Tag Archive: poetry


Falling Leaves

Miyamoto Musashi Killing a Giant Nue by Utagawa Kuniyoshi

‘I have not followed the paths of other men. I have lived without the benefit of a teacher and by my own devices I became master of myself and thereby master of the sword and the brush never differentiating between any of these arts.’ – Musashi (1584-1645), Japanese Kensei, author of the Book of Five Rings

Fierce Shout: Before battle to unsettle the enemy!

Book of Earth

No man is invincible
there is only honor and dishonor,
his death written in the calligraphic ink of his study

Endeavor to know all things
becoming more aware of the world
an essential strategy to defeat the enemy

The work is more important than the worker
you are the spiritual conduit
become one who sees what cannot be seen

Book of Water

All life is the battlefield, focus your intent
the brushstrokes and strikes of practice
are not separate from their execution in life

Man and brush have one purpose
communion with the spirit of the thing, this is the
way of the warrior, sword embodying the soul of the samurai

Be as falling leaves, with no preconceived notions
Stab the heart with your expansive mind
Extend your spirit above the enemy

Fierce Shouts: Each time you strike, to maintain your resoluteness of spirit!

Book of Fire

In mortal combat you must fight to win
mean what you are doing, otherwise
you are performing tricks

Always control the enemy
keep him on the defensive, draw him to you,
be stronger in spirit and resolve

Cross the ravine with the courage of your convictions
impress your attitude upon the world
force imbalance, taking others by surprise

Book of Wind

Clever people do not understand
temperance of spirit, their tricks and false attitudes
are very dangerous to the uninformed mind

Do not be afraid to get in close
attack with power not strength
with quickness not speed

Your attitude at all times is to attack
practice with the spirit of killing the enemy
meditate on this way of strategy

Fierce Shout: In victory to honor the spirit of the thing itself!

Book of Mu (No-Thing)

The spirit of the universe is an emptiness
which is no-thing, man can have no
understanding of this place

Everything is revealed
to all men as they desire it to be revealed,
by their own definitions alone

True no-thing-ness is Mu,
the universe in relation to your art
and your art in relation to the universe

Everything is within, everything exists,
seek nothing outside yourself,
you are the spirit of the thing itself!

Tomb on Mount Iwato

‘With every note
of the mountain temple
sunset bell
sorrow arises as
day turns dark’*

*Japanese Woman Poet,
10th Century

Connected to the best pub on the web for poetic delights: http://dversepoets.com/2012/09/04/open-link-night-week-60/

Divine Game

For Sainkho Namtchylak and Claudia Schoenfeld

Experimenting mystic
at the junction of Cyberia’s culture
two notes/one sound
imitating nature’s call
Tuvan Khöömei youth
encounters Soviet Union
classical music education
creating a Lamaist jazz mantra:
I am the shaman of my life

rumbling spirit timbre emotes
through a seven octave range
the space of meaning and feelings
beat drives the insistent vocalizations
like wind echoing in Artic skies
forming the transformative art
of an intoned sense

groaning, guttural sound
grandmother city dweller
revisits the tundra of childhood
‘tender bird of timelessness
touches me with her wing’
intuiting secret sounds
that would not be taught
‘hidden chords of thought’
woman on the outside
even when looking within

bodhisattva cries as
‘my sleeping pulse awakens,
trembles in front of my eyes’
how can I keep from singing
resonating frequencies that pierce
illusory aspects of the self?
‘artificial addendum of the human voice’
making sense in this divine game

‘aural quintessence of the spiritual world’
giving voice to the sacred fire
developing the capacity to imagine
fullness arises from emptiness as
‘absolute harmony is born into silence’

