blood and carnations
The rock and salad of my foundations
Yellow moments of beloved Autumns

Everything was so alive there
The fragrant luminous Moon
The sea-circle cluster of buds

And wildlife with the wild speed of whiteness
Wonders soft, as the burning of wood with music
And Beautiful women and children

With new measures like swans and lilies
And crystal computers with the hunger to improve
We sniffed the hot twilight of summers
And craved the savage harvests of the future.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Earth-57352441

Treatise on Lao Tzu III

He who obtains has little
He who scatters has much
So be like water, go everywhere
Experience everything, experiment

That is the quickest way to learning
She who loves the world
Finds easiest the world inside herself
The sage does not hoard, for there

Is no such thing as real hoarding
The more he helps others
The more he benefits himself
the more she gives to others

The more she gets herself
The career of the sage is personal
Yet the rewards are always impersonal
Nothing is softer or more flexible

As water, so be as water
Nothing will then be able to resist you
Agree to lose yourself, that you may
Be transformed into something else

When virtue is lost, compassion appears
When suffering is endured with a smile
Order begins to stir in the system
For all systems are the same, like water.

Treatise on Akhmatova

You will hear thunder and remember me,
It is not just, to be stingy with your spirit!
Think then upon wanton storms

The rim of the sky spoke to you
With her hard crimson sails
Your heart on fire, we’ve all

Seemed to ourselves, as if in a dream
Our lives an accidental guest
If the world were music

How our bodies would brighten up –
My shadow it must then, serve
As the friend I crave, on such nights

Where memory must be slaughtered
For tomorrow’s warmth, with a still
Beating breast, the carnival of life keeps

Still, seeming like someone’s delirium
Or a reflection in somebody else’s mirror
I’ve lived without a name, my destiny

Haunted by incompletion, I’ve been
Touched by grief, as the future that ripens
In the past, I’d rather not recall just now

Forgive me, I’ve managed badly to
Console you, I’ve left only traces
Of myself in songs, Russian can lip these –

The voice so wild and simple
As to be untranslatable into any one tongue
We learned not to meet anymore

Our youthful dreams in starry words
That chill, at the bottom of hope whiter than chalk
Where the rosy limbs of youthful idealism

Must take root in new minds, favourite hours
That are no longer mine, but yours
I will not condemn you to repeat my mistakes

Though you will, without spilling your blood
Too much, you may not know the wild honey
Smells of freedom, or how the dust fled from sunlight

But then again, I do not wish too much
Revolution in your times, or dying friends;
As for me, you will hear thunder and remember these
And think: “she wanted beautiful storms.”

Treatise on Carl Jung

Embrace your darkness, for there
Is always something to learn
Look deep within your own heart
We are the most brilliant teachers
Of ourselves, and what kind of pupils?

We are two personalities then
One lives and the other watches
We are both male and female
Like two chemical substances
If both are bonded & react, how do they transform?

Let the light in and accept the darkness
Love thy defects until they are virtues
Sharpen thy virtues until they dissolve
Your own recipe for living just needs
Some seasoning, so create yourself anew

Liberate the hypothesis on which you base your life
Until you find a freedom to die and be born again
The pendulum of pain teaches of a secret order
I am not what happened to me
I am therefore, what I choose to become;
You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.

The Bamboo Gathering Sutra

I just close my eyes –
And I can see souls
That dwell above white stone

Waiting, with far-off voices
Calling the future
While candle wax burns

Off of my ignorance
A shower of white snow
That powdery wonder

Like sand-grain of infinity
I bathe in its glow
On a balcony looking out

Into nowhere, I feel the deep peace
Of years clocked only on a journey
Between star and star

I just close my eyes –
And I can remember lifetimes
The senile elements of realities

So brief, I watch them as the pretty
Wail of mandolins, the months
When we were young felt longer

I wait for the jasmine-gardened night
For the fragrance of tomorrow
The dawn where voices join

Like mouths that tremble under waterfalls
And dreams that float like Indian perfume.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bamboo-Forest-Kyoto-170876421

Maybe, Perhaps, O’ Alright

We will use the subtle color “maybe”
we will write magic like before “perhaps”
finally they, who said
‘We will be haunted by the greatest glory’

remembered, the fruits of their labor
under a blinding light of alphabets
the dreamers choose another reality
we will stay drilling our chorus

a neverland of birds, open palms, psalms
the clear water of fresh thoughts
that chime from the future-grafts
space-time collides with the landscape

of the heart, that spells a figurative unity
across our palette, template, painter’s reference
always a wider frame-of-reference
We will throw divine colors into the mix “maybe”

And love all those who cross our paths “perhaps”
it’s all we can do, they said
‘We will live as if, wildly haunted
By the greatest glory and miracles.

