Never love a poetTo love one is absurdA poets love entirelyBeing given to the wordBad poets write of loveA moral for my daughterGood poets love themselvesLike a fish loves water The didactic part comes nowNot of love and not of poetOf happiness and loving lifeThe poetry’s in how you show it!
Tag Archives: poet
On audible patterns
i imagined these words even before I wrote them
that for instance there would be two lines for each stanza
that i would now be reading on the second stanza
as if i saw the poem even before it happened
when it happened after the children played and signified over the
world of grown-ups
when it happened after voices burst in surreal and beautiful display
words seen in the mind’s eye happening
even before they happened to deepen in the skin of the moment
that music vibrated even before it is heard
words were said before the tongue even tastes their shapes
even before the pen catches the symbols with which they should be
written
in the imagined how they are real and in the writing how they are real
and in the reciting how they are real forming a moment that is here
but also so much there before in the imagined on that stage of creation
events happen even before they happen as imagined by the universal mind
and events imagined the universal mind as well even before they occur
and the day is never too late as the night is never too late
music is shared because it is good words are shared because they are good
for the goodness comes from before even previous to touching the heart
for the heart was there before as it is very here now
in the night of play and music with the magic of the moment
almost always coming from the imagined as if they never happened before
for the beauty of the forming
for the beauty of the shaping
there would be two lines in every stanza as imagined
and the voice ripe with prophecy
and the writing as well as the tasting of the words
in the hour that is very here and was very there before
in the drama of presences that can be traced soon after
every time someone attempts to open the moment’s door
IntraBeing
A thousand lives later,
here we are again
separated by the blue veil between dimensions
touching only on the translucent side of dreams.
Through the ages,
I have whirled with dervish mystics;
I have drunk the blood of Christ;
I have even pillaged with pirates,
but no passion has filled me
like you.
I want to be reborn where you are;
I implore you,
where will you be?
I’ll meet you there.
I’ll meet you in the Renaissance;
I’ll meet you post-Armageddon.
I’ll meet you in a still lake’s reflection,
in the eyes of a child,
in the quiet of a frozen landscape,
in the light of a ghost star,
or at the tip of a poet’s pen.
I’ll meet you on a battlefield,
in the echo of a scream,
in Dante’s infernal thoughts,
or on the seventh terrace of purgatory
where I will gladly burn to ashes
that I might feel you again.
Matters not whether we’re thieves or clergy;
Matters not whether we’re one or two,
or fragrant racemes of the same vine –
our awareness shall transcend any state of being.
If only we can cross this cosmic threshold,
we will find one another –
be drawn unto each other
in a Divine reunion
driven from within.
And the Universe itself will sigh.
© 2008