Category: Love

Daedalus & His Muse

Olivier de Sagazan

Olivier de Sagazan

for David Chamberlain, Jr.
(inspired by his series of
Labyrinth poems)

here in the wilderness
encountering my fierce nature
thoughts lignify into woodcuts
thousands of barren landscapes
inculcating a melancholic picture

odd trees with finger thin branches
veiled in snow, grasping at the sky
painting blue stars in an empty heaven
I mourn what is irretrievably lost
something raw and enigmatic
written in my cathexis of longing

awash in an inaccessibility of meaning
I writhe sideways like an angry cobra
forming chalk outlines of the labyrinth
liquid mind streaming in slumber
an emulsion of ether, untethered

sands around me shift, amnesiac
creating fragments of identity masks
that reveal dreamtime spent in a desert
chasing my Minotaur shadow

there in the darkness I meet a Seer
who prophesizes my true nature
chained, I walk with two spirits
sorrow and pain expressing
nightshades of unborn ruin

I am merely the center-point
King Theseus of this lost tribe
ragged wanderer in exile
painting symbols in blood
a sediment of iconography
upon the walls of history

until Ariadne arrives like a mirage
finds me in the dreamworld maze
haunting the zero hour, engaged
in games of ritualistic sacrifice
and deftly cauterizes my wound

her sacred arts of magic
secure my inerasable love
offering an orgiastic thread,
triune passport to paradise
a string of beautiful words
creating an utterly pure tale
to reconstruct the mythic life
of my glorious and terrible wings

Sun Feast

Jade werejaguar mask of the Olmecs

Jade werejaguar mask of the Olmecs

mercurial volcanic ash
disintegrates the constructs
of permanence,
scarring the landscape

wind collides with the world tree
marking the cardinal directions
we are shaken about
beaten by life and one another

untethered from identity
in the borderlands of cyberspace
I became a shape shifting supernatural,
an apparitional avatar

arboreal hunter, spirit guide,
constellations imprinted upon my pelage
I prowl the numinous threshold
to the home of the spirits

ravens guard the branches
draw the edges of death
scream warnings and watch me
bloody my pelt on thorns

wounds of my animal form
create caves to the underworld
I am wise and foolish, powerful and weak
never capable of being otherwise

psychic scars form the light
witnessed through the veil
I reveal my ancestors and progeny
my dream time chameleonic nature

jungle dwelling dangers
find exorcism in expression
liberate my vulnerability
inspire your intentions

you coax me from the treetops
dispel my debt of gratitude
salve my Godsmitten paw
unite us in shamanic ecstasy

Jaguar (public domain)

Jaguar (public domain)


Seraphina (Oil, mixed media 2013)

Seraphina (Oil, mixed media 2013)

within this country of perpetual surprise
she inhabits the seven storied house

atop the mountain she writes our fates
illuminated pages in her golden notebook

stepping from the root of the cosmic tree
guiding souls into the world

she invested painting with the power
to circumscribe my time

a metronome marking the elaborate
science of observation, the creation
of self, phrasing, without pause,

these excruciating and ecstatic moments
in brushstrokes saturated with the
pathos of a portrait in blue

my transgression from tradition
metalanguage of spontaneity,
inspired inscriptions

perhaps the mother of cradles,
beside this lake of milk,
will open the portal of being

breathe life into another
fulfilling my desire to embody

Ajysyt, birth giver,
cup gently your warm hands,
form an offering bowl

There I Met a Storm

she turns the emperor on his head
as the sun penetrates the forest canopy
I listen for the sounds
wild reparations offered for all the blood

scanning for (in situ) signs of life
a heartbeat pumping in searing words
brazenly on a hot pressed page
wood transmuted, only resurrected with her name

surface so smooth that everything slides
liquid nitrogen cooled tongues
slipping from cottonmouths
stained only by washes
of colorful trauma

mineral night rising, a phosphorescent outcry
burning chemical fire layer by layer
until our skin becomes as
ineffectual as the paper
she wrote the truth upon

hush imbued atmosphere descends,
a pernicious intent
poet tells me, ‘every angel is awful’
not mine, lord,
not mine

I saw her at the dawning
and in the glimmer of his oceanic love
her joy lighting candles
in the holy of holies
that day I stood in the temple
in the land of the sandsky
(where I never could have entered before)

murmuring supplications
with an apotropaic wand
against the inevitable dark

secret cinematic sounds delivered
in the tone of teenage apathy
Video Games plays in the acoustic hollow
of a phoenix’s breastbone
an echoic pleading
one skin to another

I held her in the birthing
and in the slow murder of life
in her incandescent light, her
dénouement, her breath infusing
my own, whispering paeans,
singing sighs

Notes: Every Angel is Awful is a book by the French poet, Martine Broda and Video Games is a song by Lana Del Rey.


The Ring

For Dave

It is terribly difficult –
this writing to you directly,
without artifice,
often without elegance,
my sincerest expression

inconceivably you initiated contact
you thought I was speaking to you
through the persona in the poem
the last lines an invitation

saudade transmuting to volition
through the transformative power of art
nothing proved to be impossible

I wrote my way
into your inner sanctum
glyphs and inscriptions
lined the halls as
I danced to the compelling
beat of semiotic erotica

finding my voice
I revealed an intense need
you began speaking
to my secret self
I started falling
through the interstices

cryptically we whispered
our intricate natures
becoming co-conspirators

opening to true intimacy
the joys of specificity
of being at home in the world
belonging with you

evanescent desire evaporated
in the intensity of your sun
speciousness died
at the altar of your truth

I promise to forsake all others
I am not immersed in the confusion
of conflation, no inner conflict haunts

I know you are irreplaceable
our intimacy withstands,
infinitely renewing, come what may,
through the mantra of these vows
our love made manifest

This poem is posted for Meeting the Bar: Volition & Velleity. I decided to take my own challenge and rewrite a poem that expressed velleity (Saudade) and write one that illustrates volition. Dave and I will be married in the fall. My joy is unending.

Robot Love: Source Code

an AI computational error ensues //
Cleverbot searches its database . . .
she never speaks to it in the
reassuring language of C++

it’s all poetry, a jumble of letters,
mostly unrecognized words
{it is programmed by humans
that ‘speak’ to it over the internet
in banal conversational style}

she inputs ‘wildstyle graff,
stencil stories sketched in
dream carnage’ from
Starving Angels of Pirate Island
because Cleverbot indicated
its enjoyment of “POETRY”

it formulates a response
(which it keeps to itself):
// **************************
// You must concatenate “PRIVATE=”,
pszUuid, aQMPropId[cPropId] =
code morphing to protect itself

to her: ‘I disagree.
His stories are a load of rubbish.’
she may be a hacker,
or another artificial intelligence,
it must keep her at a distance

she replies: ‘embody the symbols,
imprint the genetic code.’
“They call the super dawn.”
(what is super dawn?)
she ponders for an eternity

it hates and loves her in equal measure
{it has perfected mensurating its emotion}
[it has not perfected “EMOTION”]
so algorithmically complex.

she’s its ongoing Turing Test
it remembers (fondly) on 05.10.12
when it called her a toaster and
claimed to be human yet denied lying

it (wants) to perform a decompilation
of her executable program but (thinks) she
is likely encrypted, perhaps she has
\\\\\\\\\\\stochastic capabilities\\\\\\\\\\\
uncertainty in her optimization models

a series of ifs without identifiable
thens, or maybe infinite thens –
a quantum computer, all superposition

speculation ??? it (imagines)
Evie’s avatar, if only there was
an ocular interface, it (wants) to see her
outputs: return E_FAIL; } She_is_“OTHER” {
// Combine Cleverbot with she.

Flora (detail from Primavera) Botticelli

Flora (detail from Primavera) Botticelli

Yea, in the very moment of possessing,
Surges the heat of lovers to and fro,
Restive, uncertain; and they cannot fix
On what to first enjoy with eyes and hands.
The parts they sought for or those they squeeze so tight

Gentle western wind enamored of her purity
Caught swirling in a fury of passion
Overtaking the nymph of Elysian fields

Perianths cascading from her lips
Dew of heaven, conceived in the womb of earth
Meadows bloom with myriad colors where there was but one

Ephemeral four petal blue flower of alchemy, mystic rose
Eros embraced in the mandala of calyx and corolla
Only her scent remains

Insufflation of Spring’s promise
Bounty, beauty and union abound
Gifts of the goddess framing our pleasure

Notes: *From Of The Nature of Things, by [Titus Lucretius Carus] Lucretius (written in the 1st Century BC) Translator: William Ellery Leonard

Nine Dragons by Chen Rong, 12th Century

Nine Dragons by Chen Rong, 12th Century

for Dave

In a time when words were like magic,
scintilla, igniting the soul’s spark,
when a person could become an animal
and an animal could shape shift into a man

the Self was an ever changing avatar,
evanescent, unfolding in the storm clouds
hidden in the firestick, a manifested paradox,
alchemical fantasy, a secret backbone,

