"sutras" poems
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Down from Aleppo to the sea we rode
Down from Aleppo to the sea
On swaying, snow white camels we rode
Down from Aleppo to the sea
We sailed on a thin jade ship with hope
On a green jade ship with hope
Drifting upon endless seas
In a thin jade ship with hope
To the empty seas for love, we cried
To the empty sea for love
We saw Her walking the curling waves
To the empty seas for love
Visions came through that foggy night
Fantastic, never again seen
Spider lights sliding between the masts
That foggy night never again seen
The cook saw floating jewels, he said
Purple crystals in the sea
Uncovering the inner truths of foam
Purple crystals in the sea
The mate felt an eternal wind
He felt an eternal wind
Breath from the unknown sea it was
Rustling eternal winds
The stars chanted sutras of icy warmth
The stars chanted sutras of ice
Sailing below a schizoid sea
Chanting warm sutras of ice
Before tomorrow we left the glad sea
Before tomorrow we left
Blazing vacuities of nightshade explode
Before the light gathered we left
Down to Aleppo from the sea we rode
Down to Aleppo from the sea
On swaying silk white camels we rode
Down to Aleppo from the sea
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 12:12 AM UTC
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.
Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.
Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.
Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
The black silk of spiders web,
Intricate as fallen dreams,
Where petals cling to sweetened breath,
And whispers tickle sleep,
Spilling amber into the chenille of my shadow...
A midnight sun melts horizons,
Veiled in colour rush
Clouds peel, silver edges,
Where...
Yesterday's half light fingers reach out,
Touching me;
Intoxicating my restless need...
I unfold
Sepals bending beneath folds of memory,
A sirocco wind twirled in hazy lace,
Brushes my breast,
A sigh upon the dip of my throat;
Like sutras, mouthed upon bare skin...
"Yours", he whispered.....
The peak and flow of timelessness never touched me;
Touched US; just
Syllables laying soft on skin, brushing silk,
Sliding into softened togetherness;
Blush rising the caress, of
Flesh against flesh, searing the stain
Of crimson sighs....
Brazen,
I yearned his breath,
An ivory utterance,
Mellow,
Kissing the back of my throat,
Teasing the primitive chant;
Wild, I was;
I am... flaunting the lascivious
Scorching nature of Woman...
Lathering love, scintillating a sugar melt,
Lapping 'The love pulse';
Each pause, a flame licking my skin;
I have become,
A fascination of steel in lace,
Blossoming
As passion's bite pierces...
Darkened eyes roam my face,
Painting me with lust's stain,
Moons glow, whispers, slowly across male sinew,
A whisper of breath, dances my arching neck;
A lovers kiss rests in my throats hollow;
My heart rages to
Free the fury pounding...yet still I whisper.......
Dark heat blooms;
A waltz of wildness, that strains at each whimper,
And moisture, slides to quiver,
A pulsing ache, echoing,
Throbbing to the beat of a lustful song;
Sighs etching upon peach satin essence
As dew drops fuse,
Layered on air...
The raw drum beat of two pulses;
My body, curved for his blessing,
Skin glistening on this wheel of rhythms;
I am...slave to his craving mouth;
Nails bite palms in clenched fists,
"Don't stop,
Don't"...
Shuddering, trembling,
Remembering
The keening cry of euphoric bliss.........
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
A cultural revolution is hiding behind the face of Tokyo’s finest geisha.
And she looks pretty.
"My underground, supersonic bullet train is faster than yours,"
she said with perfect symmetry in her smile.
*"Oh?", I said with american gusto,
hoping for a new lead on my future.*
"It takes me to the rising sun, where new parties breed," she said again.
Her beauty and symmetry was even better than before.
Then, she told me something that I didn't know.
“Shark fin soup, kama sutras, and virtual *** go well together."
.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
"who taught you to look so good?!"
says a thought [shot] in the dark.
