#sutra
Everyone knows the book about the king
his power, the counsellors and the grand
palace with all its inner gardens
full of wonderfully scented flowers
but I describe what I have learned
from experienced men, Horsehead
and Goldnavel, about pleasures
in the dark, behind the corners
where shadows cast secrets
of concealed doors to the corridors
through the silent basement maze
where desires are fulfilled
by round beds and soft
women who cover you with sun –
their backs wave and groan
as my nails write immortality
in their skin and their breath
hops like a hare or sighs
like a crescent moon with hairs
that rustle when they lie down
in the wake of my hand
I just let other people
work and rather feast
upon love, night and day
Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC
*Goddess of my Awakening dawn. Let me observe your illuminated skin, the divine and sacred scroll on which God wrote my mysteries.
Your golden follicles, the infinite world light receptors and creation, are the crowns on the letters of the Holy alphabet noted on your wonderful body.
Your nakedness is esoteric and when you gently Spending my eyes, revealest your sphinxes, angelic hieroglyphs are the notes in the score sung by Serafim.
Goddess of the dawn of my awakening. Your lips are the divine Edenic sources of heavenly delight. Your kisses are horseback riding chariot igneous creatures, souls sparks coming through my mouth to rest in my spirit. What could be more sacred than emerjantes kisses of your mouth? What could be more divine than your beauty and the light of your sensuality? Es, therefore, the object of my poetry, awakened in my mind the esoteric view of your magnificent *******
Goddess of my Awakening dawn, Princess Christed rof aurora of my soul. Kiss me and make me your scribe, the immortal annotator of your mystical sensuality.*
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
"Perfumes up, who poetess for a woman, it makes her as a mystic rose, exhale about themselves, their fragrance of her sensuality."
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
.
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
she’s so phat!
can’t deny
a simple fact
it’s worth a try
to start anew
all that we knew
to forget
for good
or for worse
i don’t need a purse
have all the mon
in the world
all the gold
so cold
make it warm
love’s a storm
has no form
but a sphere
wild deer
still dreamin’ of ‘em
ain’t no Eminem
just a young man
of arms
charity and alms
such a rarity
in our selfish world
of calamity
unthinkable disaster
tulip, rose and aster
make your heart beat faster
like a drum machine
Dash Berlin
voice and beat
so neat
that girl
a friend of my soul
rhythm
with no blues
happiness
i choose
to carry on
fighting
for what’s right
sleepless
day and night
shaken but not mixed
i still get my kicks
from palm reading
all my wounds
are bleeding
with red wine
guardians of time
lost in their stride
stick to your pride
follow your dreams
anguish sins
belittle the devil
within you
there’s a universe
of wisdom
an ocean
of beauty
get no *****
but acclaim
your name
done in clay
on the walk of fame
let’s call it a day
21.05.2012
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
here i am again
remember me, my friend
or i changed so much?
is my hand you touch
so unfamiliar?
and a little wrong
the feeling you possess
but it is so strong
no need to confess...
that’s the truth
everyone knows
nothing
there is
that can stop us
from making mistakes
eating bugs and snakes
and then regretting
forgetting
who we are
have we gone too far?
XVII VII MMIII
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:07 AM UTC
Lily on my crown,
My soul is rooted with sunflowers,
Love springs from my lungs.
Death is a garden.
Affection a coffin.
Hedge around ribs,
Holy light tightened on heart,
Beating carols only heard by dogs
Like a whistle, thistle on my knees cutting heaven real deep.
Tulips lace my tongue
Taste of angels, backwash of Lucifer.
Eyes pupiled amethyst. The healing stone. My world is healing while thorns and samsara hold my ankles to material and the edge of avarice.
World of loom hill parade ecstasy while weather ignites to 24° psychic readings being hosted in palace atrium & column walls where the archaic clock gongs upward to ****** addict ghosts and mental wards in lucid Babylons.
Lovers screaming against bombs, blister billow black clouds and smoke with marijuana haze in flats and compassion for grief cottoned years.
Rumble of music soaked into ratless insulation, long conversations with the insomniac self who hides from monsters inches over his head.