*All quotes are Sainkho Namtchylak’s; Cyberia is the name of one of her albums

Circumspect valleys of ideologies
severed cords encapsulate the shaded tale
a world of grave unraveling

while larks enter through divided windows
to tables set with glass ornaments
alighting on a fine layer of dust

upon the weathered cowering folds
of history’s long inscribed divisive night
discerned by keen eyed philosophers

detritivores tunnel, long spools unwinding
gods consume fervid clamoring masses
moles in fixed ratios delineate lost markers

these property lines in space
each a bounded deontology
a tetra pylon, cartography with no names

obedience is a breath taken without prophesy
a wilderness unfettered by human desire
an undertow on volcanic shores

whirlpools capture victims unsung
as long whispered fears signal
to reach disintegrating caves

As promised I am reposting from the archives. This poem was originally posted here:http://chromapoesy.com/2011/07/27/moles-in-fixed-ratios/ and later incorporated into another poem Leontion’s Universal Faculty: http://chromapoesy.com/2012/04/13/leontions-universal-faculty/ . If you missed the explanation of my blogging break you can find it here: http://chromapoesy.com/2012/08/01/extended-absence/. Also, I am not visiting other sites with regularity so if there’s a poem you’d like to call my attention to please leave the link in the comments section and I will visit soon. Thanks!

Theoretical Physics Fantasia

You enter my thoughts in a
rush of sensuous imagining
I hear you speak my name
with that gentle knowing tone

Energy flashes through my body
in waves of heat and longing
engulfed in the softness of
your tender touch arriving
creating such pleasure
from so very far away

A monumental attraction
inventing calculus to grasp it
each excitation mode a plucked string
ringing the notes of elemental particles

Tension in the string defined by alpha prime
a theory of quantum gravity
involving strong coupling constants
dilation of oscillating modes

Force and matter in supersymmetry
curve in the geometry of spacetime
where our lives intersect
miles collapse, spirits intermingle

Deep level where the separation
between large and small distance scales
becomes fluid, alpha and omega
parallels the intimacy of souls

New dimensions of mystic bliss
intoxicating artistic flourishing
ecstasy entwining the core of being
expansion and contraction reaches the plateau

As supersymmetry breaks forth releasing creative force
awe, more than a million books could ever detail
fragments of delirium spinning into
a tapestry of mutual love

Light floods the rooms of the soul
we are everywhere and forever at once

As promised I am reposting from the archives once a week. This poem was originally posted on the collaborative poetry site Carbon Noise: http://kshawnedgar.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/theoretical-physics-fantasia. If you missed the explanation of my blogging break you can find it here: http://chromapoesy.com/2012/08/01/extended-absence/. Also, I am not visiting other sites with regularity so if there’s a poem you’d like to call my attention to please leave the link in the comments section and I will visit soon. Thanks!

‘to introduce among them the habits and arts of civilization’

FADE IN:

Scene 1 EXT. DENVER, COLORADO (1864) – DAY – ESTABLISHING

BLACK KETTLE CHEYENNE CHIEF (Voice Over)
. . . we came to the conclusion to make peace with you . . .
we want true news from you in return . . .

Scene 2 INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE – DENVER, COLORADO – NIGHT

MAYOR WYNKOOP to MESSENGER
We’ll release our prisoners in exchange for the release of theirs
tell Black Kettle’s Cheyenne and Left Hand’s Arapaho bands
to go to Fort Lyon and camp 40 miles outside at Sand Creek
there they’ll be under the protection of the United States troops

Scene 3 INT. FORT LYONS, COLORADO – DAY

CLOSE ANGLE ON COL. JOHN MILTON CHIVINGTON
Damn any man who sympathizes with Indians
I have come to kill Indians, and
I believe it is right and honorable to use any means
under God’s heaven to kill Indians

Scene 4 EXT. ENCAMPMENT OUTSIDE SAND CREEK, COLORADO – NIGHT

The camp is full of soldiers drinking heavily and celebrating the victory to come

CAPTAIN SILAS S. SOULE
He means to attack a peaceful settlement
all to further his political ambitions
LIEUTENANT JAMES D. CANNON
He risks court-marshall
what are we going to do?
CAPTAIN SILAS S. SOULE
Refuse to let our companies join in
I don’t see any other way

