She once loved a poet
A couple lifetimes ago,
In a time where the rhyme
Kept her in the flow.

And to the enchanting poet,
The rose didn't smell as sweet
As his first glances at her;
The seraphs couldn't compete.

He was the poem written on her heart,
The love only found in dreams.
She was bound and determined to have him
By any ways and means.

As fate would have it, they had each other.
Their love intensified by his magic,
His use of word and rhyme,
Slowly turned from romantic to tragic.

Because there is nothing magical about love,
It's really a matter of the heart.
Just because you can write on love
It doesn't mean that's who you are.

You water thoughts of despair,
Then wonder why the pretty ones
Never come to sit.
You chase away sweet changes,
And ask what are you to do.
You circle your poorly mended garden
With a net.
Gentle butterflies avoid.
You knock on the door of a hornet nest
And demand a fight,
To prove you've still got one in you.
Your garden, overgrown with weeds,
Provides you support to lay your head,
Comfort.
To cover up the memories,
You poured cement over your garden.
You spent a summer building
A basketball court,
Hoping that there would come a use for it,
Hoping for a visit.
You used to like basketball.
The weeds grow through the cement,
But you don't spend long in your yard anymore.
Walking away proves more satisfying.
Why won't the pretty ones ever come to sit?

I stood before the Golden Gates
To the Garden of Make Believe.
Where nothing is what it was,
Nor ever as it seems.

I reached deep into my pocket,
Took out the silver key.
The one I use to dream with -
The one the Sandman gave to me.

I think of the day I met him,
After weeks of fighting sleep.
"Use this key to live your dreams," he said.
"The ones you wish to keep."

"But if in your most authentic dreams,
You encounter appalling horror -
You must leave the Garden without a moment's glance,
And return promptly to your quarters."

The spirit and the ego,
At war for a turn
To guide my ways
Through all of days
From the cradle to the urn.

The ego goes down, the walls follow.
My spirit emerges nimble and free.
Its stay is short,
The doctors will thwart
The ignited spiritual emergency.

Emotion pulses through me,
My mind and voice are rapid.
A needle through my arm
To abate my alarm.
Soon I'll feel vacant and vapid.

Now I sit at home,
Too lethargic to walk out the door.
Perhaps low energy
Is better than insanity,
Considering where it got me before.

This is how it ought to be,
The ego in control of it.
I lose my mind,
Become unkind,
From an unleashed, suppressed spirit.

I have loved,
I'm lucky.
I've had friends,
I'm blessed.
And done many things
That would have been missed.
I rolled sushi at home solo.
I learned to play "Nocturne" on a piano.
I spent weeks in Japan.
I've held my soulmate's hand.
I laughed 'til I cried.
I've been a beaming bride.
I rolled down hills.
I've had roller coaster thrills.
I swam in the sea
(I've done that by the time I was three).
I've been called beautiful
By many a soul.
I made a kite fly
(When I spent more time outside).
I danced many times.
I listened to rhythms and rhymes.
I ate every day up until now.
At the end of a play, I took a bow.
I ate vegan for over a year.
I've been the reason for a cheer.
I ran an obstacle course.
I saw the Statue of Liberty's torch.
I did yoga on a mountain.
I made a wish in a fountain.
I have memories.
I'm lucky.
I have lived.
I'm blessed.

She spoke of swallowtail butterflies
In her native tongue,
Floating and drifting
To each new idea unsung.
But like a hummingbird
Caught in a net,
She was told to put
Her ideas to rest.

