These are the letters of my life

These are the letters of my life
Wretched and nude, wandering and alone
Nobody will open their seal of discoveries
Only I know the contents of my cells
That begged for purity in such a polluted corrupt world
* * *
Hardly even I could find a speck of kindness
In the abyss that separated us here
Only for instance, the smiles of others to each other
Were the letters ever answered?
I don’t remember, I am no longer me, no longer the writer
* * *
I only hope for little things now
For nourishment, and survival and sanctuary
But even these things, I don’t find so easily
Not friends, lovers or helpfulness along the way
I’m vilified by the same people I seek to help
* * *
Ready to feel the doom from my own hands, like is my custom
The unanswered letters gather up in me
Like memories of reaching out for nobody
The universe didn’t hear my call, my acts were too small
* * *
One day I shall reply to myself, glad and grateful
Though I once thought that day was near, now I am unsure
The world collapses upon me like speckled seasons
I am an endangered species to myself
* * *
I long for things I have never found
I have no proof they exist, in me or in others
There is no glimmer of honesty honest enough for me
No spiritual fire that washes me clean once again
* * *
Only the regret of living, only the guilt of wanting
Only the desires that lead yet to more desires
There are no great cities left for me
But the landscapes seem heavy with time
* * *
I am joyous for simple things, because
There’s nothing left of the illusions we used to hold
Those treasures like the burning sun on youthful skin
It’s gone now, as I rediscover myself alone.

Sudden flowers lapse

Sweet one, I’m so foreign to your luxury
I have no interest in champagne
I’d much rather an outstretched soul
The speck of birds in a silence of intimacy
I’m quiet like that, in awe of the little things

I’m the initial letters of lost fingerprints
A cherished voice that can disappear
As soon as I came, free in the watery prismatic white-and-blue

While I’m filled with glowing tributes
I’d rather live a lonely maturity today
Than always hoping for solace in the long journey
A bullet of delight, in the middle of the night
Nature’s beauty spilt in Korean-Portuguese

I know the flower’s life, the ocean’s beauty
The blue, to blue-green to olive set of a woman
There’s no margin for error in the feminine mystique

The years of mating, the search for experience
And it hurt to feel your singing flamencos go
Your wet destiny of the rumor of the sky’s thousand lips
Reflected in your bottomless feelings and charms
But with time, salt and whispers, I’ll forget you

Savaged by the carnivorous impulse in my hope
Where thirst is never enough, and in the calculation of time
I’m not immune to the fragrance of the distant pollen
That beckons me indignantly across the fields

Sweet one, I have no energy for anything but
The sudden flower of reciprocity.

I Went to Heaven with Suffering, but I Lived

Photo courtesy of Thon94rt

A little madness for the end of Summer
Is wholesome even for a beggar
The start of the end of climaxes

Where experiments felt like a dream
And life had no soft distinctions
Only dramas that became less fashionable

Fashioned by these candid hands
Where I blush in solitude for my losses
A little crazier than before

A moment lost on the edges of lifetimes
The soul condemned to be a guest
With undisputed rights to be nobody

And fame for the fickle food of anonymity
There’s no scrutiny like self-judgement
No following like bleak humility

No embarrassment like the obliteration of need
When you as a person begin to dissolve
Remember what madness taught you

The hosts depart, the friends depart, the lovers too
But some things can be treasured

In the adventure of the self
In the bleak individualism of perishing
To passion, a broken mathematics of faith.

If Making Makes us Thine

 

 

Dear soul, how long it’s been?

The poems in your mouth

That went unsaid?

 

My heart’s heart has no longer

The flowers of will, only

A silent longing that’s no longer

 

The beady desire of blood

Bless you and what’s near to you

Though, who said the journey ever stopped

 

We just became somebody else

As the months rolled into blinding anonymity

We moved closer to the light

 

To love you much and yet

To love more in the freedom of being

Dear soul, it doesn’t matter how many years

 

Tomorrow is a world without end

For others to feel the magic

While words remain and joys will echo on

 

Like children asking questions about the universe

We’re all I love you firsts, and afterwards

Where our love can be remembered

 

In the happy solace of helpmet age

Where age is just a number

And poems only mirrored garments

Our hearts once wore in sunlight

Different than today’s

Titled Below

Endless minutes of the present

On the eve of my eulogy to Spring
I confess the white silence
Bathes me in its engaged purity

I am a bud of a soul like a leaf
In time, with me till the end
Of all age and breath and lyrical insight

I do not deserve the light of Summer
Let others save themselves in rapture
I will drown in dead silence

Until there is nothing left of song
And all the poets that were part
Of my underlying thirst and condition

Will be unread like grains of sand
That were once diamonds of my consciousness
And so the Earth takes back

All of us each to our rest
I am humble to the facts of life
If I did not see much of you again

It was not that I did not think of you
Only I was embarrassed by the
Blueness of heavenly stuff I had become

And nothing much, in the material world
Seared by something of your likeness
I had become used to darkness & solitude.