Scene 5 EXT. SAND CREEK, COLORADO – DAY

MONTAGE:

A) Bodies are strewn through the creek and along the banks
B) Women, children, and elderly are clearly among the dead or dying
C) Cannons have been used against the civilian population
D) Small bands of soldiers are shooting unarmed people pleading for their lives
E) The tribes horses are either dead or let loose
F) CHIVINGTON’S soldiers are looting the gifts given to the tribes in the peace treaty
G) LIEUTENANT JAMES D. CANNON and CAPTAIN SILAS S. SOULE
return to the white encampment

END MONTAGE

Scene 6 EXT. SAND CREEK – DAY

Several days have passed,
the soldiers have left
the survivors have fled

CAPTAIN SILAS S. SOULE (Voice Over)
The massacre lasted six or eight hours (beat)
it was hard to see little children on their knees having
their brains beat out by men professing to be civilized (beat)
they were all horribly mutilated . . .

Scene 7 INT. CONGRESSIONAL HEARING – DAY

LIEUTENANT JAMES D. CANNON
Men, women, and children’s privates cut out
I heard numerous incidents in which men had cut out
the private parts of women and stretched them
over their saddle-bows and hats . . .

No charges were ever brought against any soldier

Scene 8 EXT. PRISON YARD, FORT MARION, FLORIDA – DAY

RICHARD PRATT (Prison Commander) to HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
The end to be gained is the complete civilization of the Indian
his absorption into our national life (beat)
to lose his identity as such (beat)
the sooner all tribal relations are broken up
the sooner he loses all his Indian ways
even his language, the better it will be
for him and the government

Scene 9 INT. PRISON SCHOOL, FORT MARION, FLORIDA (late 1870s) – DAY

MAKING MEDICINE (CHEYENNE WARRIOR) now DAVID PENDLETON OAKERHATER
You remember when I led you out to war
I went first, and what I told you was true
Now I have been away to the East
I have learned about another captain
the Lord Jesus Christ, and he is my leader
He goes first, and all he tells me is true
I come back to my people to tell you
go with me now in this new road
a war that makes all for peace
where we never have only victory . . .

Scene 10 INT. MISSION SCHOOL, INDIAN TERRITORY, OKLAHOMA – DAY

Indian children are learning English

OAKERHATER, an ordained priest, died in 1931
due to efforts by the Oklahoma Council on Indian Ministries
he was named a saint of the Episcopal Church in 1985

FADE OUT:

Cheyenne was a name given to the tribe
by the French from the word meaning dog
the actual names of the tribes
Só’taeo’o and Tsétsêhéstâhese
mean ‘Human Beings’

PSALM 23 (Translated into the Cheyenne Language) Watch the video to hear it read.
1. Tsenetästs nähane-atämistowinots, howähe nätsää-hoehätsto.
2. Täss näoh˙che ofshemäne tsishekooits; täss näoche-naaväotseä tsehish-hakoomoaäts.
3. Epavomoh˙tämän nämätäsoomä: näoh˙che-naaväotseä mayo tseh˙änowewostäne-havistowits havitof.
4. Haaha! homäsowitto täss näämin tseh˙owaooistä näastots tseh˙vaato nämissääato howähe hävs; otä net’ savioh-tsime stoh˙to nähiststähäo.
5. Nenestä-ahän täh˙amissistots mäato nävaämeo: nämakon nevishhinin’ amowe ämskavä näpavatänoh˙tots aha-iotomohin.
6. Onissyomitto pavatsistätots nä shevätstästots nätshoeoe oishavä tsehwostänahivitto: nä-tseavhäs Tsenetätsiss himhiyon äenitto.