Twelve Olympians, to rule as they choose.
Twelve Olympians, we'll start with Zeus.
God of sky, thunder, lightning, law.
Ruled the Olympians with the justice he saw.
Commonly referred to as the Father.
Next is Poseidon, God of Water.
"A tamer of horses and a saviour of ships,"
Said in one of Homer's hymns.
Next is Hera, Queen of the Gods, and of women.
Giving mothers a carriage, and marriage to men.
Next is Demeter, Goddess of Harvest, giving fertility.
Hades captured her daughter, Persephone, and her virginity.
Then there's Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
Lept out of Zeus' head, and earned her throne in the kingdom.
Apollo is next, God of Music, Poetry, Light.
Also capable of bringing plague and plight.
Artemis, Goddess of Moon and Hunt, and Apollo's twin.
Guided mothers through childbirth, a sacred ******.
Also, beloved Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.
Lover of Ares, who favored battles and blood.
Only Hephaestus and Aphrodite were wed.
Fire, metalwork, art of sculpture he led.
Also, there's Hermes, a god bringing word.
Among other things, guide to the Underworld.
Finally, there's Hesta, Goddess of the Hearth.
Feeding families and serving the home with warmth.
Twelve Olympians, to rule the sky.
Twelve Olympians, give your memory a try.

When I see you,
I see the sun,
Blindingly illuminated,
With blazing character,
And generous happiness.
Generated from your smiling face.

I see the light
Of millions of more suns,
In the sparkle in your eyes.
You have a Galaxy
For each emotion,
In which I can get lost in.

Wonder, and lust, and
Excitement, and humor.
It's pure and in all this,
I know it's true,
I hold your interest.

In You, I see the Universe,
Filled with Light and whatever is Divinity.
I am like Creation,
Gazing towards everything in front of me.

And you see back to Me,
A chocolate, twinkling sea.
Filled with the same Light and Divine entity
We try to know in this Reality.

The Universe & Creation.
One in the same.
A strange game.
In which we have a place,
However it be arranged.

The Word was written,
But my word is spoken
In the silence of the sacred,
In the crash of the ocean.

The Word was written,
But still I fumble
With what to think
To remain humble.

The Word was written,
But how does Nature sing!
And how pretty the lilacs dance
And how awesome bubbles the spring.

The Word was written,
But my mind questions,
Scourges the earth for answers,
Philosopher is my essence.

The Word was written,
But how it nods
To the doubt in me
That there are such gods.

Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.

The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.

Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.

They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.

These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.

Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when

You **** off
All the poets.

There are more things
That are not things
Than there are things
That are things.
Potential is a powerful,
Abundant resource.
To tap into the
Unknown, uncharted,
Unachieved, departed -
And introduce it to
What it means to Be -
Makes every artist
A midwife.
Without the great alchemists -
The artists, the dreamers,
Visionaries, poets, musicians -
Those who enter into
Akashic Records
Like a library -
We would only ever have
What has already came to be.
Like a technical computer reality.
Art brings us closer
To the cusp of Life.
Mother Earth is the greatest artist
I've ever known.
Being Human means
Being an artist.
Our Mother may soon
Scold us
For coloring all over the walls.
Making an artist takes time.
In the Universe,
There's plenty of that.

I found myself a dying sun,
I lay ashore, all mem'ries gone,
Beneath a sky of crimson clay,
Where every world spends its last day.

The dusty sand beneath my form
I used to love looks so forlorn.
The waves crash down with energy
They do not wish to share with me.

I am tired of it all,
Sick to death, I take the fall.
Down to the void, abyss,
Without parting glass or kiss.

You will not find me here tomorrow,
I have drowned myself in sorrow.
The bleakest darkness of my past
Swells in the distance like a mast.

I shall not perish, all the same.
Your world is evil and insane,
Yet I shall rise again at last
While you'll be buried in the past.

I spoke to a woman
Who had knocked on death's door,
Reminding me not to take
Walking for granted anymore.
I love a run in nature,
Zipping by the trees.
Scaring away the lizards;
No discomfort in my knees.
My very own mother herself
Has looked death in the eye;
What other lessons can I learn
Through life, the more I cry?

As the sun sets in the east,
Distant thoughts are underlying.
The clocks that hang on barren walls
Are turning back in time.

Our past has been rewritten.
No more anticipating the future world.
The day has now come for us
To see the past unfurl.

