Unburden The Earth.

you are not flesh,

nor water,

your bones rust,

not even salt remains.

by the marshes,

they lay your swelled body,

dirt, some ashes,

gray shallow sand.

scattered around the post,

blue morning bells,

not even death can silence earth.

the wind in every direction,

how confused nature remains.

the fauns pipping some folk melody

mermaids untame. 

do oceans stand in your way?

let me undue

the soil,

un-bare the dirt,

my hands deep,

i will make the rocks of you,

burnt minerals 

and dry blood.

Fake French Kids

I. lust

She is there for you

to look at,

to read,

distort patterns,

piss on & off,

to pretend love on,

fake sex,

make believe with.

II. love?

Holds bodies up to the light.

Some mornings only 

sunrise can mimic presence.

III. the next day.

Trashed talked,

makeup worn,

coffee over done,

droned out silence,

breakfast moves slow.

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

i'm experimenting here with the post modernism of love.

Montreal.

Something happens when I am in Montreal. It is this energy that I am with. Transitional moments in my life synchronize around my very sacred journey to this beautiful European-esque city. I have no energy to even put into words all of the delicate details that require to be versed so poetically. It was a timeless experience where very vintage structures surrounded a very modern concept. It was french words, romantic architecture, edgy fashion, art vagabounds, gypsy music, future food, cyborg future party, multi dimensional-digital media art, deep energy work, a step into myself, breath, passion, love, rhythm. It is time wraped around itself and me moving forward into the future. It is a deep memory.

The Sun Don't Shine Here Like My Heart Shines.

The sun beats across the ocean,

it is miles away,

with the memories I left behind,

I can hear the delicate roar 

of winds,

sea shells sputtering,

time overlapped.

When the tide drifts,

I am drawn back

into the last sunrise.

The distance is calling.

There were places I let go,

strangers with stories,

shadows sullen on street corners,

fruit that dripped permanent nectar,

overdrawn trees ebbing under skies.

I met a bird man

in the lost city,

he told me never to miss 

what I have lost,

and to only

cherish what I have found.

His voice decays in my mind,

with the oceans,

and the cutting winds.

In my memory I am there.

It is only a dream,

the placid landscape

disappears.

Queen of Noble

Make of me a Queen.
Feed me mouths of violet-still-
exotic orchids.
I am no match
for all the
delicate
and noble
virgins
that dawn the morning.
They are rare
and pretty.
Oh, how pretty
the little ones are.
How meek and protected
the porcelain skin dolls are.
I am not one of such measure.
I am of mountains.
I am the rocks that feed the rivers.
I am the fury that rages the storm.
I hail thunder with heavy weight and deep resonance.
But my honor,
I am gentle too,
like the streams that
devour the banks.
I am useless like the tides.
I can run oceans through the earth.

love.

In the beginning love is simple. Your heart beats, everything splendid. The first memory of love has no pain, no hurt, no idea of anything less than ecstasy. You are in the moment of pure bliss. Remember when your heart moved and you felt so unimaginably decadent with joy? Those innocent to love experience pure love, because once we have in our mind the "idea" of love and build expectation, it is like a train bound for no where. It is in the presence, where there is no concept of what should be, but just the sheer elation of true union.

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.

bright.

I see beautiful futures ahead, rainbows, clean clouds, cars that fly... Everything gentle today, the core of my being is at peace again. The heaviness lifted, there is laughter to this journey. We are all at work, so much work (inner), and it is only our own work that needs the attention, the lifting. No more do I look outward to check in the wrong elements that exits, but I look within and say, be calm, be gentle, feel positive, and question always your ways. Are my words shelters from love? Or do they speak oceans, and tongues, and images of humility? Remind me always of this, my ways, how I must reconstruct my reality to see only the truest of true light.
It is not just our attitudes and personalities that come with inherit challenges, it is the challenges that we have be faced with that test us, our weaknesses, in the darkest moments, how do we react? There is no challenge, only laughter and joy, and the ability to let go and say, " Ah, okay, here I am, this is beautiful, hell is great, I welcome life in all it's ways, show me show me everything. " And then we continue, with everything in all it's madness around us, embracing the simplicity of how life just is and we just are.

first draft:

when you are far
there is only silence.

we may as well be
separate by seas .

and in the windows
the raindrops covered.

i hear nothing,
it feels like days.

hours uncontrolled,
where have we been ?

in the dark hours,
i read books of "Him" and hymns,
and womens' cries of fiction.

people speak of meanings
i do not understand their stories.

they speak with technicalities
perhaps you can translate them to me ?

my world is foreign,
i could not take you there.,
for here, everything is
refined for simplification,
and measured hour by hour.

and what i see
and what i feel
is limitless and far away
and far away.

perhaps we will meet
somewhere between my ocean
and your earth,
soil, dirt, cunning roots growing,
my waters will wash me there.

spinning tiny head thing.

sometimes in my mind, everything spirals, and my eyes see backwards. there is this opening in my throat that invite's lucid dreaming, and for days i could go in my mind, endless revolutions. a tight, pounding action reoccurs when i forget to speak. all these tiny things are dangerous in my head, spinning for hours. i have build up illusions that memory will wipe us clean, and in the beginning we will remain, another part of ourselves. these dimensions are running thin, and for this i will be grateful; that i belong here.

shooting star.

and if i get blasted in the sky,

i'll just be glad to know i'm alive.

ordinary celebration.

i'm going to break the flow of poetic post with an ordinary form of speech. today was the official end of the birthday week celebration. the birthday began with lot's of food... curry pad thai dish my friend and i concocted, a recording session, film score music, soy ice cream!, a discount on my monthly phone bill, and chef's central (in no particular order). birthday day was - love, nice weather, more food (rad veggie restaurant) + rasberry crumb bar, prospect park + ukelele + more love, beautiful ambient show at monkey town by sawako & friends, which included visuals, transportative pipe organ, and sweet melodies, also not to mention incredible universal gifts all day long. today - more food ...cooked lunch with a world class flamenco guitarist, re-discovered a song of mine and mixed it minimally, rad recording session with an incredible songwriter, followed by the final dinner celebration at a quaint new jersey japanese restaurant - sweet potato rolls=yum!!!, and yes more groovy vibes all around. i love birthdays! unfortunately the celebration must end, otherwise we wouldn't have birthdays to look forward to. this was a really special week in many ways, truly a memorable time in my life.