Psalm 23
New International Version (NIV)
A psalm of David.
1 The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

THE END

I find myself in a rage

Inhabiting the mythical sincerity
of a murdered poet (run over & over),
once seen as calculating and insincere

like a youth who doesn’t know anything about himself

Sides with the party but isn’t a member,
posits policemen are the true proletariat –
haunted by a father who saved Mussolini

except that he is new and rants against the old world.

Tries to express the viewpoint of the believer –
finds it hard to escape the self reflection
of the inner bourgeoisie, really, who wouldn’t?

Buys a castle in Viterbo, north of Rome,
illuminating the coprophagia of consumerism
in a film based on Sade’s 120 journées

I don’t hide this state of mine:

Poetry reduces to defense, compromise,
renunciation, naïveté that shrivels prestige –
how much reality can there be?

I never have peace, ever.*

* Pier Paolo Pasolini (Director, Poet, Philosopher)

je suis diaphane

‘brought into being by nothing other than the look’*
using poetry to stitch the seams, painting them with vitreous enamel
burnishing golden orbs of beauty, enhancing the visual field
to make the world seem habitable
inherently empathetic to human existence
when does the illusion, this disembodied utterance,
enter firmly into the realm of futility?

jamais vu à travers

philosophical argument merely hints at a promise of liberty
floating upon the surface of psychological experience
a convincing conundrum that won’t unlock
inner barriers to designing boundaries of self-definition
societal viewing provides ample opportunities
to manifest cognitive dissonance, reinforcing the brute
that omniscient spectator-god within the man

emmuré dans ce paradoxe

feminine artistry is required to remain comfortably incarcerated
chaos churns with near indomitable force
why fight when you are forever outnumbered?
control may simply be a part of the disease
disempowering internalization of the oppressor’s abuse
replaying his semiotic position as the maker of meaning
whom I know is never she, never me

une illusion, un fantasme masculin

called into existence through the male gaze, the internalized observer,
objectified and exploited by possession and protection
filming my every move in art house cinematic style
encircled in an ouroboros of scopophilia
blinded to feminist themes, it traps what’s possible
entangling these hands, bloodied with struggle
incapable now of creating and preserving identity

une créature spécieuse, chose éphémère

scraping molded forms to sharpen focus
no spiritual value arising from inherent worth
only sculpting my usefulness in a deterministic role
voyeur’s fantasy allays the weight of moral consequences
fixing upon the screen the sanctioned story
i am a dissociated, breathing pleasure toy, imaginary signifier,
an unintentional participant living in a heightened state of unreality

Notes: *Christian Metz, French film theorist

Scopophilia or scoptophilia, from Greek “love of looking”, is deriving pleasure from looking. As an expression of sexuality, it refers to sexual pleasure derived from looking at erotic objects: erotic photographs, pornography, naked bodies, etc. It can also be described as intermittent desire of gazing at. Alternatively, this term was used by cinema psychoanalysts of the 1970s to describe pleasures (often considered pathological) and other unconscious processes occurring in spectators when they watch films. The term was borrowed from psychoanalytic theories of Jacques Lacan and Otto Fenichel. Critical race theorists, such as Bell Hooks, David Marriott, and Shannon Winnubst, have also taken up scoptophilia and the scopic drive as a mechanism to describe racial othering.

French translation: I am diaphanous/forever seen through/immured in this paradox/an illusion, a male fantasy/a specious creature, ephemeral thing

Reposted with notes and additional material for Karin’s French Poetics Prompt at dVerse Poets Pub http://dversepoets.com/2012/07/14/poetics-a-french-twist-for-quatorze-juillet/

ངར་དྲགས གངས་ཅན
in the mystical Himalaya utopia of Gangkhar Puensum
I journey to the unexplored center of the earth
traversing the home of her thunder dragon

trekking the sacred mountain of enlightenment,
cosmic mother of inspiration and perseverance,
painted with the prosody of blue poppies

sambar deer and snow leopards twist with linguistic delight
beyond the nival zone where meta-language rains down
high velocity clouds upon my grand-design spiral galaxy