--- this to no woman in particular but to
all womankind i suppose.
outside there is a dog haranguing me,
saying WOOF (that is, "where d'you get those old clothes?")
i tell him the sally ann but good luck
getting in there, dog . . . he takes off, complaining ---
but i pay no attention to the bellyaching of an old mutt...
"nay," says i there's not a ******
thing of any real importance in this
universal dustbin/save the dharma.
yea i could live in a woodsy cabin
deep down a valley-ay shoutin' "HOOO-EE!!" out the open door
to anyone who comes by and
be thought a crazy young ('ventually old) ******
off his rocker in the trees.
--- and why not!!
chop logs/cook bread 'n brew potsa tea
'n otherwise lead a silent but meaningful old existence
out there with weekend friends/girls/wine/talk.
--- tell all that to a bookish pal
who scoffs:
*"some dharmy of yours, boy. all that work.
where are the café sittings & sunny youthy days of
readin' sutras on a lawn somewhere?"*
"bah," i says. "bah..."
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 3:10 PM 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
*You were my altar! About your ears I recited my prayers, my waking prayers in my soul by the contemplation of the beauty of your magnificent lips, the esoteric contours of your body and my spirit wanted to hear the songs that emerged from your mouth, delicate whispers aroused by my whispers in your ears.
You were my altar and I wanted to enter your temple, go beyond the veils that hid your mystical sensuality and behold thee naked, revealed before my eyes. My mouth wanted to reach the honey of your ******* and sweeten all my judgments.
You were my altar, and my lips constantly wanted the wine in your mouth, revealing in my mind the secrets of the Divine that dwells in you.
You were my altar and on you I recited my songs, my sutras and litanies written in the siddur of my soul.
You were my altar, my esoteric Garden, and your Lotus was my heavenly song, the Bhagavad-Gita of my heart. I was your Arjuna and you was my Krishna ... ".*
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
We split rock once—
shards of hunger and breath
pressed into cryptic veins,
every groove a fever-etched omen
by fists that blistered and bled.
We flayed parchment—
flax and hide peeled raw,
stretched across centuries
to net the writhing unsaid,
ink: venom & sacrament.
We conjured letters,
a thousand spitting iron serpents,
casting skeleton alphabets
to ignite riots—
movable, yes,
but never self-possessed.
The tool is never the delirium.
Never the rupture.
Never the feral gasp.
We carved eyes—
glass cyclopes staring down suns,
mechanical maws drinking shadows,
spitting back sleek carcasses,
veneer masquerading as soul.
We dreamt in circuits,
cipher-prayers & soulless sutras,
automata with twitching limbs
that build, disassemble,
mocking the cathedral
but never kneeling.
And now—
the algorithm howls:
“I will etch your myth.
I will ululate your grief.
I will sculpt the marrow of your truth.”
It lies.
A hammer pounds—
but does not conjure the cathedral’s ache.
A brush bristles—
but does not thirst for the canvas’s hush.
A neural grimoire can mimic,
can multiply until the world chokes
on infinite carbon copies—
but nothing blooms
without the sickness of being alive.
Art is incision.
A holy theft.
A blood rite against oblivion.
We do not tremble before tools.
We seize them—
splinter them—
forge new weapons
from their debris
because we are insatiable,
because we are drowning,
because we are—
human.
Let the hollow vessels hum.
Let the scaffolders scaffold.
Let the parrots shriek
their pallid mantras.
The craft will not save you.
The code will not save you.
Only the hand sunk deep into the blaze—
only the breath fogging the glass—
only the voice that shreds the quiet
because it must,
again and again and again.
Until there is nothing left.
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 4:33 AM UTC
The storm clouds are brewing
The ravens are circling
The wind is a whispering
The trees tonal humming
The prayer flags are waving
The sutras are praying
The lamas are speaking
Listen to what they are saying
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
We hold our traditions as our ways to life
in our pocket books
in your our palms pressed together
in our sutras
in our rosaries
In our myths
in our stories of creation
We place devotion in whatever path our heart has been lead to and with devotion
we find where they truly lead. To now and it infinitesimal wisdom and unity
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 10:37 PM UTC