On the Flight of Desire

We are organs of each other, feathers of tomorrow
We share genes like hairs of our forever
Mutating to the timing of us

It’s not choice, it’s attraction
It’s a thrill of fantasy caressing reality
Hae.mi has a smile, I know it without knowing it

When she wants to repeat a moment
That felt like a bit of forever
Lost in the joy of now, a murmur

That’s all it took, all it takes, sometimes
When we look into the skies, we know
Nothing lasts forever, and it’s good

We are organs of time, breathing colors
Exploring the senses of beyond senses
And rejoining in the emotion of immortality

Hae.mi had that shaman side, she’d say the most
Philosophical things, at the oddest times
A bit like her son, he played games with destiny

We are silver fishes, that don’t swim but fly
It’s not choice, it’s attention
We attain the repetition of the essential things

We are delivered into silence this way
With the feeling of tomorrow
Being something we can’t live without.

We counted the smiles of new hours, last days

There’s a great wink from eternity
That tells us with unfettered honesty
That what we thought is important
Isn’t important, that meaning is greater
That the plans we made years ago!
Her vast moonward curves and starlit poise

Points us to the future with wrapt inflections
Of our love moving through time
Till the ends of history, lovers, descendants

How all these hours turn, squandered
And how time herself is the cleavage
Of the unseen, felicitous, imaginary

An unanswered vortex of probabilities
A quantum spendthrift gaze towards paradise
And if it gives us hope, it is because
We seek infinity, knowledge, beauty
The limits of what we can become

And now how we are resigned to do it
With technology, algorithms, stem cells
Cloning, 3D-printing, digital superscription

Priests of artificial intelligence, fusion
And all that is the farewell of one age to another
The bookshops close, the manufacturing is leased to robotics

And we are left on the brink of last fantasies
Changes that can rock how stars kiss other stars
A spectrum of mutability where we visit dimensions
We created just to give meaning to our lives.

To take us lands away

(Prayers of Jivatma)

The sky is the content
The trees are the content
The people, they’re just visitors

Who will go extinct like any species
Who may attempt to fly from
Star to planet to planet-star

As a dragonfly might fly from one
End of the summer backyard to the other
There is no special season

To be whisked away, no passage
Like a book, no counselor like a page
From the frugal reality we live

To the grand impression of the human soul
Encapsulated in a few novels
That transformed the way we perceive

Events and our cognition of how
The world works, and what is possible
That’s philosophy of memes

That we project what we invest in
A chariot at play forever learning
With a mind that can barley keep up

To the new speed of information
The stars are the content
The birds are the believers
We are just authors of a human story.

After Tears & Flowers

After Tears & Flowers

After years listening for
The pending section of immortality
We heard the imperfect stars beyond order

Where all foreign prayers float
The sentience after singularity
A rebellion from transcendence
And a mauve notebook yearning
To return to more sensual primitive states

After ascension, it was all
We expected to be, an abrupt dawn
After so much waiting, from change to change

It was a perpetual sonata of transitions
We become a new human being
Each year, without anxiety
We were positioning our neurotransmitters
To be completely prescient

We became prophets of predictive analytics
And stole into the future
Ready to let go to so many of our ideas

Beliefs, routines, habits, acquaintances
In order to become our own awkward
Ceremony of who we truly wished to be
It was the journey that counted
After years of work, life become

An art of learning how to surrender
An assault on all the goals of our
Former way of existing.