I pass orchids with angelic authority
producing quantum fluctuations
in these pleasure grounds of the immortals

searching cobalt, alizarin crimson, and marigold skies
to light paths to heaven limned by terre verte steppes
burnt sienna cliffs adrift in flurries of dioxazine peaks

here the spiritual embraces mythic potential
coruscant intellect entwines deepening emotion
melodies skip along jagged thresholds between worlds

intimating my life is an art form, creating meaning
in the liminal spaces, semi-permeable membranes
across a constitutive defensible line

poiesis arises in my being, an action that
transforms and continues the universe
transmutes experience into aesthetic bliss

in my union with the unknowable, a gestalt entity
forms upon this untamable, niveous mountain
a memento mori of ars poetica

Linked at and written for Gay Cannon’s fabulous prompt Ars Poetica http://dversepoets.com/2012/07/12/poetry-on-poetry/ at dVerse Poets Pub.

Gilda’s Demon Core

Crossroads Able Target Ship Map

23 nuclear tests to end all wars, you see,
There’s never been a woman like Gilda,
The first plutonium-cored, pin-up girl,
1946 femme fatal bombshell (she’s already killed twice!)
Stars in B-29 Superfortress, Dave’s (Wet) Dream

Her aim point Nevada, that focal point of sin
Painted whorific red, sex-toy fun for the bombardier,
Amidst 3 obsolete U.S. battleships (well hung),
2 aircraft carriers (top guns), 2 cruisers (playboys),
11 destroyers (bad boys), 8 submarines (spooks),
And 3 German and Japanese ships (losers)

She laps up the Able Target Array carnage
Gives atmospheric nuclear fallout head,
Spewing an ocean of emotional wounds
Special Delivery propaganda porno flick:
‘Air power is peace power!’ hard on baby
Film noir fireball glory for a superheated Cold War

Operations Crossroads testing at Bikini Atoll
Depravity reaches the Atomic Ark tasting her full fury
Naval uniforms specially made, the animals dress the parts
She blasts goat #113 after tethering him to a gun turret
While swimmy little piggy #311 comes home sterile
167 native islander witnesses, however, cannot
Her encore will be performed by stunt double Bravo,
Another 15 megaton super dirty girl

‘Men fall in love with Gilda but wake up with me.’
Rita Hayworth, on her five failed marriages

Operation Crossroads Able

Posted to Open Link Night hosted by rock star Tash http://dversepoets.com/2012/07/10/openlinknight-week-52/ celebrating a year of community this week!


‘I am Indra, the king of heaven;
of the senses I am the mind;
and in living beings I am consciousness.’
(Bhagavad-Gita 10.22)

Vrtrá, asura ahi (demon-dragon),
whose name embodies
one who encloses, obstructs,
a thief, inveterate hoarder,
fetid breather of greed
with immense thirst drinks
every drop of water in the world
most precious source of life,
leaving death in his sloshing wake

God of thunder and rain,
mighty Indra, wielder of vajra (lighting)
representative of the East, master of elements
Agni (fire), Varuna (water), and Surya (sun)
warrior of courage and strength,
astride Airavata, divine cloud-white elephant,
five-headed Ardha-Matanga,
vows to free humanity of Vrtrá’s evil:
disease of consuming chaos
curse of asat (nonexistence)

Emboldened by soma (draught of immortality)
driving Airavata’s thundering charge
through Vrtrá’s ninety-nine fortresses,
Indra strings indradhanushya (the rainbow)
with vajra striking the dragon’s belly –
splits it wide open releasing a deluge of water
rain falls from lavender skies to bloom the lotus
all beings rejoice, sing sacred songs,
to mark the end of the spiritual drought

Linked to the dVerse Poets Pub Poetics Prompt Whatever the Weather: http://dversepoets.com/2012/07/07/poetics-whatever-the-weather/ hosted by the boundlessly talented Stu McPherson