So we take out pen and paper
Writing down all that we see
Promising ourselves we'll never tell
Of what is soon to be

But every thing that we see
Can take a different route.
A leaf fallen from the wrong tree
Can change what comes about.

And if that leaf hits water
That just happens to float upstream,
Be careful of the where a bouts
Or somewhere in between.

So future, past, or present.
Take your pick. It's all the same.
We have no control
Over the way to play the game.

Feel pity for the turtle,
Born captive in a bowl.
Swimming in a circle,
A life been bought and sold.

He has his natural instincts,
Engrained in DNA.
I wonder what he thinks,
Being captive every day.

To him, it must feel wrong.
A missing link to life.
Pondering all along,
Why his surroundings don't suffice.

If released to the wild,
Survival would be scarce.
He's been captive since a child.
Born an artificial heir.

The turtle knows only this society,
It's what he's been born into.
His intuition - alive, indeed,
Tells him what turtles do.

I watch him in his tank, a curse.
How it must feel strange.
Born to fulfill a turtle's life purpose,
But forced into walls, by humans who exchange.

I feel pity for the turtle,
Then realize my foolishness.
Humans, too, know the artificial -
Yearning for natural happiness.

We build up our own glass walls,
And bear children to not see,
That there is life beyond this all,
That offers more than we think we need.

We, too, are like turtles,
Having a purpose to fulfill.
We overcome so many hurdles,
Within glass walls that ****.

We stop our faithful car
Halfway between both
National parks
Because the scenery
Was too gorgeous
To quickly forget.
We sit down near a cow fence
And you pick me a flower
And place it in my hair,
And I can tell everything
With you is about the scenery,
The message, the emotion.
You’re an artist that never
Turns away from the canvas.
You never turn off the appreciation,
The evaluating, the creating,
And I want to kiss your
Tired eyes,
The ones that must dream
Exhausting things
All night and day,
And now there are tears in my eyes
And they sting
And it’s because I realize
How draining it must be
To be so beautiful.
You make me realize
How similar we are,
I see myself in you.
Everything to me is poetry.
All the double meaning
And metaphor
Gives me context, gives me life,
Helps me make connections.
It drives me absolutely insane,
Being an artist at heart,
And then in a twist of fate,
That turns out to be
Exactly what you want.
Now we’re weeping
On the side of the road
Somewhere in Idaho,
And you love me,
And I know it,
And it hits me hard for the first time,
And I’m an artist
So I want to feel it all.
And we talk about love
And our fears about death,
How we’ll always be artists -
Me, the mad one, and you,
The sad one, and we laugh,
With tears of every emotion,
And we want to drink them up,
And it’s like time doesn’t exist
On this abandoned highway road
With the unforgettable view,
The unforgettable me,
And the unforgettable you.

He wants her to be something else,
The girl she was before.
She cannot change, it's not her quest
To be what he's looking for.
She has a newfound independence,
Before would die if their love would end.
What accomplishment now
That on him, her happiness doesn't depend.
See, she loves her darling in every sense
Though that desperate attachment
Is now past tense.
Together and happy, but don't you forget
How she lives her life will not be set by his discretion.
Side by side they tread, as she makes her own steps
Down this winding road they find themselves on.

I'm waiting to be swept
Off my feet
And I'm not getting
Any lighter.

I'm ready for the days
Our paychecks come easily.
You work on machines,
And I'm writing poetry.

Where we go to coffee shops
Just because it's cold.
And buy books at the bookstore
We'll never hold.

When we walk to the park
And look at geese.
And have discussions by the fire
Of war and peace.

When I can tell your mood
By the twinkle in your eye.
When I cook your food
You're bold enough to try.

A girl can dream her whole life through.
Now that you know my dreams,
What should we do?
It's your call, baby, I'm waiting for you.

Kiss me deep,
Like the ocean.
I want to feel the waves
Crashing down.

Hug me tight,
Like a sweater.
It's yours I wear
That fits like a gown.

Whisper so soft,
Like the crystal snowflakes
Gently falling
From colder realms.