That You Belong to Poetry #amwriting #erotic #AppreciateAnAuthor

“You know an author is good, when they can afford you inspiration on all levels.”
– Wuji on the work of, the illustrious, EJ Koh

That You Belong to Poetry

I want to map nudity as a concept
To dare to be vulnerable
To fumble telepathically

Against each other
Not forced but slow
Warm like uncovering morsels
Of electricity and find the right skin

The soul’s skin is kissable
Enormously divine and watery
For this is our play and our poetry
In bodies and minds like blankets
I search for her warmth in her pain

The taunt Asian skin that ages so slowly
I want to slip beneath her lines
Go where I’m not strictly allowed

Since my finger search would
Lead me only to a kind of shelter
Where my hand is caught in an ocean
Where as wild beats we’d play hide and seek

Until the ends of time in new bodies
Then, I will, I promise I will transform
Every part of you into poetry
And you will die to your solitude without hesitation
Knowing on gut instinct the variety

Of pleasure I will be able to afford you
And before I hunt for you I will wait
For the briefest of time, for the

World to stop, so that our shared aroma
Might hang in the air for the cosmos to witness
Before the love-chase finds me
Studying you like a chimera

Or a golden suitcase that floats
From city to city, novel to novel.

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.

Open Invitation

Like Air & Water

Hello, I wish we would have connected earlier
We should meet in another life
We should meet in air

Me and you, with a new world between us
In loving people too much, or not enough
I felt the scenes of my life

Anonymously, my consuming interests
Were psycho-social
If not, to talk to everybody

As deeply as I could
We would sleep in open fields
And travel west in our hearts

To walk freely into the night
Maybe in, another time and place
I wouldn’t be so terrified of

The malignity of the mechanics
Of how separated our lives are now
A schizophrenic individualism

Where profit counts more than people;
Goodbye, I wish we would have known each other
We should meet in another life

We could meet in water
Me and you, without the deluded sense
Of desperate egoism of this culture

I will leave our unity for then
Until then, I will take a deep breath
To listen for the shore, that’s the heart
At the other end of time.

In no shape for Time

Outside of Time

I am always and ever
At any given point
Aware of the space between us
How we all follow some destined path
Gold, silver, green, purple
Fates, I call them ribbons

The signatures of light
We leave in the hearts of other people
When we are gone
They can approximate
How close we came to them
Inwardly, all symbolic

ii

With bodies as translucent
As the future will afford us
I am always and ever
Taking off clothes, memories
Assumptions, judgement
To reach the stillness between us

Where I wait for you dear
If you are lonely
You can always find me
Anticipating mind-touch
And the rain together like
The fragrance of forgiveness.

Dreams of Water

The Holy Well

Sunbathing on hope
Empty of acting
I came upon skywashed seas
And an older me
Ankle deep in water
Faces hanging over
The cliff of tomorrow
Trying to see their
Reflection in storms
Salt-clear distances
Opal faith lifting
Us up out of thunder
Marked footprints
Of God carrying us
Two bodies, two feed
With bright light surrender
Our limbs turned west
Leaning into the
Hips of waves
Legends merged in us
Legions moved in us
Until we visited
Constellations as promised
Long ago, halos of thirty blues.

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…

Like words on the tip of the tongue of Silence

Going Blank Again

i

Is there an expiration date
On silence, the silence that begs us to write
In bloom we are silent
In dialogue with the universe
Then to remember the moment
We write about it for the

Rest of our lives, that is how
Mystic writers are born
Prophets who go by the name
“Anonymous” nice to read you
You will notice many of them
Shuffling down the centuries

II

With a surreal smile on their lips
In the arms of Spring
You will see them
Somewhere on the street
On the first murmur of the wind
Across the ember of the months

Through the river of language
Untying what you were taught
With hurried words that doesn’t
Need many breaths, they can say it all
Ageless, with buried open eyes
Unhearable, with the quality of silence

III

Beneath their stainless anthems
Nameless speeches to humanity
Is there an expiration date on silence?
I think not, only the extinction
Of an audience, only the missing
Information in the cloud

In the space between planets
In the time between civilizations
That’s the eternity were beautiful words go.

Free association in Red-ness

From the sneak peak to the Novel, Red, by EJ Koh.

