contemporary poetry

today

nothingness

Today, I’m convinced
that the hard edge
of matter
is nothing but a
soft pillow
of cloud,

that I’ve never seen the earth

because I’ve made nothing
but sculptures of smoke
with the shadows of
the mind.

Today, I might shrink
to a piece of petal
and wait for a flood of light
to drag my sight toward perfume
and thaw my flesh
to dew.

I’ve never visited the world,
standing drunk here between
two columns of dream.

Today, I could have erased
memory with its tail of tale,
today I see there’s nothing
in space

not even the pulse
of silence’s throbbing slumber.

 

Contemporary Poetry

on the origin of things

origin_of_reality

There were no instructions
and everything had a gleam
with no in between.

Even for the mind
there was no concept
nothing to break off
from the rhythm
of nature’s
self-portrait.

There was no suffering
of a thousand of years
and the mountains
were idiots with hands
in the sky.

There were no rules
of proportion and
we were born
in the middle
of gray.

In the midst of howls,
the happy blood-stained
gesture, but there was no
relationship with being
and non-being.

We killed until
ethics was an abstract
form of tool. And language
built a house for
loneliness.

This was long ago.
When something came
to dance and we were its
feathers.

Contemporary Poetry

in a distance

phenomena

I’ve wondered
to know nothing.

Seeing
my sea
of conscious,
weave wasted waves
of experience
into hairdos of light.

I’ve wondered
of returning
to enormous view
and an amorous
climax of confusion.

I’ve wondered to drink
night from water,
in unabridged absence
of divisions,
without order ,
with rain ribboning
the eclipse of impulse.

I’ve wondered
to forget
the sounds and the signs,
to find a strange design.

I’ve wondered
to know again.

Spying new round volume,
phenomena impenetrable else
glitters like a city;

in a distance sleepless to remember.

 

Contemporary Poetry

A man walks into the store

pack_of_smokes

A man walks into the store and buys a pack of smokes.
You see him leave and get into his car. Drives home and smokes one.

You’ll never see the man ever again. That’s how it goes.

But the next day you realize;

He was a man that once had a cat.

He had a theory about the universe,

and a tear that sat like an effigy
in the cubicle of his sad brown eye.

Contemporary Poetry

another age

happy_ash

The dichotomy of any echo,
and the complementary laughter
that stings the heaps of sad
like a muted ray of moonlight.
In the lungs an aurora fills,
nails the stars and releases a joy
that I feel breathing for labyrinth
& the sun has a vein
with the footpaths of June.
If all these years the veil
or unbinding a wall brick by brick
allowing essence to flower like a spiral,
I’ve been telling a tumbling few
of the essence tucked in the
foliage of the song, but who
waits with me for morning
for a Cluster of Sails to Seville,
for two centuries of warm
illiterate frenzy;
for nothing left, and
come back another age
to tell the world that its angry jaw
cannot transfigure our pile
of happy ash.

Contemporary Poetry

no memory of shine

touching_light

I must convince
you of the truth
that I often
see soften
the beam of light
that unites the things
of thought.

I must have
you agree with reality
which evaporates
desire on skin’s petal.

I ask you to slough
opinion – nakedness in
the water and nebulae,
all after these
layers of years and
emptiness then.

All is firm glimmer
in loud ambiguity
this instant is cold
shredding the world
in absence
to the strangeness of the gods.

All is there to see,
I’ve added nothing new to this
box of history and often speak
as a flattened mirror
carving the light in no memory of shine.

I must convince you
of boundless disappearance
and this awakening toward
death has the taste of liquor
in the mouth of a man
that knows he’s
alone.

 

Contemporary Poetry

An enormous bridge to illumination

fragments_of_Reality

One day you will be in bed, tangled in images, withdrawn from the magic and measurement of the senses. Open hands to drop dewdrops like specks of speculation, falling to fade as fumes beyond fugacious annual fall. All will be idea, analysis of life, as light entering ice. Hours’ vessel without oars, after certain centuries: fire made voice vaulted as fern clung like veins in all directions of silence. What knowledge smelting edges and walls wide as eyes. An act without flesh, only theory inventing thirst for pure blue breath, beauty bordering fragment and firmament broadening blood. Raise fogs with pulleys and lower dawn from a chain. The fabric of façades is yours. Abandon the boundaries of body and dip densely into the center depth. Everything waits for your there.

Contemporary Poetry

history of the abode

there_was_a_time

There was home.

Clay closed around
terrestrial things.

There was a time.

When we were burning,
working under the
astronomy of the leaves.

There was a tool
and we planned like kings
some horizon for our blood.

There was house.

A storm made of war
like a word made of hell.

There was a continent.
A march across a broad
month in groups of large
silver stars.

There was a trauma.
Mucous like iron
in the continuous
light of the extinct.

There was a mountain.
An absolute struggle
where almost cosmos.

There was a square.
Where mystery was
a brilliant white arc.

There was a home.

When purpose and space
were known a hundred
years ago.

There was a home.

When water was the only
line of music under
the silence

of the cloud.

Contemporary Poetry

fields of visions

fields_of_wheat

Long breadth
an afternoon
in the ebb to unknown
was braver ago
than this flow of impetus.

The endlessly ontological
thrust of here. In accordance to
some laws rooted in seed and smoke,
a dab of cosmos along the tracks
early in the familiar day.

Awake, awake and a consequence.
For here is the strength to lift
the poison of life and its powerless
perfume.

This body still nested
as soft dull, still, born, erosion.

Then, at that point,
I perceived that all around
me were fields, fields
of wheat and leaves.

I perceive the sun
as particle in
the lazy pulse
of the sea.

Then deep smaller
motion creating
the assemblage of hours.

To them as tight
as horizon, in the
feminine shadow of
sorrow.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

I leave earth

earth_above_me

I leave land tonight.
Hawk to haw.
Tonight, I’ve landed.

Nothing but sound
that bleeds into the
night. Like vital ripple,
along the edges
of wind.

I leave.
Like simple army.
In eight or 8.

Afraid.
Of the air and the
antrum of galaxy.

I leave the earth
bruised with memory,
I cleave to dust
that is heavier
than the
truth.

I leave already
the toy of this
dance.

I leave paradise,
like a land above
neither.

My shudders.
I’ve selected the flowers
that collide and the weak
islands that are seen.

I must leave the leaves.

Like the people that love.

I must sail a modern flame of palms,
and act like a massacre of morality.

If pulley is confounded with plague
and the sky like a scream of a drunken
why.

I leave, grotto and volcano
and life as hour and dream.

I daaa.
an da.

I leave the earth of mirror
and marrow.

I rhyme a depth like
a prisoner of laugh.

I leave and tonight.
Sense and behold.

My mother, all alone,
against the door.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry