Standing ***** under the sun,
Not unlike a Mother tree
And the eager bird
With branches that sway
As if a maestro for the wind
And more free than said bird.

Familiar with family
And independence as though
A miracle uplifting with arms
Wide open tearing down barriers
While tightroping the abyss.

Mistress of the enchantment,
Absolute in her walk,
A lovely vessel of humanity,
A rose infinitely budding,
The soil of the earth.

Forgotten strengths,
Healing the world with actions,
Wiping tears and setting the
Child's dream,
Clear as the light in her eyes.

She is the Andromeda
Of the love story,
The story is of her love,
The divinity which filters
Men from boys.

Caress of the world,
That which causes flight
Or the love that eases pain
From the fall,
Redeemer of lives.

She roars without sound,
Navigator of skies unseen,
Weaving the songs of life,
The wondrous simplicity.

She is more than the rib,
Under the sun
She is Goddess in the children's eyes.

Glorious suffering,
Born among the mysterious poor,
Shredding darkness with tiny
Bits of light that illuminate minutes,
The crests of moments, colorful,
Spreading across a grateful soul,
A manifestation of grace in poverty,
Streets of the nocturnal
that disperse into industrial days
Where they sweat the blood
And honor their young,
The poor have secret places
Gathering in the heart,
A rhythmic harmony in the simplicity,
They hear the birds,
Embrace the wind
And kiss the sorrows goodnight.

If you want to get into the society
You must die to yourself
And swallow alot of pride,
The education is interminable.

Here is what you must do:

Become authentic and genuine,
Speak as the world speaks as
If it were from another planet,
Be shiny in your darkness,
Consult with other dead poets,
Know the difference between
A haiku and a senryu
And not count syllables on your
Hands,
Fall in love but be aware
Your heart will be astonishingly
Broken,
Carry a pen and paper even
If you are going to the lake.

And if you have loved and lost
I suggest the following:

Read a book in the middle of a park,
Look dignified while doing so,
Walk around in soliloquy,
Bite your nails in public
As you write;
This suggests a deep thinking
Moment is occurring;
Talk on the phone at home
With a new friend for hours.

If you really want to be
In the society
You must know how to dance
When there is no music,
Wipe your nose with the inside
Of your shirt,
Laugh at the abyss of life,
Cry at the grandiosity
Of time,
Look in a mirror and have a staring
Contest,
**** the paper you write on
With sonnets about ***.

Remember also that you must
Conquest the metaphor and allusions
Of yourself,
This involves but is not limited to:

Falling for a circus acrobat,
**** roaches and then write the
Experience as a poem,
Become part of a vicious cycle
The break it,
Able to appear and disappear
On demand,
Kiss a baby that isn't yours,
Ask a newly married person
For their phone number,
Go to the Pyramids of Egypt
And see what the big deal is,
Cross the street using only
Your peripheral vision,
And finally to become a full
Fledged member,
Well that one is easy,
We all do it anyway.....

.....Let your soul shed it's poetry.

Dozing the life in worthless ink:
It is the ink that calls forth something
Deeper hurling itself forth from
The depths of everything that is
   You Poet,
          You Poetess.
Your thoughts that gallop and gallop
As your you birth inklings but fill
Nothing and return to stagnant water.
    
A second ago your poem had
A hundred hearts that cheered
And the words were over their faces
As the rootless poem of me, me ,me
Was given and the lightning was
Given out of habitual commonality.
    
I invite you dig up Rage!

Rage, not only against the dying
Of the light,
For yesterday is tomorrow's
Memory, tomorrow is today,
I invite you not to die of death,
     But to die of life!
Fill the words with rage,
That of the current event that
Moves nations, birth the poem
Of sacrifice, become the metaphorical
Martyr, you are a Poet Saint!
Rage,
    Deep in the immense crystalline
    Soul that cries to fill the void,
Become the tree firmly rooted
But still dances with the fury
Of the wind!
Rage,
   Speak the truth of the world,
   Fight with words of the inequality for
   Those that cannot speak,
   Become their rage!
Rage,
   There a homeless child
   With no lucky star of her own,
   And the words will fill you,
   They will devour the abyss
   And you will rage against
   The flowering of nothing's bloom!!
Rage,
   Dig deep and see the world
    With words that become differences,
    With a shining of the light
    Where darkness was before,
Rage,
   And the words will become you,
   The poet and the sacrifice,
   So be it if the poem only has
   Two hearts, unpopular as it
   May seem, it is a reflection
   Of the guilt they carry.
Rage,
   You Poet,
You Poetess,
    The world needs Poet Saints.

