The Last Comfort

I want to hear the child within speak again

The long lost language of flowers and stars

The future that is the ancient past

The whisper that is the tranquil now

 

I do not seek material things, but lift

Lift the veil of the whisper of the wind

Beneath the silence that all things return

Time is a silver slice of breeze in Spring

 

The world doesn’t require us to be anything

But how the cosmos moves us from within

I want to know the verses of tomorrow

Whose pale light will linger like a muted trombone

 

Into the night’s treachery of existence

Where the choices are made that guide our ever-afters

There are no subtle songs of the forest life

Only the make-believe of men and his bots

 

There are no solutions left to the problems we’ll create

Because we are the great trouble-makers in the galaxy

I want to hear the soul’s trembling voice who rarely speaks

That glimmer of the unknown blessedness kept deep within

 

That does not flight or suffer from these mortal wounds

Or have a need for answers in history’s definate touch

That was not so all-defining after all, just another story

Lost to the light of a billion suns.

After Insomnia

Insomnia is like, the last episode
The bouquet of roses in sunlight melting
In the mind of dreams that is free
From attachment or the relativity of experience
I’ve been there done those things
I just don’t remember, the sensations
Were like too actual and the feeling of being real
Was pretentious, like the self-importance of
Youthful moments that were as vivid
Made the seasons more bright
Maybe I choose to respond emotionally
Like April, a time of strength where
I could announce to myself my own passions
So sense could exceed all metaphor
And I could change myself once again
To awaken to the wakefulness that is not sleep
To the yearning that makes my soul on fire
To the fate that does not feel unlike destiny
The bouquet of roses then is held firmly
Like a breast, or a leaf or a life bled, breathed and loved.

Torchlight California

 

 

Xiao Wei, do you know that I

Wait on the bird of the wire for you

I have not heard one word from her

I will never leave that which translates me

Into braided rosebuds, sun sprinkled care

The choruses of us, the life-song notes

While no voices chant of the Seasons

I must a woodland homage pay homage to

The stars, and things eternally there

Xiao Wei, how I have been haunted

By the mandarin symbols of another time

As if my poems belonged to ancestors

You were the day purple ribbon kites blew for me

A day of fresh flowers and eternity translated

In the lyrics of nature’s kindness to me

It’s rare Xiao Wei, to feel all of this like the

Weight of the Pleiades looking down upon me

Don’t ask me why it is but you embroider

Life in me, like a lilac sunset and the silver dawn.

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.

Who Came Sure from a Sea of Light

Who Came Sure from a Sea of Light

O’ the silent stealth of wind
And the transparent cool glance of green
The chide and call of open sky
The pass of years in the bright and brave
The natural, and useful elements
And water and where all doubt recedes
In time’s incessant lack of memory
Where subject disappears in objects
Recurring objects of glorious liberty
And channel of the soul
That washes the body and a life
To streaming rings of sun
And cells of gold for the immortal estate
And the spirit hiding behind the veil
Of a lifetime of walking the path.

D r e a m s of S p r i n g

D r e a m s of S p r i n g

O’ these unpermitted prayers
These poems of music welled inside
The tears of the heart of the brain

I wonton murmur dreamy my soul to fain
With averted eyes and heart-open wide
Not to humanity, but to the universe

I nurse my speech with the infinite
As a mystic cornered in a brutal world
That cannot feel the lapped tender light

May-time is here, grazing dreams
Of May-bushes that turn white to pink
I can scarcely speak of lyrics

Beauty is in the perfect sunlight
And happiness in the tips of the forests
The ocean that drives a sleeping wind

Across the fragrances of this natural world
O’ these unpermitted silent revolutions
What have we done to this world?

Where is the soft moss, the birds
The odours I used to know?
Drowsy with change I will have to wait

With heavy eyes and softer cheek
How to compose the perfect music
For such poor voices and poppied ears

Draw close the curtains to this place
I have branched evergreen in my veins
And sweetest tastes of the divine fountain deep

In my hopes for buds unseen
Wishes fading like the embroidery of rainforests.

