Blossom – Rebirth of a lover

“What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.” 

– Kobayashi Issa, Poems 

“A fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought –But no, a butterfly.” 

– Arakida Moritake, Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology 

crazyformusic

Lightness, adrift but within my grasp always. 
Your like the blossoms of a tree, brushed off by the wind, 
yet still you belong to me, 
though we are apart. 
We are intertwined souls, mated by nature and God. 
Soon I shall lift you back up, 
from my roots you will be reborn 
to forever be one with me.
Your my bloom my love, this tree will always sustain you. 
I long for you to be on my branches once again, 
the whole of nature in agreement with the union. 
Oh how naked am I, my lover! 
How my branches sway at the sight of you! 
Come clothe me with your fragrant beauty, 
and let us be whole again!

08042011

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Frankenstein

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Loneliness, dissatisfaction, and depression are all signs that my heartbeat sits in the background, flat-lined and breathless until I use it. Then I see it’s deformity. During my socialization, the malnutrition of nature and nurture led to a distorted development, an immature birth, an aborted process of creation. I patch up these defects with anything I can grab until I, a zombie Frankenstein, could attempt to imitate the living. It’s very obvious that something’s not right in this ambling beast. My expressions of adoration are awkward and stumbling, and especially given to extremes of violence and overcompensation. I’m quite adept at camouflaging their deadness with faked kindness and sweet articulations. In the world of the living dead appearances are deceiving. 

I use many things to stimulate my undead “love”. Money, words, drugs, and appearances can all be used to bring in the deformed masses that they may “love” me. I’m well aware they love my gifts, leading this Frankenstein to once again, lay on a mad doctor’s operating table to perform more abortions as I attempt to fix what can only be transformed by a power much greater. I felt real love once, when I sought a God that could deliver me from this horrid process. After I feeling it, it disappeared in my religious ideals and ceremonies which produced nothing of the vibrant love that I longed to possess. I know my last hope is in a divine intervention, and as I lay down on a stainless steel table of deliverance,  I wait for Elysian lightning to strike a real heartbeat in this Frankenstein of love. 

Arachnia – Many ways, many hands, many deaths

“There are spiders whose bite can cause the place bitten to rot and to die, sometimes more than a year after it was bitten. As to why spiders do this, the answer is simple. It’s because spiders think this is funny, and they don’t want you ever to forget them.”
  – Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys 

 

Brushing lightly against you, a breeze carrying your seeds

Alighting on me, travail of my soul just to begin

Fire burns the course of nature through my primal veins

Caught now by the spider silk of your trouble

I feel the pull of your bite sinking my soul into rapture

Your many hands finding their way, using my body

Your many eyes seeing everywhere I hide

My escape now wound in your lair, wander lust begins

In circles you lead me, my mind numb with senses raging

One escape grabs my fainting sight, away from you I fly

Also published in Broowaha 

01192012

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.” – Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.” – Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall

Utility of Love

“We are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being. As a result, men are valued not for what they are but for what they do or what they have – for their usefulness.” –Thomas Merton

 Utility defines our passions embrace

Only together can we both go far

Industry becomes the nature of us

Survival is our language of love

Laying down sentiment for reality

Struggle unites that which is contrary

Bound by an instinct for air

Two are better than one when drowning,

From these turbid waters we will escape

Utility of Love

“We are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being. As a result, men are valued not for what they are but for what they do or what they have – for their usefulness.” –Thomas Merton

 Utility defines our passions embrace

Only together can we both go far

Industry becomes the nature of us

Survival is our language of love

Laying down sentiment for reality

Struggle unites that which is contrary

Bound by an instinct for air

Two are better than one when drowning,

From these turbid waters we will escape

Pleasant Company – Nature’s brotherhood

“Our task must be to free ourselves… by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and it’s beauty.” – Albert Einstein

DMW Sager

Start off easy, morning sun, waves in the distance, crashing their applause. Wind tickles the leaves creating an uproar of green and brown laughter. The wind again, running through the boughs, skipping with childish delight from one branch to the next. Spotlights, sun breaking through the tropical canopy, like lights on a dance floor. The trees give up a few tired friends, they fall to the ground, a crackle, snap, and a crunch, their dieing cry. Some stubborn appendages hang on for dear life, rigor mortise has their woody fingers clinging to rebellion against nature’s whips. Through the clearing, a dark blue sea, a stark contrast to the subtle deep green and yellow new growth. Not to be forgotten even miles away from its brother forest, waves cheer back, their voice carried by the mediating wind. Peace my younger brothers, sing with exuberance at the arrival your visitor.

The Pines – A breeze in the pines

“To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.” – Helen Keller 

“Remember, the storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability.” – Ho Chi Minh

 

I hear the pine needles whispering their lullaby

to me their silent infant

Soft are the blankets laid down by so great a choir

Finding myself in their comforting bosom

My eyes close, resting in natures embrace

This entrancement such a pleasure,

the ancient care of God’s nursemaids.

The Pines – A breeze in the pines

“To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.” – Helen Keller 

“Remember, the storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability.” – Ho Chi Minh

 

I hear the pine needles whispering their lullaby

to me their silent infant

Soft are the blankets laid down by so great a choir

Finding myself in their comforting bosom

My eyes close, resting in natures embrace

This entrancement such a pleasure,

the ancient care of God’s nursemaids.