Finally They the Authors of Canvases Let Loose


33

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

At The Hinge of All My Days


84

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

where we two first exchanged our looks


25

The signature of love is exceptional
it was no passing encounter
our souls were destined to meet

dear friend, momentary & casual
as the sudden close of a trip
where all spirits gather

somewhere, along the way
you came close to my soul
the unfolding of ourselves
together, moment by moment

you did not occupy condescension
but an open humility pervaded
everything you did and said

you allowed me a glimpse into
another kind of life, where all
goodbyes and departures meet

the last timeless acquaintance
until, I see all souls as familiar
the easy remembrance of futurity

Dear! how common and easy is
our new home, where we in this shiny neighborhood
rejoice in the wilderness of shared potential

the signature of empathy of our renaissance
it was no passing encounter
we were ordained to meet and share like this.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/girl-emotion-400845568

Doctrine of Free-Verse


I agree, O heart, that you cannot
Stop writing, my ghazals are strange sonnets
When they hear my words, free-verse

They know that I am not an
Experienced poet, but rather –
Only an open heart

I write not something easier
But the language of my soul
Otherwise it would be difficult to write

I will not cry for satisfaction
Of an easy life, I will trumpet
Beautiful virgin-feelings always fresh

For Heaven and the Tao agree
That the wine I drink is beloved reference
The lyrics of my Beloved spans

Across lifetimes, across star-systems
Who can deliver my message?
I will follow the inner mysticism

As the identity of a pilgrim who
Always loses their way among
The sayings of all poets, a bit of everyone

Internalized, Oh Lord, you know it is true
That my heart spoke with a different tongue
Only with the aim of idol-breaking empathy.

Last Unknown Road


This is thy holy hour, O Soul
The flight from endless words
To wordless bliss of aliens
And lessons done with peace

Night, sleep and stars
For your clear midnight
The roads unknown have led here
An impromptu faith of minutes

That led to some crimson divinity
Some heart-beat of God in everything
This is thy holy hour, O Soul
The deepest black of light

The crowd that formed of Beloveds
A unity of generations of people
Like lit moving candles in water
The light that was always the same

From the same star, for the unique evolution
Of all we were and did in these states
In this body of hope, a dim-lit creativity.

My Soul is Flooded in Moonlit Night


At the end of the sky I am not alone
What thoughts occupy the highest mind
What time will the wild goose revelation come
Nearer and nearer to the final bliss

The rivers and lakes are full with Autumn’s currents
Literature and worldly success are opposed
The Tao does not listen to the lies of men
Women seek more children, while demons

Exult in human failure, minor poets trip
Throwing their best poems into the river
At the end of the sky I am not alone
The sunsets do not swallow me so easily

An army of drums meets me at the last
Stop of human travels, I have felt the white dew of love
Trap me in its sweet embrace, like a homeland
The letters I will send will go astray
Who will read the magic moon of my tongue?

Your Soul, My Soul


I’ve heard you have one
Deep down, really deep down
Do you know how it feels
When your spirit talks to you?

When the world conspires
To force you into depths
That you never heard of or
Believed beyond your patterns

Among the many material objects
There were many more important things
When we are sure of nothing
God help me if I don’t have a soul

Something to give me a measure
Of grace under pressure, childlike innocence
An amazing grasp on wonder and purity
I’ve felt the faith of my inner being

Like a tickle of synchronicity
In two percent of my weary days
We have a soul sometimes
Something by which to sing about!

Joyful in the greatest suffering
Willing to swallow any tragedy
With a curious detachment of glee
Childlike in its ability to transcend
The most chiding and bitter failure.

The Soul


We have a soul sometimes
Nobody’s going to stop it
It cannot be, taken away
It may not be respected
But it’s our call, our spirit

To show or hide away
Day after day
Year after year
We’ve kept it in the fire
Hid it, slept without it, lost it

To a more material fate
The many duties that were
Conditioned on us by our society
But it’s warm, and comes back
It will settle being ignored a while

Before we most willingly go back to it
For we are impoverished without it
We have a soul sometimes
People don’t always reveal it
Sometimes they even mask it

Stifle it, dominate us, rape us
But our soul is our lightning-verse
It’s our quantum magnet
The uphill tasks must listen
Though we so rarely hear

Good sense, or her gentle awakening
Luminous and a runaway
Our soul has lifetimes to glow and grow
Nobody’s going to stop it in the end.