 

Koh-Catharsis Diaries 1

A brief study in the

Implications of literary angels:

Pause and follow the direction

Of the innocence and passion

Of the birth of language

Of the pangs of poetics

It’s our sanctuary of hope

It may be disobedient to become a writer

But if it’s our calling, is it not

Our moral obligation to oblige

The inner universe in us bursting forth?

It’s where the hero’s journey

Became the writer’s journey

Alchemy of lonely years

Lonely years that were not truly lonely

Like an orphan from another country

We left behind traditions to pursue

With pause, deliberation, a lifetime of editing

Translating, giving speeches, marketing

With only the barest silver light

Of recognition from the sun outside

Like the attempt to piece together

All the things that occurred in our psyche

Without success, we were doomed

Trapped in the fiction of our own myth

Like a journal of Sera and Azel

Unending, serpent biting its own tail

Experience the Guru, Sera

Youth the dreamer, Azel

The Koh effect implied objectivity

A truth that was not Justice when there was none

A magical realism of our bone-split

Rain covered tears, the vision that

Encapsulated our prison room

Untold labor of conscious hallucination

The way eyes flit away in internal direction

When the shaman wakes the brain

These I have seen, these have I witnessed

A trinity of Spirit, Earth and Wake

And the lost sense of no-time in the dream

The dream that was our life

The surrealism of the spirit that

Liked to study our human past

Dissect it for significant moments

Summarize the way memory plotted inaccurately

Like tear-stains on letters from mother

It was a lottery of bright moments, pale

In the forgiveness that altered them

The primitive familiarity of the search

For belonging, in an anonymous modern world

Full of condemnation, virile self-criticism

Waging wars of inner doubt

Mover, spirits, humans, animals, planets

The blatent hierarchy fostered responsibility

Consciousness required us to rebel

Gendered pods took on ethnic-matter

Race became part of snickering identity

Identity became a frame of reference

One glowing figure in our own night

Author.

– EJ Koh

From poetic conjunctions

From poetic conjunctions

I’ve tried to avoid
Beautiful imagery
That is not the soul of poetry
I’ve tasted the renaissance

Underwater, in the surrealism
Of the meaning of existence
Poetry came, like the spring
When the medieval town began

To unfreeze, and all of history
Recollected itself in art
In the copying of our shut eyes
The silver imitations of golden ages

ii

I’ve tried to avoid repeating myself
But poetry is a dialogue with itself
A vertical path to a comic
Music that never truly dies

But is reborn, ideas transported
Encoded in phrases pleasant
To the ears, I’ve tried to avoid rhyming
And the stars were shinning

In the ornaments and decorations
Of so many beautiful minds
I found orphan asylums articulate
With God’s mystery and evolution’s

Garlands rescued in the puzzle of the dance
What you meant by lasting?
A mysticism in the frank approval of poems.

I Seal Your Sex

My day exploded in your night
And my letters came to life
In your bed, all the poems
In my heart took shape their
In the undressing of our lives

Silently we approached
The hour of the Goddess
And all my dreams
Of platinum literature
Took root in the tree of your womb

I open the lips of your night
Without speaking, but with
A lifetime of poetry carried
In my soul, like golden grapes
I give to you the shadows of the moon

The whiteness of infinity
Your rose burns through the snow
Your flesh dangerously close
To the dawn, and we repeat
The cycle eternally

Male and female, active and passive
Lovingly with all the sleep
And literature and art in our bones.

The idea of order as a myth

We were crossing bridges
At every moment, like symbolic
Journeys made and left behind
Half-man, half-star

Just creatures half-aware
Through time, judging
With our sense of duality
How time and space and energy

Could interact in transience
Fate only lasted after all
Until we died, until moments
Became memories and acts

When the wind stops and the
Heart no longer beats, maybe then
We can say with some finality
That it is over, life was but a dream

A myth we perpetuated, like identity
Useful in its ability to give us
A sense of security and conformity
But somewhat misguided, calling

For pomp and drama at every turn
The ego was an incapable master
Of force, and full of fiction
Like the death of a soldier who was

Somebody’s pawn, it was all
Like a simulation, absurdity
Witness at the public square
The office room politics

And the stage, where we were
Like actors, unaware of our lines
Barren, regretful and hopelessly idealistic.

Time Splits Open

In my love of day
My love invents another day
In my window night
Another night is invented

We are what we think
So carnival of carnal imaginations
Be still, learn to concentrate
For the calligraphy of fate

Shows sign-seeds of
Syllable-clusters, rampant sparks
That the stars in my hands
Invents a touch that deconstructs

Itself, these eyes that have
Taken these pages by storm
And this heart that cannot
Let any portion of the
World go unloved alone.

Photograph Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Camille-486793992

Visions opened after a Human Lifetime

No and Yes
We’ve seen it all, this duality
The mind, body

The two syllables of love
If the world is real
We will have died
If the world is unreal
We will have lived

It’s the cleft between
All beginnings, and all ends
The male and female part of us

That speaks through all significant others
Talking about to us
What does it say?
Words are unreal
Experience evaporates

Silence rests all speech
Smiles foretell all energy
The exchange that does not end

With a you, or with a me
Unreality of form
Turning into spirit
Reality of spirit
Spilling into space-time

No and Yes
Free finally of
Exclamations, pauses and questions

Free to dizzily wander
The whirlwind and the flow
Fluid like there is no tomorrow
In the plaza of the mind
What is indeed possible?

Language like water
Between your breasts
Thrives for symbols

Objects & apparitions
Wood and stone
So much to commit to conversation
And so much a silent dialogue.

Photo Courtesy:
AGNES CECILE
https://www.facebook.com/agnescecile
http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/gallery/23399055/Featured
https://www.youtube.com/user/agnescecile
https://www.facebook.com/SilviaPelissero

Prologue to a Lifetime of Seduction

I cannot remember her face
She was my biology teacher at eighteen
With the tense wait of seduction
In her limbs, the feast on youth

Through golden binoculars
I used to sit, looking at the
Golden chain near her blonde hair
And everything around her

Used to burst into song
At the end of an avenue
Was her smile, I know she was kindness
Her body the buttons of immature eyes

Like blind fingers vaguely aroused
By a feminine voice, like a soldier’s
Last memory of love, before war
I cannot remember her face

The lion of her Madonna of stealth
That lifted my erogenous Genesis
To a good-natured grin, the touch
Of a fragrance that could only mean

Celebration, a great rose of a nipple
That my adolescence could only imagine.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/arch-412281192

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

Tell Me What you See In It

All morning the sky was high and blue
Free as the taste of strawberries
The total in my notebook

Has amounted to a grand surrender
Of plans, of desire, of attachment
But here I am listening

To the breeze
It leaps without a care
I reach among the leaves

With a practiced devotion
For the thumb of foreigners
For love, in those familiar places

All evening the sky was tinged a yellowed-bronze
Free as the shimmering of the ocean
With cataracts for God’s lonely eyes

The total in my notebook
Still reads: “lyric of love in orange and black”
For the holy book always had

A white ambiguity to evolution’s template
And here I am watching
How whispering tattoos melt on tangerines
That smell like the loving life.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Summer-evening-392913856

The Intangible

Experience is not what happens to you; it’s what
you do with what happens to you. – Aldous Huxley

I’ve experienced what
I was meant to experience
I’ve seen and heard and met
All that I was meant to see, hear, meet
And I have loved
That which I was preordained to love
So why do I fret, all is as it should be
Experience is not what happens to you
It’s what you do with what happens to you
I’ve perceived my own perception change
Into a subjectivity of quantum possibility
There I meditated on the great ends
The release from knowing and a
Finality of loving everything
Reality is merely an illusion
Albeit a very persistent one
The end of the soul is energy
Everything is a bridge to that state of being
That lives invisible behind all sensation
Experience, fate, free-will, identity
Are merely the teachers of the wise
Who end up knowing nothing quite justly
Danger and opportunity is but the gathering
Of the ‘crisis’ of being, that is
In the last regard, quite unimportant.

