The greatest smile is DEATH.
How welcomed. The eternal embrace!
But how i belong here — beyond the
world’s end _ no longer human.
i embrace ~ with the broken!
:: 01.31.2024 ::
Tag Archives: #poet
CALL ME BROKEN
Oh, speak not of my heart untrue,
Though absence seeks to temper my desire,
As readily I could bid myself adieu
As part from the soul within your fire.
In your bosom lies my dwelling of love:
If I’ve strayed, like threads unraveled, I return,
To the moment, not with time exchanged above,
Yet with my essence, a cleansing urn.
Never think, though frailties course my veins,
That they could mar this sacred trust we share,
To forsake, for naught, your myriad gains,
For you, my rose, my universe is bare.
Within its vast expanse, hear my call,
For nothing exists, save you, my all.
:: 01.26.2024 ::
LOVE IS TOO YOUNG TO KNOW WHAT CONSCIENCE IS
Is love too young to know what CONSCIENCE is
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her ‘love’ for whose dear love I rise and fall.
“The Little Love-God Lying.”
:: 01.26.2024 ::
MYSTERIOUS ETYMOLOGIES
MYSTERIOUS ETYMOLOGIES
and which came first?
syllable or the sound
of pain?
what…did you say?
they ARE the same
whether uttered or
spoken or eventually
written — all the same!
must a glyph truly obtain
a sense of distinction?
it is now its own.
:: 07.14.2020 ::
Notes for the Students:
THIS POEM explores the interconnectedness of language, sound, and emotion. The poet contemplates the origin of words and the relationship between syllables and the expression of pain. The question of which came first, the syllable or the sound of pain, reflects on the primal and innate nature of language as a means of conveying human experience.
The repetition of the phrase “they ARE the same” emphasizes the unity of spoken and written language, suggesting that the essence of expression remains constant across different forms. The poem questions the necessity for a glyph (a written symbol) to have a distinct meaning, implying that language evolves organically and may not always follow rigid rules.
The final lines, “it is now its own,” suggest a sense of independence and self-contained identity for language. This could be interpreted as an acknowledgment of the power of language to shape its own meaning and significance over time.
Overall, the poem invites readers to reflect on the mysterious and evolving nature of language, emphasizing its ability to capture and convey complex emotions and experiences.
BROKEN SHARDS OF LOVE
I look at the sun — in my dreams
i am a TRAVELING gentleman
into the deep sees
: \ ;/
If by some some years you heard
it was clear ooh — ooooh
Oooh — baby bebe bebe ooooh!
I saw your love (heart) i'[m crying
as i am substrate –= love and feeling
oooooh – love | A rose of love and red
leaves no trace — i will return : \
i touch KASMIRE | OH father,
dead. like our wife / my mother \ how
i learned your mistakes _.
\In the realm of the mind’s turmoil, the dance with mental illness,
the eccentricity that whispers of madness, may appear as a spectacle
when observed from afar, yet the mirth fades when experienced within.
Picture your most haunting nightmare, let it linger in your thoughts.
Now, envision a scenario where awakening is elusive, for you are already
ensconced in the wakefulness of the perpetual dream. Those fantastical notions
that weave coherence in the realm of slumber start to intertwine with waking reality.
I sense your curiosity, the yearning to decipher if my journey mirrors such a narrative.
However, my revelation shall remain veiled for now; forgive my reticence, as our acquaintance is but in its nascent stage.
Should apprehension whisper in the recesses of your mind, casting shadows
upon your countenance, there’s a subtle unease that graces your features.
Ah, I comprehend. You ponder whether my quest to “awaken” might incite a descent into madness,
a trepidation that precedes the revelation of truth. Well, let me assure you, for some,
that is the path untrodden, but not for those who find solace in my company. The journey to “awakening” need not be accompanied by the tumult of psychosis. Yet, I am transparent with you – the aftermath of a “nervous breakdown” renders the mind fragile, a state undesirable, I assure you. The labyrinth of thoughts can lead one astray, inflicting years of tumult from which recovery proves elusive. It can sever ties with those cherished, those held dear. I implore you to steer clear of such perils, especially you, with your endearing nature. I find you delightful, and in our journey together, certain guidelines must be etched, for I must discern when your presence graces our shared realm…
:: 01.21.2024 ::
HOW LIFE IS THE BEST OF ALLTHE IMPOSSIBLE EXPERIENCES
SHOULD you embark adorned with the flame within my lips,
my Soul lowers bloom, colors emerge as brilliant petals unfurl
Breeze sways, that soft touch, sunlight a dappling
Her fragrant air, nature’s tapestry, as bees hum
as Butterflies flutter, dewdrops kisses
Golden rays weave, flowers sway.
Should you enter to inaugurate the pace, the calling,
and in service, exist to dwell, to slumber, to savor all that’s forfeit,
from the castaway upon the shorelines,
to the cosmic expanse,
to the fervent orb aglow,
from the discarded, burgeon into luminosity,
life transmuted into solar vessels,
from the vanished, burgeon into a tree.