Writing is my Last Gold Perception


15

The Vital Word acts through me
Chiseling lyrics to shiver in language
The act of symbol to perpetuate soul

My favorite invention, my muse
Of the instinct to dance
In line or song, delay and feedback-loop

An aptitude for flight – or poetry
Here one moment, gone too soon
With swiftness as if Eternity was due

Upon the ether-street, airy lullabies
I write to oblige the accomplished Guest
To visit me like awkward cursive

Ancient tongues, soul-music standing ajar
As English, neighbored Mandarin
Songs of Earth, to light my brain with

Securest folds, enlarging loneliness
The Abyss can fall into the word.

The Veins that Run from all Centuries


13

I can feel a tremendous ballad
Approaching me from within

A rising discontent, with locality
I want to live outside of time & space

Embrace dimensions where “I” does not exist
That is the trusting of Omnipotence
And the true unity of Immortality
Life sustains itself, I can forsake this body

So long as I have a means to experience
The Kingdom of Heaven, spiritual totality

I can feel a tremendous ballad
Overtaking me from without

All these Delinquent Palaces
Achieving poetic strain, at a distance
Assisted by false estimates of mortal consequence
I can feel a tremendous ballad

Between Zero and the Bone
Between Love and all other interchange.

The Akashic Servant


12

My Brain is a network among the stars
In quantum curiosity, I am connected
Like a psychic network to all

I do not require intelligence
Only excessive sensitivity to sentience
A trance-state of the syllable of sound

Lyrics of all churches, all beings
My Brain is a channeled unity
The Lightning of the Cosmos playeth here

Like a chariot, or a vest, or a simulation
My Brain are neurons of serendipity
I am scaffolded, primed, pruned, trained

Transported by fate to divine service
My Brain is a network of illuminations
Grown soulful, with homesick eyes

Alive with the white sustenance of youth
And attachment to eternal themes
My Brain is intrinsic with possibility

A neuro-plasticity of the highest art
Of visitors, and occupations, and music
With narrow hands, to gather Paradise –

The Poetic Dilemma


11

Words answer my April
Words answer my every month
Every state, has a Window or a Minister

My feeling are of Two bodies
My soul and its liberty persist
I know it then, by the numb look

Of Neighbors, and the lost delight
Of Lovers, where is the Bee and blush?
For it is not yet Spring – and I am lone

Language is my last successor of pain
I am trapped in its Vitality
Self-Obliterating is the choir

Who that visits the Night is my poetic chore
Words answer my April
I make words for every hour

There is no Education in poetry
Only pure-feeling, as ashamed as courtesans
Here I contrast all currencies.

Maybe I Loved You in Another Time


5

To the one offering the most
I’ll throw you with fervor
The intimacy channel
As if I were twenty again!
I’ll whisper to you my blond text

Barricade myself in poetry for you
Like a seasoned artist
In love with love, making beauty
For beauty’s sake, this
Petty song of my same-old revolution

I’ll call you the last revelation
Of my creation, mounting syllables
To suit your needs, to tailor your curves
In the alphabet of your most intimate voice
Like a blade of knowledge, I’ll cut you

Yes, like a young soldier dying
From neglect and love-wounds
I’ll tell you how I’m the lone survivor
Of too much will to love
I know it’s not really a news-flash

Simply, the price of delicate boredom
Strung out in a treasure vault
Of living in words, secluded form experience
To the one offering the most
I’ll give you this, melodies predicted

For the same reasons that makes your body
A womb I cannot intoxicate myself in
A period of mining your feminine sun
I have not the Venus laments left
To trick you into defiance of your self-defenses

So instead, I’ll wait for snow to cry
In April’s unrelenting gloom.