Collapsed in a Pearl of Decades

Collapsed in a Pearl of Decades

Against all ritual we slept
Without sex, more intimate and aware
Of our innate deeper connection

We were souls that had been
Swallowed and mumbled by the world
Against all innocence, we had been played

Down to our roots, like boughs receded
By the elements, living & loving
There were idioms in Mandarin

That encapsulated what we had become
Monks or ghosts, or valleys of rain
And a shrinking of orange light

When dusk hits you bare-chested
On those days somewhere
Lurking between Spring & Summer

We were the unsung breaths suspended
That collapsed in poems, we knew absence
And cherished our abandonments

Like the self-pity that stored deep feeling
For a universe that begged to be forgiven
We had to undergo periods of purification

The kind solitude that is a shelter & a curse
A kind of barefoot splendour
Of learning again about the mute warmth of self.

Realization of Solitude #amwriting #poem #NationalPoetryMonth #micropoetry

Man is the only being who knows he is alone

This morning, let me drink the silence
Let me swim in my own solitude
Being the profoundest condition
Of my humanity, you’d think

I should get to know her better
Intimacy and silence, that’s all
There every is, I cannot often
Penetrate another being with my love

Since surrender must occur mutually
And there are times my emotion
Does not require reciprocity
This morning, let me forget about altruism

For we all deserve the dream
Beyond myself, somewhere, I shall
Then wait for my own arrival
The slow enlightenment of lifetimes

Because two bodies, naked and entwined
Soul and body, mind and heart must somehow
Learn to live together and leap
Over time, we are not invulnerable

However in the silence of today
I realize there are no yesterdays, no names,
No you and I and no tomorrow
This morning, I want to give myself up
To something higher than I ever was.

Serotonin is on her Sails

Serotonin is on her Sails

I felt a celebration in the end
Of a funeral in the brain
That was not so much Serotonin

But something else, I cannot say!
Something in me enjoyed tragedy
Or the idea of bare simplicity

Nude in anonymity,
Like the keen peace of silence
Or the agony of intimacy

With nobody, but something else
That’s descendent divinity
The space between one

Season of life and another
The waiting, the wrecked waiting….
I felt a celebration in the dark

Of suffering at her fuel’s end
Where mourners leave the known world
And where lovers turn to go
When all the kisses have run out.

We Should Die Except for Death

there is a solitude beneath
street lamps and through
novembers that are anonymous
as abandonment whose elements

are through many places
once cherished, and many faces
once beloved, though
there is a time for loneliness

in the human life cycle
a time to get stronger when alone
just to know that there are no
permanent realization, even love

can be taken away at any moment
we ask for what means most
and have it taken away
I wanted the river to go on

flowing the same way, and somewhere
in wanting to possess
I lost the thing I most valued
among many other stories

in the city, death cries slowly
in the long years that drag
in our prodigal decline we
might summarize all we ever thought

in a flash of voices, in a
gesture that meant everything
and nothing, that everything
was symbolic, even the perennial

lessons in experience, mere afterthoughts
like the snow that softens moments
after it hits the pavement
the pavement that belongs to nobody
that snow that belongs to all.

The Worthiness to Die

I know loneliness one dare
Not sound, so grave that friends depart
The alarm that leads to inner scrutiny
And horrors not be surveyed

The gloom of youth with no resolve
Skirted in the dark, under lock
Of our brief taste of tragedy
That does not depart so easily

I fear that loneliness is one of my
Prime emotions, that illuminates
My caverns and corridors
But am I alone in this?

I do not know, I suffer
As best I can, with brief wisdom
And hampered forgiveness
For cowardice or weakness I am not sure

And friends too few, and charity
Only given, and lovers
That leave before they truly know
I know loneliness one day

Not watched, that poverty expounds
The hardship of living a minority
Without but a wave of gold
I know loneliness like a jewel

With so much weight, and worthiness
And a strange hunger to die
Before one truly knows how to live.

Featured Artist:

AGNES CECILE
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Migration in a summer of lovely language

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Brinkburn-Priory-478920570

These words have survived separations
Faces I can no longer remember of loved ones
Poetry has transcended my decades

Spacious and fluent like a last reminder
Of why truth is no longer as important
As beauty, inner beauty of a spiritual quality
Alphabets now shelter this candle
This life that was my hopes and dreams

These most intimate self-deceptions
Wildest faith of wonderful illusions
For a moment still I am there

With moons and roses, aware of nothing
But the shine of creativity on our inner cheek
The mineral blossoms and lotus of our imagination
It’s pure there to write like drunken water
In a light of its own color, reflecting the pauses

Silences, spaces in-between relationships and solitude
That was the best quality of the life I lived.

COMPASS HOME TO THE UTMOST

i

I’ve walked to sleep through
Velvet green, with only
An instinct to guide me home
I’ve been the better part
Of a biological simulation
An erotic country of desire
I’ve dreamed across youth
On the brief threshold of experience

ii

For a vacancy drenched in sunlight
And a heart spent wholly in solitude
I’ve hungered for a music
I never heard, and for ideals
That could not exist in this world

iii

I’ve tread water for pure transitions
To accompany my soul to her
Speed of light, to the ultimate
Expression of who I was:
A lack of satiety on the brisk Spring’s edge
A taster in the honeycomb of Summer

iv

I’ve held my own hand in destiny
All things are words of some strange tongue
And each symbol a fading picture
In my mind, all culture a gibberish
Of socialization, how obscure, bizarre
That I should know myself a diviner thing
And feel compassion for the history of the world.