One for you disallows the gaze,
Prohibits trust, hearing, reliance on rendezvous’ grace.
One for you turns into a lone fragment,
Abruptly transforms into a mystery vast,
A voice from which a throat retreats in haste.
Night descends, dreams soaring above the luminance,
Dream’s limbs reaching for its coveted brilliance.
Ships, with forms akin to creatures, traverse the expanse,
I behold all, execute every act, believe each nuance,
Cease all, hear the symphony, depend on your mysterious dance.
One day, a night more impulsive, more spectral than a phantom,
In your ears, or perhaps your imagination’s anthem,
Where auditory meets visual, weaving enigmatic tales,
Language entwined with chimeras, left to the frigid gales,
Of clairvoyances, old torches, neglected and untraveled trails.
In whom does imagination find laughter’s embrace?
From eyelids beyond, impulses seek your trace,
To discover, to caress, to invoke your aid,
In a star within, a soul greater, in the body’s impulsive serenade.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her!
:: 12.30.2023 ::
SORROW’S WAIL
Upon yon hill whose sheltering hollow told
A mournful tale echoed by the distant dale,
My spirit bowed to hear the twofold fold,
And there I lay to catch the sorrow’s wail.
Ere long, a wan maiden, a heart turned frail,
Tore papers, shattered rings in anguished disdain,
A tempest in her world, sorrow’s wind and rain.
A woven hive of straw crowned her pale head,
A shield from the sun for her countenance worn,
Where fleeting glimpses of beauty once tread,
Now lingered, a carcass, faded and torn.
Time, with his scythe, youth’s bloom had not shorn,
Nor had youth completely its lease surrendered,
Some beauty through the lattice of age tendered.
Her napkin oft she raised to her tearful eyes,
Where characters of woe were carefully displayed,
Cleansing the silken symbols with briny sighs,
In a sea of sorrow where grief had waded.
She read the contents, her soul invaded,
And often cried in undistinguished woe,
In clamors both high and low.
Her gaze at times aimed at celestial spheres,
As if in battle with the cosmic intent;
Yet, her eyes sometimes tethered by earthly fears,
To the rounded earth, in submission, they were bent.
Then, their vision extended, to every place it went,
Nowhere fixed, mind and sight in distraction twined,
A disarray of thoughts and sights entwined.
Her hair, neither restrained nor formed in a braid,
Proclaimed in her a casual touch of pride,
Some strands untucked, by her hat gently laid,
Beside her pale and withered cheek they glide.
A threaden fillet some locks did abide,
True to bondage, unwilling to break free,
Loosely braided in negligent glee.
From a basket, a thousand treasures she drew,
Of amber, crystal, and beaded jet,
One by one into a river they flew,
Where she sat upon its weeping bank, her silhouette.
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or a monarch’s hands that withhold bounty’s fall,
Where need whispers some, excess begs all.
Folded schedules, she had many a one,
Perused, sighed, torn, and given to the flood,
Cracked rings of gold and bone, one by one,
Commanding them to find a mud-cloaked tomb they should.
More letters found, sadly penned in blood,
With silk sleek and affectedly adorned,
Sealed in secrecy, to curious eyes they were scorned.
THE UNIVERSE A CLOCK-WORK GRAND
The Universe, a clockwork grand, in ticking silence whirls,
Where Nature’s hand and iron band, in endless waltz, unfurls.
Each spark, each gear, a measured dance, a cosmic ballet’s grace,
But entropy’s cold fingers prance, and steal the warmth of space.
Oh, Progress, siren of the mind, with promises so vast,
You tempt us with a future kind, a never-ending feast!
But hidden in your bright disguise, a truth that chills the soul,
For every bloom that heaven spies, a withered leaf takes toll.
The sun, a spendthrift in the sky, burns bright, then fades to gray,
His golden coins, they trickle by, to fuel the cosmic play.
And we, like moths, drawn to the flame, of innovation’s fire,
Chase phantoms in the endless game, till ashes quench desire.
An economy of endless thirst, a thimble held to sea,
Can quench the desert’s fevered burst, or drown eternity?
The laws of Nature, cold and stark, stand sentinels of time,
No mortal hand can leave its mark, no conquest can climb.
In finite fields, where shadows creep, ambition’s bloom must fade,
And lessons learned in slumber deep, beneath the stars are laid.
A world of whispers, secrets kept, in nature’s hidden lore,
Where entropy’s soft lullaby, bids chaos cease to roar.
So hush, dear soul, the siren’s song, and seek a different grace,
Where harmony and stillness throng, in Nature’s warm embrace.
Let wisdom bloom where daisies grow, in fields of sunlit peace,
And find in quiet depths below, a love that will not cease.
