historical origins

History Poetry

it was history
excoriating those
words
their skin of wood and soft metal
it is war
that has arrested the direction
of the winds
it began when red mouths
served as riverbed
to a stone law
it was in a dark month
that a saint
stretched the shadow of the spirit
it is your strange voice
that coils an audible mystery
round all the things
that are yet to come.
 

poetry blog

sensing

Sending Circle

If I move
then this should
not exist

I am writing
because because
never existed

I am angry
I am ecstatic
I am so many words;
yet what remains is
opposite to all
pronunciations

I am a feather
that draws in water
but leaves no
ripple behind
its art

I am existing
to experience
the rush of disappearing

to crash into existence
the roaring vehicle
of silence

 

Poems

more heavens

Heaving above me

It dreams, sounds, quivers like a barrage

drenched in nostalgia these figuratively unknown

release the hungry words to pillage the earth out of its meaning

left with the questions that have already been answered by

above-the-clouds, silences-drawn-by-the-desert, light-colliding-water;

a definition that can be caressed and departed from

words that came so close to smelling of life

puny insignificancies that were almost a secret under the skin

my hand, these verbs and the kill

pogroms and a consequent silence

I surrender

due to bluest aim

as a truth that defeats

a heaven in me

 

 

new lands

Sphinx in Aarhus

           There are things
best left unsaid
lest the great sphinx
of the open mystery
laughs
at my foolishness
she knows
ultimately, life
is like the open sky
and words
are clouds I hold on to
to break my
                    fall.
 

Modern Poetry

otherness

Otherness Modern Acrylic Art
I am drenched in words
like skin that covers my intellect
while sitting here
I do not feel like any word
neither floating nor sinking
in between two nondescript states
perhaps more
plucking my names
           human, animal, person, soul, pablo
petals – I exist or I exist not
an empty receptacle
in my hand
or a savory thought
or gone with the wind.

Nihilistic poetry