International Poet

Living Hope When I heard the spurring whisper Like a numinous euphonic jangle My spirit harkened in blithesome tremble The line of nexus Though in swooning spangle Like starry speckle I deciphered, but in eerie medley My heart a glowed But in triumphant bundle!

Love Loves The Spring Everything in the physical world Has its own congenial and genial Season and love has its own season And truly is it the sprightly season Of spring that causes and controls The mighty mainspring of love in The honey-comb of the haunted hearts Of passionate lovers and lovely beloveds. Lush and luxuriant vegetation puts On a green garb of fresh foliage and The wise wind willingly wafts away The pleasant perfume of fresh flowers that Sweetens the hearts and noses of young Lads and lasses who fall in love With each other ardently and avidly And who are in the good graces of Cupid-the lusty and mighty God of Love who adds love's loveliness to The vernal beauty of external nature.

Masterpiece You are priceless and one of your kind, i have a mixed version of your eulogy on my mind. I have your fine name written in my diary, i have your beautiful picture painted in my gallery, i have i thought of you beaming in my memory. You are a great thing the lily of the valley, the most beautiful thing i have ever seen, the natural source of being happy. Your graceful smile left me convinced perfectly created and a must to have, you are-all just because you are a masterpiece!

Insane Small bits of myself was shattered on the floor And scattered it lay smeared with blood of pain I gave the healer time to nurse the sore To pick my pieces and recreate myself again; Thus up I stood with fractured inner core Where wound did heal but gaping scars remain, Inflicted soul sought to escape the gloom And cool the careworn veins where nature bloom. Oh! Words Oh! Words had tormented my nerves And made a perfect orifice through my ribs, What love did breed such vengeful venomous barbs? And ripped the strands of closest relationships; What divine purpose the lashing tongue did serve? Those scurrilous, vicious, cruel adjectives, Today in tranquil lap of mountain vale The curses impinge me in gusty spell.

Poem For Someone Who Is Sorry For Me Just a moment, please! The night sleeps calmly. Why do you want to annihilate the silence of the infinite? Leave my anguish alone, let me protect myself from your perfidious hopes!

What's The Matter With Her? What's the matter with her? Why doesn't she comprehend? A simple task shouldn't take till the day's end, How could they say she's brilliant, It's more like she's starting a dumb trend, What's the matter with her? Does she take dope? Is her mind fogged with bubbles of soap? Doesn't she process information like everyone else? I swear it's like talking to stuffed animals sitting on a shelf. *A little patience goes a long way with an autistic child.

Vertigo There is no east or west sun. Indifference blankets the sky In smoky haze, leaving me To feel my way homeward. A thousand protrusions Slapping my outstretched tentacles Silly, twisting me one way, Rotating another. This way- that. A blind needle Of a compass Bobsledding a labyrinth.

The Beautiful Garden You can come into my garden, full of secrets and insecurities, Buried deep down, where you will never see them, All you will ever see is the surface, Brimming with its beauty and confidence, When one man died, another rose, Where one man is buried, the other visits, While one man smiles for his fate, the other cries, I have killed myself trying to change, That I no longer know who I am, As I stand in my garden, I ask, Can that one man be the other as well? Past and future live, While the lonely present is never, If I let you into my garden, Are you going to dig? Ruin the beauty of the surface, Just to find out things, that you do not want to know, Or will you be content to lay in the flowers and clover, In the middle of a rain storm.

Point Conception Something in this landscape of birthing before it collides that swells in us waves sweating their chaotic cadences consuming accumulated testimonies; the secret tensions transformed from confrontations into love for this headland of discarded inhibitions and primal screams. Here, the world confesses itself. We are its echo, chorus, its refrain, borne by private confessions of unrest to seethe with the sea between our thighs with hope like steel piercing our hearts.

Only In My Dreams It used to be only in my dreams, That I would become a butterfly, And fly to the places that, I could not visit walking on this Earth, But, now it all became a reality, Since I truly transformed myself into a Butterfly, Because the time was and is too short, To live only in my dreams, And now I am free and I fly, Wherever and whenever I want to, But there is this place and the one, That I still cannot visit as yet, And it is you, and those magic moments, That I will live only in my dreams for now.