Touch me tenderly,
Like a newborn baby.
Enhance my senses,
I want to experience the sights and the smells.

Tug at me desirably,
Like the guiding wind.
I feel my garments getting looser
And my desire even stronger.

Make me yours completely,
Like lovers often do.
I want every part of you.
I can't stand it any longer.

Our memories cannot be put into mediums.
There are no photos or videos,
No stories to be written,
No prime time television episodes;

The indescribable, undeniable energy fizzing,
Binding you, finding me, winding us,
Joined in divinity.

Every way I could make
Our moments into art,
I fall short, full stop -
Are we already art?
The way you affect my heart?

Is it living in the moment?
When we're listening or kissing?
Missing no other component,
No further desires or wishing?

All I feel when around your field,
Is that I'm drinking up Life;
That this is the consciousness I was gifted to feel.
And whether or not reality has anything that is actually real,
Layer by layer, the truth becomes revealed.

It's my observance to every occurrence -
The flow of Nature's currents;
What, in life, has pertinence.
Every interaction with you is marvelous,
and of utmost importance.
You're the physical form of happiness.
And I run into a hindrance,
When relaying my senses,
To anyone else not witness,
To what we feel together in this -
Mysterious, beautiful, eternal, immense.

The sun, it has seen
The early dawn of mankind,
Who for centuries were keen
On the blazing ball in the sky.
Nowadays, artificial light casts a glow
Unfamiliar to none.
If we take a moment to bathe in the sun's splendour
We can ponder the wonder
Of how we have all seen the same sun.

I love you,
Wildly, silently,
Imitating it's idly,
Displaying my affection quietly.

Timid, I am, of course.
Enjoying our discourse.
And everything you are,
I'm so heavenly immersed -

Yes, in your quirky quarks from quasars,
Running its benevolent course.

Still, inside, I thirst.
To let you know,
I'm yours.

Lost in a loving serge. . .

With quarks from the hottest starburst.

Christmas time
Of '91
Hold on, Momma,
Here I come.
Live near Miami
You wish to name me
After the city,
Instead you choose Amy.
I have a brother
Daddy must remind
"Anthony, love her.
And try to be kind."
We played every day
With toys and thoughts
And things we shouldn't say.
It made childhood rock.
First year
Of middle school
No friends near
No boyfriend too.
Awkwardly,
I made new friends.
And soon after,
My first boyfriend.
All through high school,
I loved that boy.
Poor grades,
But loving joy.
Age 18,
He's a Marine.
That same year,
We're married.
Also that year,
Good and bad fusion.
I went to the Doctor:
Bipolar delusions.
I studied in school,
As husband fought.
It didn't quite help
My paranoid thoughts.
Finished a course,
I'm registered
To look at your tooth,
Still looking ahead.
Other things
I'd like to do.
Surfing the web,
Made a decision.
Tomorrow's the day
I'll be a vegan.
This very day
Still alive,
Still happy and healthy,
Still full of drive.
Living in Cali,
Isn't it nice?
Working with flowers,
Paid a price.
Every year
Goes by faster
I'm thankful for
Love and laughter
To fill the years
And fill my heart
This, my life,
Is what I've got.

My dad taught me
that placement in society
is ultimately irrelevant.
He taught me you can find
your eager slice of happy
anywhere, not just in between
four familiar walls.
I used to think
that if only he had access
to a mattress and a ceiling
he'd find his happiness.
But, I realized -
Who am I
to dictate what makes
another feel complete?
Here, by the park benches,
His heart blooms like
a grandmother's rose bush.
He lives moment to moment.
Cares not for possessions,
Has no schedule,
No place to be.
Has no bills, no debts,
no credit, no ID.
Scrounges the ground
and kind strangers' gestures
for everything he owns.
But oh, his cold, tired bones!
I worry how long a journey lasts
for a lone vagabond.
Envigorated by the sounds
of the sea
and chance encounters
whether they be familiar
friends or family
or the palpable presence
of all that's imaginary.
It all lurches to him
in a grand symphonic dance,
Linking his hours to days,
and days to weeks,
extending outward and upward
to take the heavens
in his grasp.
A pigeon dove lands
on his tattooed finger.
He laughs, and it flocks
to another's perch.
A tree branch this time.
The animals and children
look into his eyes
and wonder about the stranger.
Alone, raggedy, down on luck
but up in spirits,
and they recognize
a body brimming with
presence.
My dad taught me you can be
nobody and still have everything.

Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where Life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.

I am not confessing,
I need not a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling.
Disregarding outward dressing.

Patient soul is resting.
All these things I'm testing.
Life is interesting.
Stimulated, manifesting.

On a wheel that's spinning,
Reaching new beginning?
Callous circle grinning,
Reminding me that I'm not winning.

I saw her in my room.
She crossed it towards my bed.
The music was playing,
A song conveying
Mysticism and wonder in my head.

Maybe it was paranoia.
Or perhaps just fantasy.
But there she was,
Maybe because
I have a spirit following me.

An insect dives at my head,
A winged Kamakazi attack.
I'm startled, I think of ways
To obliterate. My mind returns
To peace. I see the beauty
In the moment. The insect
Charged into battle
By darting at me -
Life's biggest threat:
A distressed, depressed
Excessively oppressive
Life form known as human.
The insect was only armed
With bravery and valor,
A war hero with no chance
Of medals or statues,
Eulogies or plaques.
Scarcely a memory.
Forever.

I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?

I've left my darkness
In the past,
Those days have passed.
I'm now the light that manifests
In a woman of twenty-one.

Like a flower
Budded and scented
My beauty unrelented;
Such power
For a woman of twenty-one.

How much more must we repeat this,
The giving out and giving in.
The constant battle that rages on -
The struggle between women and men.

It's been here from the beginning.
It'll be here 'til the end.
Both sides in this bitter fight,
'Til it is that one side wins.

Taught that they are different
Since childhood's early hour.
When the boy is given a ball
And the girl is donned with a flower.

But the flowers, they have thorns.
And the ***** all bounce away.
With neither, they're long satisfied
With the gifts that were gave.

Instead, they channel their desires
To finding each other, and finding love.
'Til Death Do We Part,
Or until we've had enough.

I saw a bird soar,
It was something more
Than any regular fellow;
Its feathers were the most yellow
Of anything I've ever seen.
How does it remain unseen
With such a yellow gleam?
Did I see it in a dream?
I stopped and stared in awe,
Not believing what I saw.
Yellow and black,
Not a beauty it lacked,
I won't forget it soon;
I haven't for many moons.

You have me
Like a clock that never stops,
Like the wind’s song,
Like the leaves dancing,
Like the stars’ sparkle
All night long,
You, you have me,
Like shivering in winter,
Keeping the goosebumps from dimpling,
Fine lines on skin, a dimple poking through.
Keep me longer,
Under your aching conditions,
I want to feel the fiery, icy burn,
You’re elemental, you’re nature,
You’re primal.
Oh you, you have me,
Like forests whispering, beckoning,
The unknown I can plunge into,
Deep waters,
Surrounding me, drowning me,
But this time, I can breathe.
You have me, you always have me,
Take me, have me again,
Like nature gives, and trees begin,
Deeper roots than we’ll ever see,
Like you and oh, what you do to me.

My love is like the Universe -
Constantly expanding.
It seems an unfortunate curse
To be trapped on this tiny planet.

Orion catches my eye,
As his eyes twinkle and glow.
What a dreamy guy -
Fighting the monstrous Scorpio.

I'll lend you an ear
As you explain time and space.
I can't comprehend what I hear.
I hope it wasn't a waste.

Where our conversation goes next
There is no telling.
Knowing you best,
It's probably melons.

Even though Space is vast -
Other life forms around the bend
And of all the people, present and past
I'd still like you to be my friend.