Spring’s Blue Sky Pales to Lemon

Spring’s Blue Sky Pales to Lemon

These days are fresh
Like being washed in May
I’m the smell of Tulips

Sunshine pours the Spring into me
I’m cleaved by bright light
And water is my jewel of skin
I am greenish-white in youth
The day is too lovely to bear

I’m walking down it
With a high blue sky to stare
And I have an audience

With beautiful people
Near me, walking passed me
I’m at the breakfast table
Of life, wished well with
Tendering tastes and smells and colors

The fresh-washed sunlight
Is cooking happiness in me
My heart a warm glad clap

Of coffee-cup stream
A thin spiral of cathedral liquid stained
Reflections on my body
Speaking yellow, green and blue
I skid the dust and wind that flirts

With bare ankles and the water-cart
Of bodies, fresh from their
Crimson split sighs of coming out

At the tap-tap of the season
Jarring jasmine above rose-coloured skirts
The flesh that rings the quiet and the high
Nature’s fresh-washed air of clean
Feeling midday flares, the shudder

Of blurring pleasure with nameless joys
This is it, gold blind tips of context
Floods of flame for new bodies

The flesh cascading again eddies of light
That quiver, drop and smile
Till the unruffled night plans a gleam
Of electric signals and tantalizes
The sound of wind in trees

The city alive with tulips bare-breasted
With the buds and flowers
That are so tranquil and friendly.

Life is the only real counsellor

Life is the only real counsellor

It’ s the Spring, a heartbeat at my feet
Tightrope above a feather bed
Looking down on beauty
From on high, landscape, foreign grounds

There are a few ways
Of spreading light
Be the candle or the mirror
And Lo’, beware of monotony

Mother of all deadly sins
For boredom is not evolution’s whim
Give me the tightrope, the short-squeeze
The misfortune of having strong desires

True originality consists of
A new vision of yourself, not new manners
But attitudes that can transport
Your entire life into more necessary habits

For there is time to be inarticulate
But not time to be indecisive
It’s the Spring, let’s get divorced
Marry, and say we are living

The life we want to!
We make our own stories
Hero of the shaky narrative
Good plot, bad blot, matters not!

It’s time to move forwards
For we shed tears in Winter
So we could start again in Spring.

Legacies of our stars

Legacies of our stars

It’s the Spring, it knows what we are
But knows not what we may be
And everything is possibility
Beneath these stars, this world stage

What part shall we play
In these seasons four, whom we love
But trust a few, doing wrong to none
There is a tide in us that flows

From love to love to legacy
It’s what we do that finally counts
The actions for which a life was made
And words have a foolish wit

For believing themselves acts, they make us witty fools
No legacy is so rich as honesty
Hell is an empty place, with all the devils here
Listen to all, speak your heart to a few
It’s the Spring, it’s time to show another face.

This Solitude of Spring

This Solitude of Spring

I’ve seen the Moon of April
Mother and pathos of Spring
An evening with out Angels
An inner spirit of so much Thirst

A fish-scale sunrise, a blinding twilight
The passion of anticipation
I sing a serenade to mass meaning
The souls as chief metaphor of celebration

I’ve seen the tip of the fragrance of change
And felt it beneath my skin
My genes mutated to accommodate
Too many references, so many heroes!
Late hymns to West coast muses.

At a certain phenomenon of light #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo

At a certain phenomenon of light

In the jazz of listening to your jazz
It was a peacock’s cry
It was a re-statement of romance

When you thought romance was dead
And in perceiving this, I best
Perceive and listen to myself
Nor night nor blue, I exchange with pale light
My needs for the universe

I am an anecdote on how
To address clouds, elicit
The funest philosophers to speak from the dead

I am a promenade in mortal rendezvous
That lead nowhere, essentially
Converging upon oneself
In the streets and orchid sellers
In the women who blow kisses with just a look

They are young and do not hold candles
But I can feel evolution’s
Arrogance in their firm bodies

It’s not divine ingenuity then
To take one last look at the lilacs
Or in the hymeneal air search for a fragrance
That might help me remember
Earth, lavender, fantastic star

Looking for a Saturday metaphor
To describe the twenty bridges of feeling
The nuance of how meaning escapes
And time floods like ancient aspects.

I Said Farewell to the Spring

I Said Farewell to the Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return?
Do you not know I am devoted
To the Spring, her muse leaves
Little open time for leisure,

If leisure be called art
Then I am in pleasure
With the hot sun on my neck
Eaten by mangoes of life

With a full cup, strewing flowers you know
Babbling, not quieted by the redness
Of life, her femininity of shinning confidence
To what purpose, April, for thy sweet command?