To All Good Nights

Good night, because we must
Say how to elude strife is to sleep
Father! They won’t tell me
What the light knows

That I shall never know –
Good night, I fumble at my spirit
As players at the chords & keys
Before they drop full of music

Before the end of poetry
Good night, prepare your possessions
You will not need them beyond here
Father! They won’t tell me

Why your breath is so timid today
What the light knows
That we shall never know –
Good night, we are dealing

With Imperial thunderbolts
With a fate that scalps my naked soul
The stars above my head
And my feet pointed to the sea

Good night, because we must
Not know what to do next
Father! In our hour of doom
All evenings steal our purple flight

Reasons profound and Daffodils
Good night – merit and fear qualifies
Humanity, to my beloved need
That never met a more sufficient proof
Than saying good night,
With but itself to rest upon.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Secluded-404857664

Wrap Your Beautiful Robe of Spirit Around You

I feel some Beloved presence
Pulling me like a river
To drink the dawn in bliss-recognition
And take in sunset like supper
And drink to the stars
From clear spring waters

I feel some Higher energy
Teaching me to look for signs
To observe the soul’s progress
Even in trickery and hypocrisy
I feel the last truth waking in me
I’ve given my brain to the ‘Divine’

With neurotransmitters of Ananda
I now walk completely naked of identity
So much have I accepted my fate
I study the ways of transcendence
Like an exercise of transformation
I feel some Beloved presence
&
Pulling me like a river
To drink the dawn in peace-existence
And take in dew on my feet for breakfast.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Diamonds-381053343

Conspiracy Video:

Perfection of Neuromarketed Solitude

It’s so simple/
To wake up a lonely man enough
Until it becomes the only possibility
I’ll work hard all day

A new leader of destiny/
With the concise grief
Of weeping men, I’ll take it
Sow a dynasty, cheat fate

In the freedom of my pilgrimage/
Hardened, I’ll build a lonely country
Where I am both, President and Serf
I’ll break from love &

I’ll scorn fraternity/
Float my soul in my own cherry wine
It’s so simple
That’s what this world is coming to

I’ll polish my own tongue/
With kisses for melodious memories
That’s I’ll invent
Like a virtual network

Of my own imagination/
There will be brown petals of fire
Around my acts, circling my poems
My cattle will be the milk of muses

Like layers of autumn leaves/
Of all the beauty I shall witness
Something forgets in me, to count on others
It’s so simple

To wake up a lonely man/
And accept it all, perfectly.

The Death of Love

Now we return to what we were
A solitude, very gentle, very dear
It’s all I have, like an animal without
The language of love, primal

So instead, I fall consistently –
In love with words, like little vows
That I will write again, to live
Now I return to what I am

A solitude, an oracle of isolated inner beauty
There will be no prophecies which wash
Over the night, or rise at Noon
Only, the little gains of meditation

A finality to be invisible
Or create autonomy as an order of survival
The earth has vanished, I am alone
Nothing proves I am alive

I become transparently slowly rippling
My years away, though I’ve
Come to cherish them, tenderly
They say at the threshold of birth

We come into the world alone
Now I’ve come to terms with certain things
Like birth and death, and the necessity
Of loving or falling back to only, loving ourselves.

Battered by Words of Sad Gold

Often, as I awake in my room
I am the first person holding a candle
To myself, the one that murmurs
In his dreams, weeping

These are the days, I wake up to
Empty fountains, ringing bells
For a world that falters
Nearly as much as I do

My lips taste timid metals
My mouth raw with hunger
To enter the capital of the opposite of indifference
I am sick with solitude

My eyes are lost to the nights
I end up staying home, too late alone
I see another solemn evening pass
There goes my life, it weighs upon me

I am the first and last person, I talk to
Each day, the mouth that cries
No water from these eyes at noon
When the world expects my strength

Summer sheds her petals in soft agonies
It’s only in Spring, I stare and stand before
The large white house, and ponder
The clarity of extinguished things

Like memory, like the angels of the soul
Beneath the slow martyrdom of strain
I spread my heart thin in massive words
Letters, poems, that don’t amount to much.

So Long Foreshadowed Days Have Come Around

We grew a hundred years in age
In a few months of love’s highs and lows
We died in our gentleness
And came alive in the silver cracks
Of our passionate connection

Thunderous tidings from your lips
Where I went sobbing home, imploring God
To make you grow fond of me, to utmost chilling
I fell by my Muse’s gaiety and zest
With too much useless art for your pragmatic tastes

I live to mourn and love in verse
Since you came and left, I having nothing now
But a more wicket heart that bears regret
In frozen winds and the itch of spring
Summer’s pageantry will hopefully hasten to admit

That I’m still alive , though I have been dead
I aged in months of crying sleep and tragic songs
Half up the slope of too much feeling
Where lovers do not come, and I must sit alone
As if in the dusty lashes of a lingering solitude.