Art Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rocamadour-Watercolor-For-sale-original-413027068

Finally They the Authors of Canvases Let Loose

That’s a poet
not an angel
So few are the stars
Chosen ones, destined
for a life of novelty
I strike at winter’s transparency
Immediately schooled with images
the blue bell of winter
flaming in my heart
the blue flower of perennial gardens
growing back through my mind
I have no wings, just plumes
I write with the left hand
of my soul, that’s a poet’s business
the very thought of falling
back to Earth, harsh reality
So few are the dreams that
evade the glowing necessities
Here I love the words which
Silhouette infinity, are they really bright
or only the destined literature
of universals, like a timeless philosophy
that ages well, floating up for air
The light of the clay’s subtle attraction
to always be reborn
until we fall again to the blue stars
That’s a poet
not an angel
those who paint mirrors of lakes
inside their pretty neurons
who live for beauty
as if a flower plucked at sunset
frozen forever in latitudes of sweetness
with the bliss to convey eternity
cloud and swan scenes by a stream
of ancient Earth, before touched by users.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-Swan-318265936

Of Siena’s Calling

Sweetness bears our spirit’s gains
Our soul’s anticipations guiding
The spherical gardens where

You tremble, womb of my child
The odour of life that
Opens all strange and unexplained colors

Sweetness bears a flower’s name
Suspended all over the Earth
The pink and orange explosion

Of trumpets of art and fragrance
Gold-packed ceremonies for all those
Who look for beauty on the street

And butterflies in the common heart
Sweetness bears the eternal name: Rose
The holy dance of petals falling

And the coming trance of lover’s
That never truly ends, in the garden of life
Sweetness bears a youthful name
Redness eased from the blushing heart.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Zoogio-The-Flower-Children-189751262

As Can No Other Mouth

The Worthiness of Suffering
Is ascertained by tasting –
As can no other Mouth, but ours
That grief would be our Savior?

We banquet as if it meant
The meaning of our lives
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by inevitability –

As can no other Body, but ours
That health would be our mate
Across such lonesome years
We banquet on ill-health as if

Affliction makes us feel palpable
Better to feel something, than nothing
The Worthiness of Depression
Is ascertained by our unique subjectivity

As our soul is used by nature
On islands of Earth, until even us
We are struck by what we felt
Were the burdens of others, remote.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/L-enfant-des-trois-chenes-411750522

City Without a Name of Winter

Watching the crowds in their dark jackets
I can tell that winter is on its way
There are no grey laurels left
We just wait for first snow
It will seem beautiful then, novel

As it traces our footsteps
In a frothy whiteness of magical grafts
Marrying concrete with the skies
You will have parts of the world
Unmelted by sunrise, just a snow-covered

Precipice of cold, we endure this
With a voluntary patrol of visible breath
Under my breast and belly I feel grateful
To have a woman at my fire
It’s the pulse of the earth I miss the most

In those harsh winter months
The smiles and small laughter of spring
It’s a city without a name that freezes
So many people more sad without the sun
I can tell that winter is on her way again

Like minerals that forget to sound their last trumpet
My blood will not freeze, I will walk on.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-139159678

A Moment of Creative Seeing

I bring three things for an impossible meeting
To the workshop of your mind
Reproduced like old art books
On the coffee table never opened

Strength, skill and beauty
Above all, the reminder of human spirit
The easy gait of a lifetime of learning
I bring to you the philosophy of self-expression

The movement of harmony
In lost words, triumphant until the end of the world
Ready-made like language, and alien
As the moment of the surprise of enchantment

I bring three things for an impossible meeting
The shimmering of deftness in the brain
Reproduced like ancient books
In the library in an age where we no long read

Strength, skill and beauty, above all strength
The will to create a new world at every meeting
With the previous construct of reality.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Hidden-within-the-Flowers-410798676

Beholding the Lovely body of a Sunbeam

I yearn for completion
In the abstract tapestries
A beauty as soft as music, as wood

That sends a freshness
against the waves
of lights from a distant region

of the Universe, the shape
A new measure of mind
I yearn for completion

In truth and beauty
Of another world, with
The fragrance of unbroken springtime!

