Love is the whole thing. We are only pieces.  ~ Rumi

I should
be ******
just by*
*the colours

to us, seekers of beauty,
blue kaleidoscope
ment nothing,
we've never found it
for we knew not
anything about
singular
alone-ness

sunset visages
sang songs
in return  
early spring dancing
a million secret
blessings burnt

effervescent organisms
coiling as subtle
sea of reciprocity,
effervescent offerings,
offsprings
ramblings

scattered and undisturbed

quenching quietness,
thirst satiated at
meadows mists.

~
Thoughts concieved by open mind
Chosen gracefully, fulfilled and kind;
Are the treasures of remembered days
When pen to quill was an eternal phase
Of two souls yearning to be touched
Regardless of ethereal bond, much
Pleasure of a written word - longed
To become of flesh and blood.
~~~

the karmic warmth is stretching all
around my torso
cozy is under soft puffy blankets
annoying cat is miuawing
toes on your lifted foot wiggle
in silent pondering

The world so far is strange: i don't feel like it anymore !

Venomous slithering silk gown
Adressed the chandeliers in the
Marrakesh's dusky evening, just
To outshine the simmering glass

There were gentelmen and ladies
Chit chating politely, uninterested
Awaiting on a dinner to be served.

He noticed the scarf, she thougt to
Herself. Unending in memory are
Hoffman's grand thrilly fairytales.
I wish he'd gather the bold pirates
Of his conquering intentions and..

"My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Where of the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine."

Falling into the jangce jang
We sing with a clear
voice

Pass me the passport
Sail on the roads
Of perpetual
Drum

Dream of baobabs
Dream of saharas
Levitations

Crush as snake eggs
Thou lamentations

Make me a poet
Surpass me as teardrops
Mingle in every waterfall

Augure my autumn
Argonaut my silken
Wool crave me as a mad
Hatter

Call me a beauty
I'll be your beast

"For the brain the observer is the observed."

~ Krishnamurti


"You've got to start with consciousness."
"Without ego there is no creativity."
" Through Memory and Perception...consciousness becomes embodied."
"It's a mystery how consciousness becomes embodied."
"The universe has a Purpose: to manifest the highest Ideals !"

**~ Dr. Amit Goswami

´

You  came to me
as a vision
as a mirage
as soft shadows
landing low

Warmly loving
the hot bouncy
paws
and their
delicate dance
across Dali's

Tangible
soundless motions
obssesive mushy
desserted sands
of time's

Kaleidoscopic
fractal falling

Swirling
back into
the theatre of dreams

Tuning a
migrating
midnight to
those silent, evanescent
melodies
yearning
craving
to be played
once more
and adored on longplays

Spiraling and spinning
in my memory
like a skilled
reindeer wafting
wet air through fresh
nostrils, a defiant elegance
fluttering around as colourful
wings move the magnificent
leap of a sinew lyinx
to tremble
among spring greenery

Got to develop gentle moves.
Silent. Soundless. Elegant.

Step upon rose petals
One by one gently
Don't hesitate


life is a continental dispersity
                            Grab your depth
                             Onto what's left
                              Unsaid and do

                                                       Transfix the sunrays
                                                        G­ather them in a left
                                                         Hand, handful burn
typhoons of tender typographies churn

Grab the liar by the hair roots
And pull yourself out of muddy

Overlooked so many times when I was ~wings~
I've passed briefly across the sea of your poetic
Endless streams and rivers; your upheaval way-
Snobbish smart butterfly ties grew your head up.

Without suffocating without any pause, you were
Gentle-man once ~ giving me the 'credibile' break-
Down the lane in Athens where Partenon resided
I saw your unfavouritable pilgrimage to awards.*

*The guitarist at the dock played for herself, dreaming.

There are still
people in the
World
With
Clean eyes

The people
Who have
A pleasant
Profile

Their pure
Scent is
Another simile
For goodness

I've lost my
Bronze shiny
Anchor

Therefore
Anaforas in
Before spring
Blossoms do
Afloat

Me and you
Are a rolling
Records

Cosily unbound
Wraped around
The ancient aquamarine
Amphoras

As the numinous, dire
Paragraphs of our lifes
Know also of the succulent
Sweetness. Inspiration.
And everything.

I am. You.
Omnipresent

We collide with marvels.
Rainbowy bubble plops.
The world is back again.
Trickeling over tenderly
Undulated membranes.
Also the eyelid seas.

United in the ephemeral,
Ever changing images.

Desire and goodness.
The day and those nights.

This words are my own to
scandalize, throw it directly
in your face, scream them
encrush them and swallow
in silence as a pois a porter
at a tabooed cablooed bar
drinking bottles of brewed
cougar gulping bitter pills
small tokens of forgotten
abandoned little peoples

Taboo Words:
heartbreak, blob, writersblock
anguish, drunkdead, motherfu

Sometimes a poet has to ponder upon:
substitutes
suspense
building
breaking
glueing
grooving
gazzillion
broken pieces
put back together
Love
Heart
Rhythm
pace of words

Rhythm !

Shall words be beautiful ?
Or aggressive ?

For some opponent heavy readers Lovely words just don't suffice!
Love words, cheesy romanticism and odes to beauty
turn out to be:
too easy
too light
not a delight
a psyche's cry is heard:
"Where is some drama!? For God's sake!!!"

We hear annoyed reader's comments...
"Brother, this cheesy woobadaloo, smoochy kind of poetry ain't nothing but pure ****!
An effort compared to one, two three, slight steps in muddy warm water
nothing much to do, a lurking pudding, fibble will... oh, my my
oooooohh"
no harm done
but boring
but! - there's always a - but!
some badass poetic freak
with it's head in
the clouds
tell me about Love
dear!
till
the day's tiles
are done.

"Where's some culmination!!?!!
Crime, anger, passion!!!?!!!
Terriffic twists of turmoil, sweat, deceit... !??!
At least a bit of dark matter puked on a silver platter!! Where is this abruptly amazing, abolishing lust for hedonism!!!?"*

fortune
torture
pain
lust
give me some more!
blood, thorns
screams,
tears
sweet ****!!!!  

Does beauty suffice!?!
Without duality?!
Is there a Real Poetry without
Suffering ?

Tell me poets!!
Is there a Poetry- Divine without ugliness ?!? of words, energy, meanings without a constant fight!?
inner dialogue
characters
opposition

HAIKU!?!

Why is the primal
question.

This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter:

Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.

~            ~           ~
Affectionate was
your way
of letting my
worries disappear. . .

How you put your arms
tight around my shoulders. . .

How tender your voice is. . .
whispering words of comfort
into my right ticklish ear abalone.

Believing in me. Lovingly. . .

Your ocean of whispering
sounds. . .Wavered Deep,  
deep love conection. Our
    
Free symbiosis
enhanced by French
parfume, evaporating
from my occiput fragility.
~                  ~                        ~

The silky breeze

worships the old pine trees

and sun gently caresses

the sea ripples.

A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.

I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.

The homeland soil
The roots I'm from
The tree pine veins
The flow thorough
The leaves in green
The starry night lit  
The spiral's dream
The mighty flights
The peaks are high
The clouds in mist
The eagle feathers
The rainbow tears
The cattle's power
The milky way is8

the torch of
a feeble reason lit.

a decision made, ablazed
in a haste passion,
cursory images
fleet
as fragile foam.

the ocean,
thuds
lulls and wilts
promises.

his lean vessel thrives
on magickal waves,
erupts, as a time
borrowed torch,

bold and beautiful.

This is a subcultural song

Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy *******; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.

There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.

***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along