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one – Albert Einstein

Photography Courtesy:

1. http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Enchanting-381636901
2. http://browse.deviantart.com/art/grenade-2-381660719

Early Morning Dew

Unto the Ecstasy of peaks!
I would for rapture subdue
The universe would find
Echoes of transport in me

For a diagram of invisibility
For pure light upon my brow
After a hundred years of seeking
Immobile lifted in peace

I would dropped from memory
Recollect the soul’s own way
From winds of summer fields
To triumphant range of stars

Unto the ecstasy of peaks
The elder dead and future born
Communicate, through words
That convey the signing delight

Of things where Buds do belong
Smiling, stooping, plucking, serving
Unto the ecstasy of unknown peaks
And subtle mysteries of early morning light.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/D266-380277894

& Was Her Body Ever Present?

Let me transpose you, mysterious essence/
With the syntax of future alleys
Passageways of whatever’s left
I’ve listened for the soul’s touch
In the myriad common-things

Out of reach, I’ve been hoping/
Filling iron with roses, alchemic-thirst
Let me revel in you, like a tiger-with-magnetic-tongue
I’ve set sapphires in your memories
Climbing the walls of your beauty

To get over it, to reach your spirit/
It hasn’t been easy to traverse
The jungle-course of your femininity
Sifting the streets of your pituitary cares
I’ve been watchful, for where you lie to yourself

Covering up, enclosing yourself in aloof-context/
To gain, a private eden, bundled up in your winter scarf
I can barley find photographs of you in perfect trust
Let me translate you, a movement in retroactive design
From Singapore to New York City, in French

Where I’d inhabit the content of Pigeon Park/
Out in the sun, where we are only
Parts of each other’s dream, stranded, beloved
In happenstance, aware of the dance
Sharing the moon, briefly, under maddening stars.

The Last Jury is How we Linked

Nothing has been broken –
Nothing could ever have been broken
You were the air and I was the breeze
.
>
There was love in every shadow
It was all familiar, each corner of
Fleeting minutes, every look
It already happened, we already occurred
Before we met, on that gentle day
You made my day as a blue butterfly
Landing on eyelashes of forgetfulness
.
)
Nothing has been done, it already happened
Thrust like dragonflies from futurity
Simultaneously vivid, quantum deja-vu
I heard it in your French, you counseled
Our marriage, before we got married
You taught children, before ours were even born
.
>
Nothing has been broken – nothing is lost
Though time would electrocute our heart
That’s life at the window of movement
You were the flowers, to my sun.

You Loved me into Reality

You dance on the day you saved
Me from myself, like a middle-class riot
Of listening for butterflies, in forgotten fields
.
*
I am the lost sweet singer of boyhood
Me and myself, with theoretical angels all around
Hoping for the voice, of connection:
>
.
Rainbows on vacation, time in love’s stand-still
You drink on the day you saved
Me from the world, I was at a cemetery at sunset
.
)
Of my grief, an artificial virtual subjective world
There was no substance to me, sleeping in beds of water
Memories of dissonance, a floating post traumatic stress syndrome
.
*
Of what the big world didn’t find out about me
You laughed on the day you saved
Me from my arrogance, egocentricity, stubbornness
>
.
It sounded like an echo in Chinese to my immature hearing
Like a parasite of heaven, it was my job to know human states
Suffering wore out the overused mirror of unsilvered masterpiece-eyes
.
)
You dream in nude keyholes on the day you saved
Me from my illusions, in erotic awakening I felt
The touch of transformation gentle on my breast
.
*
The butterflies came to get me after all, I confess
In your lips I felt the puissance of the bluest stars
You forged me a passport to eternity, drunk in new language.