Quietly the noise arrives
surrounding me
above, behind and below.
Slowly it moves without warning and gently
wraps its arms around me.
Although unseen and unknown, I recognize its face.
My heart welcomes the visitor
and without hesitation my spirit drinks
replenishing my soul.
Forever leaving its imprint, it flies away.
Tag Archives: poetry
Requiem
You loved the real me; I made
everything unreal. Listen,
art gave me courage. Did you
know you can act like water?
The moments of madness are still
fluid. Before the paintings are hung,
I can add yellow. Add mountains or rusty,
reclaimed debris. Stand back; it makes sense.
Even He
even he of the seldom sun
must break the pattern of tiger
to map inwardly the climb towards
the forgotten bottom of stars
if i singular last of beginnings
shall speak without speech
embrace without arms challenge
the nectar in the brain
marked with conspiracy there
atoms there universes perform in the habit
of my construct spectrum tiger-free
finally silhouette pirouetting pain
Landfall
Through maps of thirst and seas,
Traversing the labyrinth of absence,
Your comely sight finally greets me,
Welcoming the distance warrior
From his now distant wars
Into your forbidden shore.
What do I make of life now,
But thirst in search of its music,
And death, but eyes breaking into sight.
It is love to attempt to measure
The immeasurable with mystery of tears.
So, whoever says love is faith is mistaken,
For love is deed, as hate is deed.
These emotions do not confine themselves
In their shells, they go out into the sea,
Travel the great distances
Till they find their true meanings
In the stillness of eyes,
And how great is the Deed
In such stillness!
But, how do you distinguish
Love from hate?
Love betrays death,
While hate, a traitor to its birth.
Feel the untouchable touch,
The speechful deed!
Do hate, the holy terror
Of tongueful spear.
I come to you, my Muse,
In rushing stillness,
Into your scheme I go,
Your uniting chasm,
Into your dividing peace.
The unharmed wound bathes
In its shadow, washing the absence
Away with darkest light,
Till the tip of tears
Wounds the eyes
With chords of sight.
Your lover is coming,
Riding the waves of songs,
While angels dive into the second death
Of a first true love.
Those eyes tell with their silence,
Your grace the prayer of sin,
Such melodious limbs confess
The virtue of distances.
Love of a Poet
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!
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
Starting fresh (in 2009)
resolutions, or so it seems,
is all we care about —
loosing weight and quitting smokes
and definitely getting out
to run a mile or maybe more
we’ll rid ourselves of flab
we must go earlier to bed
and vow to eat less fat
vacations must be taken soon,
to places we’ve never been
to visit the mountains or a dune,
those places must be seen.
promises are made to us
by no one but ourselves
prone to fail – without success
they’re soon back on the shelves
a simple thing could change so much,
one easy keeps through-out the year:
no diet, exercise and such
but rather just be sincere.
Smile a lot and nod your head
be kind to the stranger in line
swallow pride — and praise instead
you can do that in oh-nine.