Carpe Diem

 carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

seize the day, and as little as possible put faith in the future.

Horace, Odes 1.11

let your ripened fruit fall far from the tree,
or gently pluck it by your timely decree;
enjoy this day before the sun folds its rays
and gives all his light to earth for decay;
for sweetness in abandon is quick to spoil
falling to disgrace from which time recoils
to dig a grave that poor memories want to fill
where flies consume what’s now past its due.

Heaven of Love

when you connect with another,
as a river connects with a sea
or as one sea flows into another,
you are not just forging a bond
between the other and yourself,
you’re expanding the great universe,
a heaven of love and human being.

Love’s Not a Fragile Thing

We’re taught that love’s a fragile thing seeming
that changes direction with the slightest breezing;
that love’s a sister of pain, an enemy of pride;
that love’s a deepest desire forever denied.

but these are the wicked lies of a god of envy,
luring us from bliss with false apples of plenty,
lies hissed by tyrants for dissuading mankind
from the will of love, from who they are inside.

Shattered Mirror

When I wrote for you a poem,
I was surprised to see my love
in a mirror yet to be shattered
reflecting what was you was me.
Yet since that sad goodbye day
when we went our separate ways
when the mirror felled scattered,
I’ve searched wide and far between
for pieces of our sweet memories
to see ourselves smile once again;
our lower notes with the very high,
whiter colors with the blacker dyes
never ceasing this my lonely seeking
for our fragmented reminders who
when together manifest our desires.

Torrent of Love

Sunshine doesn’t chase the raining clouds away;
no, it comforts tears with hopes of better days;
and higher tides kindly hold the hands of the low
Look! If they are in pain, that is all they know;
night looking forward to eternal night of sorrows;
this is the agony of souls, fearful tiny sparrows.
Do you wish them the music of their quivering beaks?
Why not instead give them your pure sunlight sweet
streaming as rainbows stream past wings of a dove,
transforming their torment in your torrent of love?

Where My Soul Song Can Sigh

how long have I been carrying this world?
I cannot know answers that I’ve never heard
but it seems like it began lifetimes ago.

for I have created its art with my struggles,
the woes of those who similar have suffered
friends who enjoy the agony that’s my mother.

yet by this heaviness my arms are now giving,
all the universe is tumbling to its sinking
landing into those who in gravity will stay.

I cannot remember the soul fragments felled
for I never saw the whole I once eagerly held
eyes never seeing truth, by salty tears swelled

but now I’ve lost all my effort and my will
to advertise this my pain, to decorate my kills
so here I alone remain wondering, floating, still

being from where I imagine the monsters receding
light receiving whatever my dark ocean did hide
that I long to be where my soul song can sigh

Healing by the Song of a Dove

has your brittle heart been broken?
have doctors sentenced to disease?
do not believe and do not despair;
just let the water find its way to you,
whether arriving by earth or by air.
no matter how tiny is the crevice
it will without effort flow inside you
like music through paper boundary;
and if left untreated, it will fulfill
every passageway and every room
even the tiniest of hidden wounds,
where no song seems fit to bloom,
it will overflow into them endlessly
into skin, to cell, to every single atom
until your body sings in mighty ocean
life-giving sea seeding what was barren;
fish breeding and birds feeding, life, joy:
such is the nature of this , our divine love
ruining all to heal by the song of a dove.

Love

Love doesn’t grow from the ground,
for you are no sweet flower, Love;
you cannot be plucked by carpe diem
nor by lust can you be stolen.

Love doesn’t greet in early morning
around the grasses as dewdrop rings
to only vanish when noontime sings:
gone until the next one

Love, you’re here forever shining
yet we see through prism’s binding;
and as many portraits we have painted
so many have you from us receded

the great beauty of the eye is a veil
that does rise and fall as the seas
only to vanish into vaporing skies
faint memories of our living

for earth, she mixes Love with Swords
and all that lives and dies is in her
while Love is the purest of her hordes
yet by no means is Love the rarest

but the opposite to this is our Love
a Sun whose light our wings alights;
and even if this fire will find its end
Love will ignite him yet again

Mother

let the life and the death swirl around you
dancing one hand inside the hand of the other
they mingle as air mingles with denser dirt
as rainbow loves its end the same as its birth

why do you avoid these, nature’s gentle storms?
control is born from a fearful mother’s scorn:
fear in the heart of every modern man and male
has made into fish the mightiest of the whales

tiny fins frantic to capture every drop of rain
dying from the remote salty beach-like plains
for she never wanted you to safely swim away
lest you find the love you deserve to find one day.

Yin Yang

how do I write songs when the language I speak
has no relation to the world they see?

I have wandered way too far from what is known;
to be closer to you alone, my dearest love;

where unnamed creatures roam between the stars
I’ve kissed lights we believe to see from afar

where aspects of my skin have no fixed substance
to keep me by agony separate from you.

no. here, our bodies simply fold into each other
twisting round as yin together into yang forever;

how can I write a love that belongs to forever
with a language that flows into rivers run barren?

magic is not something we can ever truly realize
unless we want its wonder to meet a stale demise

for there is no mind that can follow where we go
where love is sunlight and the moon is our home;

making love to give birth to the fire of the stars,
the hope of the world, the lights who seem afar.