Sunset And Grief The setting Sun Has been holding by the ocean Casting golden light at sea and rosy clouds in the sky Spring thunders in rain Has been blockaded by the mountain when traveling in valley Made the world shaking and frightening Your sorrow Being caught by me Left bloody marks in my heart My grief Being taken away by wind Drifting away as cloud

Here Lies The In Between Yesterday Was never My view of the future And i never had a collection of broken dreams So when i walk through fields of head markers My soul knows here lies only the in between And if you ever come looking for me Let the silence awaken you To eternity

Haiku A dazzling woman Kills my beautiful poems Every morning. Shards of green glass On top of forbidden walls Sparkle in moonlight. Rapacity To plunder a soul’s gold To buy glass beads.

Dark Night Of The Soul I wish I could forget you, but every time I tried A sadness stirs inside of me, and tears I cannot hide. My thoughts are always with you, and every time I see, A standing stone, a crystal, You seem so close to me. The candles on my alter, I burn them in your name, For now I know my future will never be the same. My mind just reaches for you, I just cant fathom why, You seem to have forgotten me, not even a goodbye. I wish I knew the reason, for surely there is one. Perhaps because of who I am, I flew close to the sun. You say! I feel, I say, I do, but that is just my way. I could not hide the way I felt, that bright September day. The memory of your poems all lyrical and deep, I hear the words within the night, when I am close to sleep. I see so many visions, I know that you do too. If I could only once again, share them all with you.

Nature Advice On a pole across your neck Carrying two chinese water-pots Praising the perfect one on the right For its accomplishment, as you believe, Why you blame the cracked one on the left? Give the weak a chance, Nature advises! It cannot contain the whole water, but Garden expands everywhere: just plant seeds On the left side of the path you walk. See backwards: the cracked pot waters A long line of flowers, drop after drop. The poor pot offers you a rewarding grace. So, pick up those flowers for decorations Enjoy their fragrance; accept inequality Since the weak ones are blessed by Nature. As for my weakness: Take me for what I am And better look for what is good in me.

The Shipwrecks Of My Mind I travel through the Shipwrecks of my mind. Turmoil of the past, stead with time. Into the depths, darkness and despair abounds, Hurt with sorrow, shame with regrets surrounds. These Shipwrecks, What a mess, Strewn beneath the depths. From the depths I see The LIGHT, His hand Reaching out, No more running from Fear and doubts, Battle is not of the swift but of the strong. He calls me to journey along. Placing His hand in mine, with HIM in all HIS Mercy, deeper and deeper we go, Into the Shipwrecks of my mind. Standing and looking out over my wrecks, A healing hand upon my crown rests. Three Seas I see, one of Forgetfulness, Forgiveness and one of No Regrets, swell. Time to release my Shipwrecks, no longer to dwell. Faithful and Powerful is your Love, When my light meets, THE LIGHT, I turn and bid farewell, The Shipwrecks of my mind.

Now Normal It is now normal, the way that sea level has been shaken upside down, a perfect way for have-nots to drown. now normal, the way the deranged order you to pull yourself up while they whip you with those proverbial bootstraps. now normal, to out an operative, and, two tired years later, when you are finally indicted, to be referred to as noble by the news. now normal, to prosecute blow jobs, but not treason, this age of absent reason. now normal, to look back on Nixon with something bordering on nostalgia – but not quite. now normal, to pretend poor people are better off in a dome than a home, though it is sort of scary – for you, not them. now normal, to rebuild a Catholic church by adding a fountain and some marble flooring, forgetting the pedophiles you’re supposedly abhorring. It is now normal. They don’t even need to make this stuff up any more – unless they want to wage official war.

