spring air, ah.

the heat is becoming apparent, was it not just winter seconds ago? the transition seemed slow and erratic. i am joyful for the warmth of the sun and the color of the flowers. the cherry blossoms have bloomed, they are for a brief moment, the most gentle beauty. i love the feeling of spring in new york. people exude joy and the feeling of going outside is plentiful. my body seeks the calm of moderate weather, the green grassy-ness, all the bloom excited into being. all melodies become spirited, the state of things so continuing. the feeling of spring, mono no aware.

The Cunning Splendor.

when sadness comes to me,
i am drawn out,
a leave tattered under a tree;
wilted by the slight
thrust of wind,
i am swollen.

when the echoes come to me,
i am silent,
whispered beneath branches;
the thoughts of air
gently compressed
where i am buried.

under shadows,
awake by day light,
everything forgotten,
we are new again.

bring me pleasures,
so i can pursue them,
and my body
can become
a burden of your lust.

take me places,
until i can taste them,
so my mind reposed,
will channel,
all the islands of the sun.

we will masquerade around,
beneath the cities that emit
sharp lights
and cunning splendors.

we will dance endless,
oh how we will move,
toward the abominable
present
that no longer
seeks our despair.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

this is about how things are never how they appear, or how you wish them; the picture full with lush and color, yet underneath, a very morose existence. we live in a way, where things are pretending constantly; the grand mirage. some depression to that, a feeling of never achieving pure satisfactions because there are intricacies that tell tall tales. in my poem, i wish to annihilate all that is not a true representation of the highest. it is part of my journey through my hidden true self. it is dark, the poem, with hints of vibrant colors. at least that's how i perceive it.

Oh the world !

what are those,

...falling from the sky?

little unicorn flowers?

we catch them

with our minds,

one by one,

clenching in our

little fingers,

can we eat them?

purple radiant starlite,

o', how they beam !

colors into the night,

the city elaborate

with laughter,

laughter every where,

voices chiming,

into the past,

our memories,

of karmic highways,

the moon lighting

our path,

the forest under

our feet,

the earth,

deep within 

the iron core,

magnets,

vibrating,

the frequency,

sound shifting,

ultimately silent,

escaping us,

oh the world !

so funny

and strange,

with it's comedy 

and rain,

falling,

falling,

little unicorns,

like flowers,

do we eat them?

death of beauty.

I hear the whispers,
cathartic voices murmur,
the feminine groan,
destruction,
home after home.

You respond to faces
that burden in the rain,
mouths that accentuate
trepid composition.

Are you the men,
the men that beseech
ownership
of the silent Virgin reign ?

O', Come to your glory,
Come riding with fury.

I ask of you
this once,
have we no life
other than this?

Is it not just me
who speaks
beautiful poetry
and reads,
through the minds
of trees,
and dances
on grassy plains,
awaiting the
Mother to come ?

It is everywhere,
Goddess decay,
we drink poison,
and let out fervor,
as our shadows
gently skip
echo beneath echo,
tortured limbs swelling
with water.

The ocean will
eat us alive,
and these moments
will shelter us
through storm and disdain,
where the sky
breaks,
split-
tiny particles,
we become
winds,
branches,
ashes,
death...
be this, beauty?

death: sheltered beauty

you, whose legs have wrought

men by your side,

shelter infinitesimal hearts

from creating into life, itself.

with beauty that leaves

internal decadence,

you will fall,

as i,

will fall,

rose-like and decaying.

women will remember

the photographs

of your silk body

and still frames,

a transformation weapon

to these afterworld cocoons.

you, who shame none,

with the golden flush

of ruby innocence,

die, hopelessly awake,

die, by my side,

die,

so I can see 

your eyes go gray.

you are a child 

in your words.

your mirrors

shatter  sun's.

let us repose

into our childhood,

before we could 

feel,

with our disembodied

tongues,

engaged with ether, 

and swallowing,

entire universes,

into our tiny mouths.

an ode to divine love; a love song.

This love we call lust,
is draining us away,
until we fall ,
mysteriously ,
upon the open well.

Are we attached
to ourselves,
Do we attach
to this offering?

Shall I extend my hands,
to embrace you,
as you slowly dance away?


...........................................................................................................


Is love not open?

Is it not free?

Is this divine union,
not meant for uncertainty?


May I find you,
some other time,
lovingly embraced
in the arms
of another,
some other place,
May I find you,
lovingly joyous,
without the presence of me,
May I find you,
lost within a lovers
dream,
I will let you be,
as an act of love,
divinely.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This song was inspired by the search for divine love. The idea that divine love
is open and free and based upon a higher union and understanding. I speak and write of love,
never knowing if my love has ever reached such ecstasy. I am the jealous
lover, I am the soft lover, I am the passionate lover, but am I the divine lover?
What is divine love? An ode to lovers everywhere,
may we lose ourselves,
may we find ourselves,
may we open ourselves,
in the act
of divine love.

questions ?

the sullen eyes
that speak,
a heart on the sleeve,
the silent measure
it beats,
off the rhythm
free.

in distance
there is humor,
angelic reminiscence,
days with no static,
a leaf,
an asteroid yearning.

on a shared
cup of tea,
branches grow
beneath the solid,
confined to spaces,
where the wet surface
leaks.

with hands,
touching pavement,
upward the sky swimming,
is the ocean beneath?

the slow day
moves with exactness,
as drops glisten,
and noisey they wash
through
the city scapes,
the over grown trees,
abominated languages
scribed on walls,
what has the future become?

and in the center of the jewel;

you speak of love,
burnt embers rising,
smoke upon city chapels,
the idea of lasting pleasures.

rivulets like jewels,
they bend,
awkward,
every last bit
more beautiful
than the first.

the warmth
of tranquility
now instills me
with the tides of sorrow.

every last second,
a dying moment,
waiting to enrapture
in itself,
unspoken beauty
and radiant fervor.

as we stand,
upon hills that rise,
the incandescent aura
of this maddening scene,
pulls at our constancy,
tinkering,
until at last,
we are,
open,
like the sea,
madness upon madness,
the crown center
of
the erratic jewel.

deep wounds and tranquil pleasures.

instilled with the idea
of dire beauty
are restless hearts,
in desperation,
that seek no where
to find,
the lasting bits
of
resurrection.

and in the darkness
of these hours
they do find,
tranquility
escapes,
all these pleasures
escape tranquility.

in young minds
are flowers ,
awaiting
the open gesture,
to inoculate
deep love,
in the wounds
that never healed.