On Becoming Poetry


Kiss by kiss
tracing her freckles,
alighting stars
in the firmament of her skin,
the heavenly silk
where a poet himself falls,
forever in her womb to burn,
a nebula giving birth to life.

Wandering Thought # 25

The more we grow the more we realize how inadequate our education in the face of life—it prepares us for no more than being practical, which means, cogs in the economic machine, useful to it as appendixes, but as for relationships, hurt, death, suffering, joy, creativity, birth, and all the rest, it has so very little to say, so very little to offer—it does not care for us as human beings, individuals. In small and great matters we have to educate ourselves, find strength, fortitude, and will in ourselves. On the rich and wealthy human history of literature, painting, poetry, philosophy our education draws so very little, it draws only on what is necessary for us to become socially and economically functional. But we others, we human beings, we free spirits, we breathe differently, we will differently, and our education always begins late in our life.

Free Verse # 252 (my heart a blue flower)

Her hair
a nocturnal river
where stars like fish
dart in streams of light,
poetry traced
amid the banks of night.


Heavy with dawn’s nectar –
my heart a blue flower
eager to spill
into her open palms,
wash her body
with the purity of my silence.


I write, and each word is a breath seeping from her inner sky.


Studying love’s flame
an anchorite
to annihilation burned,
now a river carrying the breath
that enlivens the world,
floods the sky with light.


A touch of silence,
upon her lips
the burning edge of dawn.


Amid her breasts poised
the aroma of the night –
a mystic flower breathing
the essence of dawn.