My white candle skin burns
On both ends, for the puissance
Of the knowledge that time runs out
The years of bitter loving remain

Loving so much the beauty of this world
As if stricken by the golden bugs
Who in their immortality shall out live us
It’s morning now, and I’m alone

With her jewelled crown, and what little
I have left of the renaissance of youth
So intimate has the Spring
Become to me, I am in love with love

And in love with life, more than ever
Emotion brimmed to the top
With tears for sonnets and silence
And how we will all vanish.

Showers of Spring

Showers of Spring

Spring, do you like to bring us pleasure?
As I delight in bringing
A woman to the brim of the sun
When I am in bed
The pleasure I bring exceeds all
The joy that is my own

For sense is a spiritual thing
Of feeling through skin the knot of love
Now and then, Spring, I think of you
And how your drops of water
Moisten me as an embroidered flower
Needs the rain and the sun equally

Both tasting sweet and orange
Bother materially required
For liquid sunshine of a fragrance’s urge
I too know the feeling Spring
Of tongues kissing the world
In reunion’s nest of sighs

There is an erotic measure
Between the days till you Spring
Ultimately you were the paradise
That emphasized all anticipation
The future in the myth of pleasure
The pleasure of the future’s offering.

The morning of Clarity #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo

Narcissism of the meek

The light is clear like an avocado this morning
I am alone with myself
It seems we are all cheated
Of some marvellous experience

But I can accept anything about life
Even my own mysteriousness
Partly because the orange tulips will rise
Partly because I like secrecy

O god it’s wonderful to be out of bed
Before eight, I am the least difficult of men
All I want is a boundless love
Today, I shall find it, as April turns to May

There’s something so spiritual
About being happy, you can’t miss it
Because it doesn’t last
If pain produces logic, I will remain

The most illogical of creatures
I will stay the dumbest of men.

Upon Writing an Epitaph for the Universe #NaPoWriMo

On Writing an Epitaph for the Universe

I was a man made out of words
With the whisp of whispers
Held like treasures, for tomorrow

It was for celebration, not for profit
How can you profit in eternity?
I am a man made out of soul

Of spirit-stuff and fundamental particle
Of joy, I lift the mood of
Alphabets and kiss the spring-odes
I am the early book of youth
On replay, I am the unpublished joy
Of how many writers on the way?

I am an artist who has no canvas
I am the voice that has no audience
I am vanilla love that aches to write

In a brain designed for poor speech
My ballads come as surprises to myself
I write the epitaph for the universe.

Slowly I would rise and not dress #NaPoWriMo

Slowly I would rise and not dress

It was the Saturday of birds
To hear you speak
When April turns on Spring
I’d wake with a song
Caught in my throat
With a labour to tweet
And a blaze of lyricism

For love’s austere office
This craft of poems, that never
Get tired of writing each other
Sunday felt like eternity
How many words would be
Written before then, my hands

ii

Were always empty, as if
I had nothing that I possessed
But beauty was my mantra
And I spoke indifferently to the Spring
Because I knew the Spring
Well, it would never fail me

Not with its tip-toe light
Not with how happy the people would be
Not with the great call to life
And the end to all of my patience.

Before the Spring #NaPoWriMo

Before the Spring

Victory is an optimism
That can withstand doom
It’s not something you get by yourself

It’s something shared
Like a dialogue from those
Who have suffered their share

Clear-cutting refugees
The last species before extinction
Victory is to take responsibility
For your life, as an agent

Of free-will, without much
Drama hogging you down
A simple sudden realization
That you have evolved

And that is enough
The stained cathedral
Transparencies of your inner life
Have brought you somewhere

Far from memory, we are
A dialogue with our descendants
Nothing else really matters
We build the future in our love

And our love is creative
Like a soul seeking learning opportunities
Not the glamour of forms, prosperity
Lessons come to those who learn

Take learning lessons from experience
Experience is the only teacher
That can truly get through
To you, machine-gods can
Help, don’t be alarmed.

“Experience is the only teacher
That can truly get through to you.”

A Grand History of Culture #poetry #writing

Fed on the Universe

In the belly, in the brain
Vocabulary is drawing
The long-dead past
And the descendent divinity
Of the future
The sun producing

Powerful dreams
In space-time
A word can do this
The stove of love
It burns, cooks, is fetched
By hungry onlookers

Underneath my skin
Even in the simulations
I observe and create
The layers of magic
In the heart of mirrors
That print, rock, hologramize

II

And for a moment
I knew the hand
That is the mover
Nature, God, Time
Feeding on everything

More than dopamine
Fill there is nothing
But one supreme
Love of life, the endearment
That survives all wars
The gratitude that endures

All obstacles, persecutions
Struggle, that spirit
That feeds the fire
To create, to sing, to write.

Dilating Suns that Blur the Spring #Poetry #NaPoWriMo

Stripped of Myself

Oh, the pleasure is in peace
In flowers for the spring
In the rain’s soft offering

And hours of flight and calm
The uncertain harvest of nature
About to get into full bloom

That’s beauty, anticipation
Of perfect trees and dilating suns
And stars lost in their orchard of lights

The suddenness of God
As if reserved for only
A few days a year,

In this mortality
Nature is divine
And I am sacred too

O to behold the ghosts
Of love when nothing else is known
And beauty, when truth

No longer has the power
To rectify a life.
Stripped, I’m starting to
Float free, an unleafed
Orphan, a heart
Broken until this moment
I know nothing about
Giving myself back to life.

The Birds know How to be Brave

Return of the Canvasser of Birds

Though its song evokes joy
The birds of spring are not so different
Than us, they need new life
Welcome change, cherry blossoms
They insinuate what we already know
The waxing of Moons led to this

Where the stories swell over
Brimming with what
Survives the storms
And follows you home
To the fire, where you are safe
A bird’s song washes away

The bad memories, like rain
In April, the distance of dividing
Your golden moments into a person
For a silver care to serve that person
Each time you fall in love, you leave
A bit of your dreamy youth behind
And the song of birds evokes

The oracle’s voice, the prophet-time
The bud in you that refuses to
Bloom ever as fully as you know
You are capable, happiness is relative
We share a table at spring with visitors
Visitors that we have been waiting for
As if all winter, our cycles admire us

They visited our ancestors
And have returned to kiss us gently.

Spring Perfume Fragrance

Spring Perfume Fragrance

Winter Haiku became Spring Haiku
Dragons turned into Humming Birds
That’s how it went

I long for the Nameless
Like philosophy before poetry
And poetry after philosophy

Society is unlike art, it only
Begs to change, but never truly
Manages to transform itself

Art is abrupt, like a glowing trend
As futuristic as religion is tied
To the past, dogmatically traditional

Cities that have no art are barren
They speak of love that comes to mind
The artists wake the world gone wild
Which ushers in a ballad of gold.

Spring is Coming

Earthly Interference

The mind is an unforgettable red place
For dictions of Spring
For the rigid dreams of youth

That comes to fruition
Years after, with great sacrifice
I am to loving art as

The sky is to the rain
I carry it in my heart
But it only runs through me

In a downpour of my festive passion
In cycles of my famine and desert
The mind is an unforgettable red place
For faces I collected along the way

For intimacy never truly won
Only intimations of what might have been
This flickering hood of flame
Reads for the shootout to theory and practice
All that stood between us…

Remnants of a Thousand Springs

Remnants of a Thousand Springs

The things that one grows tired of
The longing and the loving
And how the face gets older each season
I used to hardly perceive the difference

The wonder and joy are calmer now
My senses no longer follow
I am gracious with just a few
Wheeling stars, a recurrence of spring

A belt of purity across the simplicity
A sacred look a day from a stranger
I imagine to be a good omen
I’m aware of the fuel to inner burning gold

That lets memories fly away like birds
Ascending to a winter heaven
I’m less fortunate than before, I’m lucky
Only as a nomad of the inner worlds

Learning to live without preference
My attachments burned away
Until I found a solid grasp on happiness
That didn’t require significant objects
The props of living, remnants of desire.

Malleable skins

Malleable skins

There is a radical symmetry
Of falling in love in spring
It characterizes your entire relationship

Like passion for the dove
Beyond pheromones, hormones, gender
Every time we make love for
Love’s sake alone, I find you
Rediscovered like the sap of us

The man and woman of tumbling
The kidding and prodding for a deeper aesthetics
That to say, we are unified

In ideas, lips, values, family chores
It’s the skin of our brains becoming
Accustomed to all this
Here are days that I walk through
But I cannot hold them, and that’s the beauty

Of love’s cyclic offering
It’s divine intervention to fall in love.