Reading,
         Reading you,
Reading me:
Symphonic emotional intelligence,
Words like a violinist.
    I carry them with me
Inside my mind applying reality,
       The unreality passsing out of me.
The poems speak like see through natures,
The clarity of my discombobulation.
      You all become real.

   Archives of the souls
    Instantaneous connection
        Closer than
Touch:
Your words resonance with every
Fiber of my being.
    Your words
Invent more words,
    Your emotions tie
The world's shoestrings,
    The experience shared
Is a reality of musical theatre
    And it kills the silence,
The silence of the mind.
     Your words are movement,
Be it from a past,
     The metaphysical dance,
A kiss of gentle air,
    The idea is a life living
Recovering from the enigmatic plague
Of ignorance.
    Though I see the bird sing
My heart stops when it I hear it
Through your words;
    Connectivity.
Reading is not reading,
    It is saying what your silence says,
Art becoming life in an echo of YOU.
       The words that I understand:
Yes, the pain is also a gesture of reality,
     It lets us know it was real,
Your tears,
      Your secrets,
           The murmured past,
And as I read it becomes as the
Sun on morning dew.
   Beginnings,
Endings,
    You become apart of me,
I become part of you,
      Not words
But music in the silence.
And the moment will come
When you hear it too:

The poetry:
Crystalline humanity.

Between us:
A mirror, a desk, a wardrobe,
My self and you, a bed and the
Enormous night.
There are moons splintered, a sleeping
Star, further still the morning.
There are dogs barking, a short wind
As you've taken the evening's breath,
The slow cooling of the earth
As birds humm and crickets chirp.
Between us the thirst that dwells
Under your caressing,
The distance is hard and slow,
A suffered savor of the momentum
Dragging each other slowly
Towards the living Waters that
Liquid lovers two, becoming one.
Your body wears my touch
And my soul inside your glance.
I die into you, you into me
At the precipice of sunrise.
Our names are far away,
Your transparent gown in the
Phosphorus glow.
Your eyes between is a great distance,
All that I ever hope to see;
Between your thighs an hour
And a thousand kisses.
I find that the distance between us
Is the love deeper than the abyss
Of the skies,
Between your ******* the distance between
Is the heart that beats rhythmic
To my soul,
Inside you we lose all flesh,
Between us souls.
Defenseless night,
Between us everything and nothing.

In the eye of we the peoples,
    In the overblown blasphemous
Political whirlwind,
    We have dug up Rage:
In the empty theatrical deities
     The idols explode
And spit on the origins of forefathers,
      In love with their own *****
The fountain of verbiage overflowing with
     Truncated quotations,
The people leeches become sharpened
By lies and pockets filled
By industrious rats,
     These juggling ideologies
Play the frustration of the suffering
    Like strings on a stained violin,
     Paradise of caged freedoms,
Stairway of repetitions,
   They paint Messiah over
Their foreheads,
We drink of the fountains
Of bitter water,
We crown the snakes and surprisingly
Ideally we are shocked
To be bitten.
    The fire speaks words of water
And the river ends in a fall,
     Canes and Abels,
Over and over ,
Into the storm we run,
Spinning darkness from light,
     As we drink
We must ask:

Where is the other water?

Poetry,
         Suspended moments between
    My truth and
   The truth lived.
A stillness in motion,
      A path of action like history,
Only the truth is to be it,
To walk it and ressurect it
In the words.
     I am in my body
Knowing myself outside
In a sea of pages.
    My poetry scatters,
The ghosts remain:
      Poetry is a shared fury,
      A shared oblivion,
      My sorrowful song
Hidden deep in my Mother's womb
The unspoken part of my birth,
     Retracing the lineage
Between seeing and believing,
    Writing the constellated persons,
A torrent of memory,
A melody of love,
I close my eyes
     And the words of my blood,
Footsteps of my words,
     My pen covered in a quarter moon
Translucent like a fountain of night,
     Poem that travels through me,
Scatters into the ink,
    Words spoken
Reverberating quietly into eternal
        Whispers.

In the streets of sunrise his
Name is unknown.

Blend of dirt and vagrant
Under said bridges.
     Lowly
Living under storms.
    Stillness of hunger,
Sad, sorrowful,so wise.

    We will sit in rooms
Upon the chairs with laptops,
     Filtering his memory
That no Google search will find,
     He has no screen name.

The only backup memory
Inside his faceless book.