World of daysetting group understandings amidst orange moonlight. Coalmine haired bereaved droop nose man crawls from darkness for another cigarette on the balcony, 4th floor apartment complex in May. Depression hit like **** **** fogging out the brain.
Emptiness is the west.
Travelers who sway on driftwood face The Cascades acknowledging past times, revolving themes and bullet mouthed villains who seek away from starvation from ego lacking.
Their bile is sentences and the rest, anyways.
Japanese instrumental rolls through closed eyelids in flashing Technicolor, rabbits watch the highways unaware of mortality.
World of bicycle rides on packed ** Chi Minh
City 2016 Winter where twenty-something North Americans go for pho while others go for broke. Palm trees polka dotting college campus in Afternoon, insects whine for the daydreamers. One is writing poetry in a small Vietnamese cafe sipping earl grey inspired by the Oriental clutter and a redheaded girl back home who paces frantically in the attic besides a crooked lamp scrawling flowers to the rotted whitewood panel work
The artist’s craft is a keepsake for eternity, as wells dry out and desert becomes ocean, poems will melt to matter zipping to outer space, satellite ink spots expanding by forever realms.
Pillow foot sole cracks shell casings on forgotten battlefields in later decades, wiping off grit shoeshine boy corpse particle reformation and fairy spit from brow, the last mad prophet sees visions of Christ as arachnid wretch black widow who venomed our bones with rapture,
doom wax peeling away after the damages had been committed.
Now I check for spiders beneath my sheets.
Banshee howl symphonic sorrows leak in unison with all lanes of commuting traffic. Denial curse for positivity, mindset slate hiding
The weary souls radiance. On the 15x down Johnson! psychedelic chasm quakes through the wheels and my thoughts are spinning sunshine!
Washing machine dynamo recollections of whiskey spilt over carpet dark sand shade while La Vie En Rose resonates from playerless pianos topped with incense sticks in arabesque ashrams, imaginary shelters. We all have one!
Nick Cave is sleeping by back row while we approach final stop in front of bankrupt Chinese corner stores. He’s murmuring Oblivions and the bus keeps on going.
Death is a garden.
Tears are its rainwater and bucket flow.
Nectar pattern reveries honeybee the flowerpots.
Peoples sprout from them bloomed full.
Rosy reaper blasts past the solar system in a comet rocket since she saved the aliens, she hums Vivaldi and huffs a good huff from her cherry cigar.
She tightens her starlight hood and black holes be born.
Torn apart Pluto goes
B A N G
Comet delirious ignores the decimation
And shouts the Lotus Sutra
“ALL GODS WERE TOO PASSIVE”
Reaper hollers back steering by the milky way and beyond on their hallucinogenic trip.
Lily on my crown.
Crown for the kingdom
wherein Reaper resides
and sings with galaxy ukulele to
the great empty.
Great as all can be.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Driving off on the side roads precarious and dense
with firs holy beneath the florid specter of roseate afternoon,
purified with rainfall on the montane bladed rocks
holding together cliff face edges of highways.
I'm present with my black coffee humming while
folk plays on the radio and my sweater from the
consignment shop is still captured in spellbinding redolence
from the girl of my dreams. Nearby, a hidden path boasts a cliff commanding flowing pacific waters pronounced with gold
among mountains obscured in shadow.
Companions cross the valleys reciting sutras and tracing fingers through this blessed land, treasuring the trees, firesmoke ascending from beyond assembling woods thick and overgrown.
Doe and rabbit bounding from rocky terraces alert and surviving instinctively while riverside cabin homes hide a while yet from the long driveways and cozy mailboxes hand-painted or made of wind-bent tin cans.
I'm flourishing slowly and with periodical decay in this garden growing while I grow and life is beauty and spasm devils as am I, this I know.
We're matches momentarily lit in the weary hands of stars
to guide them in the darkness.
My hair will gray from death we jest
and I will live before I rest.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
I dream at will
both asleep and awake
swirling all colors
delighting all
who happen to dance on my path
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC