Tag Archives: #ink

HOW EASY TO PLAY WHILE TIME PASSES AWAY

MEMORIES are caught upon butterflies
& how gentle she flies above the stars
how wondrous my choices
have become: some landing
while others crashing
and how she goes away up into the skies
of all my yesterdays
how she came then went
i said inside my heart:

‘how easy it was to play
while time passes away’

(hmm)

:: 09.13.2021 ::


AFRICAN LOVE

i see the night star shinning so brightly
i feel the pain within my soul …
how the air is my last Testament of dreams
i am a traveling soul without boundaries
and my elders lost their grip upon me
oh how much shall be revealed
when at last the sun beats down upon
my face oh oh …gentlemen kneel
as the clear skies rain
I am a chord of grace & not a word
heard i relate — oh, oh, yeah
oh, oh, how flesh eats my soul
How forefathers gave and their
women wept for their pain and love
ooooooh!
rambling wondering and writing words
crying silently and never lord oh never
weeping the pain of my skin and soul
(wait for me) i cry oh how i know
| all i see turns to dirt |
and if a sound burns to ground
i sing with eyes /if i lose my mind
\ then with my mouth!/
Ooh some such angel oooooooooh
touch my Spirit.

:: 06.28.2021 ::


FOREWARD:  THE WERELINGS

WHEN sun opens the skies above so opens my dreams –>  open greens
like children’s eyes :  all to be revealed.  

As where summer’s beside their secret glories sleep
oh flowing downward if they’ll or righteously flow
so(armies of enemies fighting like adults reveals)  will fall

this. that.  a(t) least dare and not a word to relate
of seasons is nothing but herself flustered in pain.
oooooh.

An open closet within the child’s room:  bombed by society’s war;
‘s gulped by fear –> and never knew ghosts who hold
the hands of the living________ whom cannot kill but give life.
As each, c umbs of our Now) oooooooh      yeeeeeeah
twiceauponatime we met the willbeus and the desert streams
of desert sands | kissing the angel of Imagination.

Werelings.  

:: 06.28.2021 ::


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 ::


SOUL INSIDE SPACE-TIME

Why did you leave me naked in this cold wasteland?
You were gone for light years so go away go away

But don’t leave me alone i cannot take this
my body has grown small in singularity

i am a Soul inside time-space

you are like a molecule and i a leaf
i have spread my fragrance through every apple and every bloom

We were in love with Paris
We were in love with Bluebeard
We are so close but dilated by light

And now We are dead in form

We were in love with the moonlight
we were in love with the salty sea
you know how some things stay with us
but not all things

i am a Soul caught in space-time ah!

we were in love with the sun and the moon
i was in love with You but it wasn’t enough

We were in love with the green ground
We were in love with the blue seas
We were in love with the black side
of night

we were so close but now dead
we are dead.

We were in love with every spice
i am in love with You
but it isn’t enough

We are dead
we are dead

we were in love with every flower
life in love with You
but it wasn’t enough

i am in love with every scent
i am in love with you
but it isn’t enough
in love with every sound
in love with every smoke

but caught in a terrible space-time web
of life and thoughts fighting myself away.

:: 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 ::


THE LEVIATHAN

i’ll love you till death e’en if i’ll live
i’ll love you till death e’en if I shall live
i’ll love you till death e’en if I shall live!

for you love i do ill rise
in an age when man & flames for his beauty
shuns that proud bronze that shadows you

youth has no stage no eloquent maw
to convert his heart but alas magnifies you
doesn’t present him as you imagine

love unadorned and manifests no star
n’t be overshadowed by you or the splendors of the sky
but display your lord on the moon
— love! my god you as a match or more
smoke, flame, flame, flame that nourishes your passion
flame that is here as a key!

numb or subdued: you become such a monster
that they call you leviathan have i for you heart
and i do not anybody else’s heart.

I did not pledge your hand
I did not set the seal love is the best I have
one kind is different that which burns one’s heart

there is a fire where love burns a fire
and their fire is sweeter than mine

my love!

:: 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 ::