Category Archives: #poets

WHEN RAIN STARTS FALLING DOWN

There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the so

And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see, but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets, of violets that are at home in the earth, because the face of death is green, and the look death gives is green, with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom, lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies, death is inside the broom, the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses, it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots: it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses, in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out: it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, and the beds go sailing toward a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

:: 06.05.2021 ::


THE CHILDREN’S HOUR

A pause within the day to breathe flowers
is called the Children’s Hour.

Like the last brilliant star at sunrise.

My eyes, brilliant as any sun
does not call you to depravity.

a Day broken as a first morning
and song birds singing for grace
praise for the morning and praise all

fresh into a world in such turmoil.

Sweet new fawn born in briar
and new buds of nature painting Earth
how exquisite Nature speaks to Hearts.

Mine is sunlight
Mine is morning

and how crazy we fall elated into
confusion disregarding God’s Creation.

:: 05.28.2021 ::


NO AND NEVER WILL

i

We shared the sun and ate the rays of red apples in bed
the songbird perched upon the window sill sang songs
of forgotten riddles

holding hands we caught the whirlwind of love and sighed
never forgetting we have eyes and lips and hearts.

it became nighttime so soon we danced in the moon and shadows
followed us. If we ever lose our mouth north and south
we should never have to talk.

ii

In faithful candle light we laugh and eat bread with glasses
of wine and speak of love and time and art.

We were so very young, us two.

Never worrying about life and time — knowing we are only
dancing upon this Earth a short time and took it all in
stride. Although we wished it would last forever it never
shall nor never did. Oh very young, hold onto your dreams
and love and never cast away the words that have meaning —
so you wish to live forever you know you never will.

iii

Now time has squeezed our bodies into One and here we are
Across the veil of the grand floor into the sky and now
we know why it never lasts forever, oh well. Oh very
old one we leave and now go unto the mystery of greater
love. And although we loved every moment this journey
is not done now and never will.

:: 05.26.2021 ::


THE BODIES OF CHILDREN

And, if I told you that love is the source of creation and darkness abides the whisper spoken by lovers at night will you believe, when I say the edge of a blade is no sharper than truth in light?

And the miserable life of a liar is no worse than the mumbling words of a dying beggar.

And darkness can suffocate the screams of madmen with whispers when lovers call to one another.

And no child is an innocent when lovers show their face in the moonlight.

That was the first poem I wrote in French when I arrived in Quebec, three years ago.

(“Them” is a vague reference to the creatures of the forest; I could have been referring to anything else in the world, but the nature of who and what i was living with at the time makes it easier to picture them).

This first one was about the darkness of childhood: the darkness of being nine, when time is nothing and your soul is naught but a flame; the darkness of being nine, when you’re already angry with the world, afraid of every shadow, your skin like a turtle and your words a dive into the sea of fire.

You’re angry at your parents, and confused about why they insist on wanting you to stay nine forever, and they won’t let you get a job and live your own life, and that’s why they want you to stay eight more months at the Montessori school and don’t allow you to be a little girl anymore, and they call you, all the time, and nag at you because you can’t understand everything they’re saying, and that’s why they call you, when you’re nine, and a little girl but still not allowed to have the same privileges as the other girls.

Your eyes are full of fire and your skin is on fire. And that’s why you’re called Phoenix by everyone else, because you’re too strong, too young to be called a little girl, because your hands are like red clawed birds, and your face looks like it was kissed by a mime.

You can fly with your eyes open, and you tell the story of the dead. You can see the wounds of the living, you can see the tears of the living, you know the sorrows of the living, and you’re always awake, even when you’re in the silence and the darkness.

You’re the girl who sleeps with fire in her veins, who saw everything and kept her head clear, who saw what it was like to be happy. You see the mists that cover the world and your breath freezes in the air. The moonlight is silver when you look at it, but the dead shines in your eyes, and you’re too proud to ever tell them that you are not dead like they are.