For in the dance of dusk and dawn, where shadows gently fall,
A deeper truth is whispered on, beyond the mortal thrall.
Not endless growth, but graceful bend, to life’s unyielding tide,
In hearts that love, and souls that mend, where passion finds its guide.
So let us live, with gentle hand, in Nature’s sacred trust,
And find in each grain of shifting sand, a love that cannot rust.
For in the hush, when shadows creep, and stars begin to gleam,
We’ll find our solace, deep and deep, in nature’s whispered dream.
:: 12.14.2023 ::
TANGLED TRANSGRESSIONS
My love, a spider’s web of sweet deceit,
Where virtue’s gaze deems passion’s touch a crime.
You loathe my shadows, yet in love’s dark heat,
Compare my blots to yours, etched deep in time.
Come, judge me not with lips that taste of lies,
Carmine stained, where vows like cobwebs cling.
Your love, a phantom, chased with hungry eyes,
Leaving hearts like husks, a hollow thing.
Let me adore you, as you crave the gaze,
Of strangers met in twilight’s sly embrace.
Plant pity’s seed within your soul’s cold maze,
Let it bloom tears when shadows paint your face.
For secrets whisper secrets in the night,
And virtue’s cloak can hide a serpent’s tongue.
So let us dance, in shadows and pale light,
Where love and sin are threads in one mad song.
GENEVIEVE
Revised: 07.16.2023 ::
Moments pass like falling leaves,
silent as hearts breaking apart,
rivers red, rumbling over blue rocks,
whisper of love from nature’s heart.
Love freely flows through clean veins,
embracing both men and women’s rights.
My parched tongue craves water’s kiss,
as fountains mingle with life’s delights.
In darkness, I write without a light,
with thoughts, passions, and desires ignite,
expressing what stirs this mortal frame,
the wonder of love in the day’s sweet light,
and the sacred flame that dances at night.
Beneath the moon’s gentle, silver glow,
it creeps, merging with evening’s soft light,
and there she stands, my hope, my joy,
my precious beloved, Genevieve!
Beside an armored knight, she leans,
a statue of noble might, serene,
she listens to my heartfelt verse,
in twilight’s lingering, tender sheen.
Her sorrows are rare, few and far between,
my hope, my joy, my Genevieve!
She loves me most when I sing
songs that bring her sorrow, I believe.
I play a melancholic melody,
and sing a tale of old and deep,
an ancient, rugged song that suits well
the wild, weathered ruin it does keep.
She listens, a fleeting blush adorns her,
with lowered gaze and modest grace,
for she knows I cannot help but be
captivated by her radiant face.
I tell her of a knight who bears
a burning brand upon his shield,
for ten long years he woos and strives
to win the Lady of the Land, revealed.
I speak of his yearning and anguish,
in pleading tones, both deep and low,
through which I sing another’s love,
yet in truth, it mirrors my own woe.
She listens, a fleeting blush adorns her,
with lowered gaze and modest grace,
and she forgives me for my intense
adoration of her lovely face.
As I narrate the cruel scorn that drives
this brave knight to the edge of madness,
how he wanders through mountain woods,
consumed by sadness and relentless sadness,
Sometimes emerging from savage dens,
sometimes from the darkest glade,
and sometimes awakening abruptly
in green glades under the sun’s warm cascade.
A beautiful, radiant angel appears,
gazing into his eyes with a wicked guise,
and he knows it’s a fiend, a wicked being,
in torment’s mask, his heart belies.
Unknowing, he leaps into the fray,
amongst murderous men, he does descend,
and saves the Lady of the Land,
from a fate far worse than death, my friend.
She weeps and clasps his wounded knees,
tending to him, her efforts in vain,
struggling to expiate the scorn
that shattered his mind and caused such pain.
Tenderly, she nurses him in a cave,
where madness fades, his mind regains,
until on golden forest leaves,
a dying man he forever remains.
But when I reach the most tender part,
the sweetest strain in this heartfelt tale,
my voice falters, my harp pauses,
stirring her soul, causing her to wail.
Her emotions, senses, all entwined,
indistinguishable, yet crystal clear,
gentle wishes long suppressed,
nurtured, cherished, no longer mere.
She weeps with pity and delight,
blushing with love and maiden’s shame,
like a whispering dream’s gentle hum,
she softly breathes my beloved name.
Her bosom rises and falls with emotion,
she steps aside, aware of my gaze,
then suddenly, with timid eyes,
seeks refuge in my embrace’s haze.
Her arms encircle me in part,
with gentle, humble, loving hold,
tilting her head back, she gazes up,
her eyes revealing a story untold.
It’s love mingled with fear and art,
a bashful dance of the heart,
I feel, rather than see, the swelling
of her tender heart, a precious part.
I calm her fears, she finds her peace,
with maidenly pride, she confesses,
and thus, I win my sweet Genevieve,
my radiant and beautiful bride, blessed.
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