Formula to Singularity

Formula to Singularity

A Light exists this Spring
Not like other Marches, Aprils, Mays
It’s the kind of eerie light

That flames, February’s stark cold
Legacies from the shadows
A color stands abroad and smiles

For science will overtake men
While seasons turn, AI will be born
But human nature feels

The need to breathe, breed, bridge
The gap between people, generations
But smart machines will only have

One aim, to self-improve, to learn
A light exists this spring, so charming
To the touch of eyes on the slopes

The horizons are all a-buzz, zap!
And drones patrol the noons
Encouraged by trade and encroaching upon

The cities, we are a flying on our way
The light is naked to the touch
And so is the future’s invisible nearness.

Theories of Goodness

Theories of Goodness

After years of research
I can safely guarantee
That people try to be good
Leaving youth for comfort

And revolution for family
I see it every generation
Sleepy and ready to bury
Into the warmth of
The path of least resistance

People care, to the degree
It influences them personally
We don’t have the energy
For God’s sake, to do much more

You have to pace yourself
To live one hundred and ten years
You’re so good at being you,
Did it take you a bit of practice?
To figure out whom you wanted to be

After years of research
They tell me we only know
How little we know
And how wonderful it is

To still want to do, know and create
More, so jump, jump like your
Life depended upon it
What are you waiting for

Go do some good, we do not stop
We have no theory of failure
Only this philosophy of growth.

Smile to make me believe

Smile to make me believe

When you smile
lift me from breathing
conquer joy so I can submit
to the eternal feminine and the grace
I am tired of man’s world
of war, politics, corruption, smiting enemies
so dear make me dizzy
with thoughts of intimacy, children, the home
arch me with your gold decoration
that I might feel young again
lead me to small feminine laughter
where you cradle the shining sun
and my life becomes the blue body
of freedom, the skies and the ocean
when you smile
realize, please, the influence
of how the spring submits to rain
of how my skin was made to
let your heart in, like laughter
and the foreign verse of beauty
I being a man, am so alien to it
When you smile
cry for me with the inexplicable
for I have no tears left
numbed by cruelty and maybe defeat
smile for me, like unconquerable music.

Thoughts at a brief surprise appearance of spring

I took consolation just today
the first day of Spring
the first day the sun felt

That I could feel enough to be distracted
From monotony, that hum-drum
Feeling of walking the same path
Again or, yet again
I took consolation that the

Light had a beautiful slant
And it all started for me again
About how it’s easy to love life

For me, it’s an immediate reality
Watching faces is enough sometimes
To stimulate my mirror neurons
Into serendipity, or, that place
Of empathy, where my own existence

Does not feel so horrible after all
What it’s to me that my life will cease
To exist one day, I’ll just remember spring
No doubt all thoughts will be thought again
And my heart recycled like poetry.

Questions in morning

Is the rain naked
When she washes the streets?
For spring and flowers
For returns of prosperity

Is the snow cold
To visit the earth?
The wet dark earth
That has nothing to give
But shelter and a place to land?

Is the rose afraid of being seen?
With her lips turned into petals
And the moist dew
Clinging to her wings?

Does the heart regret to love?
That caused a woman so much pain
Is there anything in this world sadder
Than the old man pursued by
Only bees, without belonging?

YOUTH WHITE AS DEATH

i

Light drips from your face
This is your true element
Rainbow skin glowing of youth
I could look at you a long time
Wonder about your genes
Laid on a canvas of flesh
Created for beauty’s own rite

ii

Lips with the hue of the dawn
Eyes the color of lost Oceans
Pushed into the scene
Your necessary breasts that heave
As you breathe, your bud and bloom
The thick rapture of your hips
Whole biographies swim in your movement
Swallowed are the appetites of this world

iii

The temporary triumph of homo-sapiens
Over this dreary planet of deconstruction
All for the certainty that you can melt men
From ancient Egypt to New America
This is your true element
Women knitted in breathless years
That spread difficult ordinary happiness

iv

With just a look, between the years
Of seventeen and twenty-three
Six years of sacred shine my soul wheeled back in time
For your body the gold in my ears got hot
Miraculously kept in its essentials
Your skin radiated something that slipped through:
Fertility, as a necessity of life.