You see what it’s like to be happy, and you remember the things that you were afraid to remember before. You remember the fire in your bones and you remember how it feels to be alive.
You do know that darkness is real, and that you are a child, but you will never let anyone tell you that you are the ugly duckling.

You are beautiful, Phoenix, but nobody will ever see you as you are.

You can show the world your true self, and if they don’t like it, they can kiss your ass, because they’ll just have to deal with it. Maybe even beat it, if you feel like it.

So, yeah.

I write poems now. (“Them” is all of these things.)
It is the mumbling words of a man who has been let down by everyone in his life, in that order.
It is the bodies of children, the unknown. Great hearts!


SORROW BEYOND TEARS

I have bound myself to God and to the Mysteries; all things also I comprehend.

AS love is not given to the wise man for his own personal gain. Love is neither given to the savage for his own personal gain, nor to the poor man for his own personal gain, nor to the country for his own personal gain, nor to the lonely man for his own personal gain.

NO.

It is given to the sick, in pain and those deep within despair and loneliness, for their own personal gain is not a thought given.

As Love is not given to the prostitute for her own personal gain; to the youth for their own personal gain; for the Love is the product of long awaited joy, and the joys and sorrows of the individual cannot be their own!

:: 05.19.2021 ::


DESERT LOVE BURST

i have tasted what you are like
within dreams,
(whose thoughts are liquor fields
with talons and fields of wheat
. i sleep deep like king and queen comes /
and swirling foot prints buzz as souls of flowers
strike the air in utterable coolness such deeds
of golden anvil struck thrilling lights
within thinned new heartSkin
___>press / in dry woods which
crack-break
stutter and moan
and weep in tears
while wild Birds break sleep and sing:
the coolness of your smile is stirring like
kingOf dreams // to have rather nothing or
all things as a desert needs rains — hugeness
to not shut quietly\\ almost
hear my heart burst!

:: 05.12.2021 ::


RELIGIONS AND HYPOCRISY

DROPPING from the sky as a rain drop
i feel so good dropping from my life
i feel so very alive and the skies weep
and my soul sings.

i don’t believe in your religions or hypocrisy
and i feel like a drop of pure rain
my Soul is bare

falling down into the soil & feeding a new
seed of a flower and i feel so good —
oh yeah.

Don’t take my photo until i’m born
and i don’t believe in your sanctitude
i don’t believe in your lies
and wonder what my parents think of
me now

To give a Soul for a Flower
A soul for a flower
yea.

:: 05.11.2021 ::


FLOWERS AND GOSSAMER

EACH morning comes and we are dying
ONE year passes and more are born
i walk in fields of flowers and gossamer
and fell into a hole with stars and nebula passing
and caterpillars singing before they have wings
and a red panda kisses my cheek and explains this is
where things go when one dreams while walking.

— so hooka man in your small corner closing in upon
your jelly brain gets up and dances again
oh little rolly-polly you are a cute ball
and my brain lost logic and proportion and words
and numbers dissolve at the dawn of common sense.

We are told to believe some things
We are punished for doing many things
We are clean as a Spirit and Soul
but then as always — life takes its toll

Be safe around busy eyes and hold upon a wind
the secret words you believe in
allow no parrot to squawk within the room of
your private thoughts

Oh! Live! Be different and be your own friend!
Be your own friend!

:: 05.09.2021 ::


MOVING TONGUE

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::

MOVING TONGUE

I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::

I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::
I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::


HOW YOU FEEL SO ALIVE

HUG me but leave me alone
tonight kiss me but say nothing
harvested feelings come and go as
ghosts weeping for you and me
watching how we changed: smooth skin to lines
firm convictions weakened tells me there is more
i held the hand of failure and watched how love died
like we never had brakes once so alive and now changed
i watched the sun explode like nothing ever before seen
and once so alive — watched it change.
you left me alone / months into years and decades gone \ and its
like you never went away always alive and eating my insides.
watching how we changed ah oh ah i watched the sun explode.

i look at the plot of ground
and the green grass of Earth
tomb stone and words with tears
it is like you never went away
still so alive.

:: 05.03.2021 ::