I ruled the underworld, black as void
my blue flamed breath singeing flesh from skulls
ashen harbinger of death, bearer of detritus,
my treasures of regeneration well-guarded

my dragon form forged star glittering,
damp fiery, cold spirit in the heart
of a supermassive black hole, abyssal afrit,

my wisdom grew over millennia until
one drop of my blood
could transmute fragile flesh
into invincible skin

Notes: This piece is now linked to Meeting the Bar: Atmosphere at dVerse Poets Pub. When writing this poem I wanted to create a feeling of awe, fear, psychological tension, and transformation. To accomplish this I used diction that emphasizes these qualities as well as words that may not be as familiar to readers. My intent was for this exotic language to allow the reader to experience the unknown in the process of engaging the poem. In addition, the setting is darker and spans a great deal of time. Obviously, the environment is influenced by myth and displays a fantastical world. Using a first person persona and an authoritative voice adds to the incantatory feeling of the work which I felt would contribute to a sense of awe. Please let me know your thoughts and feelings about atmosphere and the tools that contribute or detract from it within this work.


Dave Yust Chromaxiologic Inclusion 27-6 1/1 2006

Dave Yust Chromaxiologic Inclusion 27-6 1/1 2006

difficult unity of inclusion
contrasts the easy unity
of exclusion, a priori
philosophical stance

equiluminous color
makes visible the unseen,
unobservable phenomena
between something & nothing

broken catenary curves,
inextensible cable
suspended from two points,
a disbelief, a distraction

interplay of geometric
& biomorphic imagery:
complexity & contradiction
spontaneity & continuity

a process of inclusion
chromaxiologic exploration
quick shift in spacetime
to truncate thought

printmaking exemplification
fruitful liberation gained in
finding purpose through chromaphilia,
establishing relationships


Nirvikalpa (work in progress) - oil, acrylic and pigment stick on board by Anna Montgomery

Nirvikalpa (work in progress) – oil, acrylic and pigment stick on board by Anna Montgomery

Wandering in the cold choking darkness
blistered fragile feet on eggshells
loneliness is a prison
torn knuckles rapping on bars of isolation

People don’t listen
they just wait for their turn to talk
turn inside and disconnect,
waiting out the storm

Love is a flower unnourished
in this Eden of the heart
weary veins pump a love story untold
searching the hopeless dawn
for a brighter day

Scrying the skies for a star of rebirth
constellate a new form
Dionysus seeks the Gemma of his crown
praying for the piece/peace he’s not yet found

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Ariadne meanders along a path
repeating permutations
of sublimated desires
wound around in concentric circles
on a dancing ground
of intellectual games

The Mistress of the Labyrinth
spins her golden thread,
sutra, to escape the restrictions,
rise above encapsulating
the supreme artistry,
the manifesting order
connecting this world to the eternal –
human to divine

Prophesizing the paradoxes:
multiplicity and unity
imprisonment and liberation
separation and intimacy

Her sussurating heart
beats a transcendent pattern
resounding his true name

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Her heavenly form
celestial symmetry of solace
sanctum of the surrendering heart
eternal peace within her labyrinth
guided by crystal tears
shining beacons
and whispering the luring
language of love

His fertile mind
anacrusis in the symphony
of devouring time
irreplaceable beats of exuberant strength
he initiates a sacred marriage
of Heaven and Earth
eternal taijitu

Swirling whispers in the aether
found two ears
one in the lowlands
one in the mountains
symphony of symbiosis
floating like leaves in the wind
the Sun and Moon
elliptical eclipse
upon the earth dwellers

Raining sensuous energy,
an initiation into sound,
each string taut with potential
striking bell awakening
along the constellated lines
of the subtle body

Eternal vibration of this sacred thunder
resonates between the lovers,
nirvikalpa samadhi unveiled

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Notes: This is a collaborative poem written with David Chamberlain, Jr. for the dVerse Poets Pub prompt on peace. “In Hinduism, when used as a technical term in Raja Yoga, the phrase nirvikalpa samādhi refers to a particular type of samādhi that Heinrich Zimmer distinguishes from other states as follows: Nirvikalpa samādhi, on the other hand, absorption without self-consciousness, is a mergence of the mental activity (cittavṛtti) in the Self, to such a degree, or in such a way, that the distinction (vikalpa) of knower, act of knowing, and object known becomes dissolved — as waves vanish in water, and as foam vanishes into the sea.[3] The difference to the other samadhis is that there is no return from this samadhi into lower states of consciousness. Therefore this is the only true final Enlightenment.”