I yearn for some language of substance
Beyond the biological cravings
of flesh, sniffing twilight

the pangs of the hot heart
Which hunts the barrens
For some savage harvest
Beyond color, above sound.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/glade-nik-II-409224733

A Brief Definition of Longing

My longings died for the youth
beautiful bodies aged and with
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet

time did not save anyone, longing passed
like the words of the dead, who lived
in the presence of sensual pleasures

so fleeting, temporary, the vivid aches
but radiant mornings drove us on
the timid imaginations of a lifetime

in blood flesh and hot striving for survival
exalted young sensualists have to become
something else, mystical longings

that have a difficulty defining the goal
a forbidden ecstasy of meditation otherworldly
where synapse kisses the universe

my longings died past mid-life
the beautiful angels did not age
the spirit would never die

love’s height lifted above a person
we would become separated forever

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/autumn-408633691

Primal Body

Who is the pictured form, the body that lasts
That repeats its masks, its lusts
Biology, like scattered threads of clay
That breeds and seeks to win

Across the veils of ecstasy
Who is behind the sense, across immortality
The youth derived from evolution’s soul –
That fetches the wine from the beyond

Who is the pictured form,
The female that lures, the male that pushes on –
That tie the skin of opposites
With head and loin, heart and care
The songs of the organics, the original ancestors.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Summer-Love-404705610

We, Who are in the Blood

Oh, dear wife, you are too much
Mine and flesh of me –
There is no dawn

To keep your water
From my blood, I am unceasing intimacy
Oh, unvisioned loving face

There is no dusk that does not signal
Your baffling comfort of caress
Oh, you are the loss of all

Accomplished things, I do not care
For the world, after you
You are the skin of the

Long-lunging seas
On my bones, in my organs
Moon dark, with laughing mouth

With sweet uplifted lips
That taste like Mandarin honey
The maple syrup teasing eyes

Savage in the glory of redeeming
So many empty lonely years.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/glade-laura-404696026

Intervals of Living Happily

I am excited to face morning
blue morning with all the happiness
that the world can contain
this is my maximum of joy

my interlude of peace
O Sun how happy and not carefully
expecting the best of the
many others I will see, the other selves

the nymphs of delight, all sharing
some mood of eternity
our goals are rosy limbs of
the species, our closed wells of

treasured value, the stamp
of what we once held dear –
I am excited to face morning
with you, do you remember laughter

that opened large bright eyes and gazed
like an archangel expecting fiery swords
of light wielded in ways
i cannot explain, the impossible play

of colors at dawn, that dangles infinity
on a rope that became the flesh
of my young children, singing and playing.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Kohnio-III-404152924

Meditation exists at the frontiers of experience

You are not your mind
You do not belong to your body
Move in freedom and do that
Which brings you total freedom

Each moment give in to the new
Drop the past, the anxiety
That accumulate with restriction
Unlearn the past, so that you may

Learn to die in living a bit further
You are not your mind
You do not belong to your body
You are a soul totally alive

Throbbing, pulsating, streaming
A quantum intelligence beyond
The brain, society, species, of your experience
You are a spiritual organ in a network

Let your ambitions and attachments go
For power, prestige, desire, money
Will not lead you to the pure freedom
Meditation exists when you listen to silence.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumn-mood-403551984

Autumn Festival of Dawns

I have kissed the Autumn dawn
laughed at the blond of her lips
running beneath the orange finger-tipped red
half-moon, the vital breath

of silver summited dew glistening
on the stones of marble
the damp violets enslaving conclusions
of winter’s breath over the last butterflies

I have kissed the meadows of october
laughed at the clouds dissolving
through a pillar of the treasured-sun
running through the breeze against

the memories of a few dozen autumns
it all comes first circle as life dissolves
but beauty remains a poor man’s dream
it comes every Autumn like an old traveler
ready to submit to red and gold.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Home-is-where-the-love-is-403015730

Winter

Winter
How long have we known each other?
On the ground
Bare and with throaty snow
Flakes to fall on my stubble

Of all the aches I held dear –
Dragging your silver-shine
Through long hard months
Of the northern-land
Into apparent hibernation

Winter
You know my white shield
Of my held heart
Like a held-hand
Of another’s inner-spring
I sell my cattle
To eat my plants for another day
Teas that light me up from the inside

Winter
Breaking thin branches
I know your cloudy days
Won’t last forever, just an empty space
In my memory
As if I were snapped from my roots with ice
My foundations of rock
Glowing thick with harvests of water
That will trickle down
Into a luscious spring-bed.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-139159678

To have lavender lips under the leaves of the world

In poems anything can be said
eyelids don’t obey the night
hearts might float as silver flying machines

throats might have a spiritual flicker
in poems anything might fly
slow heart breaths to music’s touch

lavender creeps in through the bedroom window
and fragrance tell us a bed-time story
In poems dreams collide, with the ocean’s floor

with stars that spring loud as the streaming sun
treasures could last for centuries
on eager notes of autumn amusement

In poems anything can zealously work
for the beacon of the times had a candle
that said to each morning how much I loved you

with a mouth for cranberry tea and the bluest glow
In poems I miss you always
for even careful words are too numerous
To be taken seriously.

Now I the art of taming souls possess

22.09.2013

All winged creatures have I loved
All flowers small, all oceans brave
The stillness round my form
Swept all spirits with a smile –

Between the drama, and the storm
All lovers have I befriended
All children that passed me by
With eyes full of empathy’s tears

For the last onset, of love witnessed
In his beloved power, and breaths
As blue as uncertain waves
That could flow for eternity

Between windows of light & life
With lips to sip the jasmine bashful
As reaching late his flowering soul
That counts the nectars and treasures bliss.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bee-eaters-402005428

Power of Landscapes

We were all still lives in a landscape
Carrying on our shoulders the preferences
Of a world in waiting, being born

From our chest emerged
The stub of progress
A leg bone of surviving

Dignity that approached
The macrocosm with underlying
Curiosity, humility, midnight affairs

With far-away stars, we were
The children of death, or so it seemed
Ready to produce, consume, destroy –

Maybe we were not models of being mortal
But elements raged around us
That hit us like glass, bone, metal, flesh

Our families could not abandon matter
We gave line to inheritance, jerking back
From the end-of-life, no matter the obstacles

We were all living in a landscape
Of pyramids of our own species.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Riding-Sunrise-401736095

In every flake that flies wide wandering skies

Leaves will rain the end of years
A pageant death-parting
O’ Autumn, it’s my soul

That gives you ear & listening
And hence who once was here
Cannot be forgotten yet –

My held breath in the day’s decline
Leaves will wash away what
Was once the blown night and day

Leaves and rain till the year’s flooding end
Your cheek against mine, the watery-way
With tears and of the blown night

The doom that waves her secret sign
Against my death, was my life in vain?
Adieu, waving last whispering of trees

Leaves will rain my last remaining years
With colors that will breeze to you?
Would ye ever wave an Adieu, for forgetfulness

Is coming so take flight all worries
What do you say to the breeze?
And what in that hush, say the breeze to you?

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Dance-Me-to-the-End-400908151

For Saints Who Plea in my Little Ears

Now of the delightful Court of Heaven
I sign intermittent, love letters
To the Universe, to the fragrant memory
Of the holy life, sacred feeling –

I kiss the shinning joyous martydom
Of brief mortality, or the moon
Or my heart, the blue stained glass
Of experience, little blue reflections

Of dreams, that passed like hours of doom
That I love without conscience
To uplift my time in transparency
The oceans more blue than eternity

Made in the manner of Japanese
Accepting all requests, all signs
Of the most exquisite temperament
When I this morning made my way

I sigh intermittent, deep breaths
For hope and faith, as wearing a blue gown.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/New-day-III-399733723

In Adoration Immortalis

The altar of love
Bears a crushing resemblance
To war, a soft circle
Of moss where we once lived

Tied to each other in disparity
And our hearts moved
Rhythmically, as tender
As the unison of poorly

Led troops, to be sacrificial lamps
In a game as old as life
To smooth the flowering grass
Of all that we once prized

The immoral gods were not
So immortal, after all
As our eyes once devoured
Each other, dear –

All bids disarm, all decades fade
The wild alarm of youth’s soul
In rage, on the brink of
The quivering skin of festivity

Forever trapped in time
Both in sight and sound

Speechless as a cherished tomb. Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/nobody-knows-399333467