Unknowns Drawing curtains back on ageless Life and lives I never Bothered caring enough about to Touch or be touched by Far removed world less distant After having moved there been Moved by still moving while Standing still getting caught up Clearing out collected relics of Eons ago ruins revealing mostly Fake antique forgeries spread out Filling time and space dispossessed More remains concealed than confided Long guarded secrets spill out Reserved for private ears to Hear nobody ever listened keepsakes Unaware I was ever lost Though admittedly never saying so Reliving history not yet recorded Searching for buried treasure chest Digging up bygone fragments of Eugenic past reduced to rubble What never really was might Have been exiled to oblivion People attitudes places emotions things Changed my life starring roles Cast of characters keeps changing As do endings curtains drawn

Unemployment Unemployment is the sea of desert sea of tranquility sea of scorpion crumbling and slipping having no direction but it is a sea in mind Unemployed is a treee of wooden structure tree of black burnt wood no green bird , except vulture, eagle preys starving for flesh under the tree foxes wolves hunter dogs liquid of mouh of greediness an unemployed is a deaf having hearing power a dumb being a good speaker of the teen blind even being selected in air force earlier a handicappied being skilled physically Unemployed is sufferer from society, family mentally, individually spiritually as well materially hence a diseased like epilepsy abnormality and parlysis Unemployed is a illiterate with a degree a lonely man with thousand friends and relatives a frustrated man seening the youth moving luxuriously a jelous of wealthy playing and dancing youth a blamer of fate

Favela The sun hammers the corrugated iron, cracks the thin boards; but over the sea the clouds push their black hearts closer and it is discussed that the evening will be a washing-out of the runnels of shit; plastic buckets and old tins will find their appropriate pitches, and the children who go down to the city with boxes of brushes, rags and polish, are near to becoming apathetic. This afternoon the music is only anticipating the drumbeat; aguardiente is opening the eyes of old men and bright dresses are all the colours of the desperation of hope. And this is a brief time of the sleeping of spiders and a shining of moonstones on the buckles of sad shoes.

Atavism the sight of a burnt-down car wrenches a howl out of his clutched jaws a raucous primeval howl which is the genesis of fear ashen as our planet atter the big bang and the stench of molten rubber grips him by the lungs the unrelenting howl reverberates in his bones as it suddenly hollowed out ... hollowed out ... hollowed out a myriad sparkles illuminate his mind then at once the history of mankind unfurls, thrust upon him, deaf to the miseries of the heart oblivious to the lament of the flesh it is written there, as a testament to our collective memory that no one shall escape IT no matter how it is disguised whether through the mask of hypocrisy or the smirk at our great cynics and there will always be a burnt-down car to remind us of our collision course with the ultimate unifier yet, we still need the judeo-christian-islamic bogeyman to brandish IT betore our eyes lest we forget and whoever claimed that faith was an exercise in futility equating the love at God with the sent...

Fictitious Line Smokes of cigarettes and mugs full of coffee, next to the fictitious line where the eddy of words leans against and nods, wounded, to my silence.

This Is The Moment This is the moment when I see the dull sky sprinkle pure white flakes bending ponderosa pines fifty feet tall creating a dripping "in tune" as the sun shines through. I smell the clean air, inhaling deep within me, as I touch covered leaves of flowers frozen, no longer to breathe fragrance stifled by cleansing thereof, imbuing soft stillness, I feel, bringing peace within.

Heathen Chant Of nectar (the moss) that bacchanal perfume's lips are made, beauty and the raised choruses of mine, lewd, sensual, blithe. Like algae, odorous, glaucous you emerge, dive again (labyrinths are those brave ones) and now—aye—you part the hair the skin demands. Now—aye—now mine you respond, now—aye—now docile you are.

After The Rapture Spent, sweaty and out-of-breath We lay back and Light a single cigarette To be shared in symbolic Celebration after an intergalactic Battle between brazen faith and Foolish adventure. My tattered wings clumsily Tucked in between my back And the thin Styrofoam mattress; Your head buried in my chest And your matted hair still wet from Our midnight dip in the Styx. Who would have guessed that The heaven of our making Would be like this? .. so Characterized by the mundane, With intermittent interruptions Of surrealistic struggles for Survival: win or lose .. all Or nothing .. one day at a time. As the moon eclipses the last Sight I see before I drift off Is the withered bonsai in the Opening of our pre-war dwelling. A reminder of a time when We still dared to sleep soundly; Carefully wrapped in unencumbered Dreams in the style of our ancestors.

I Was In These Pages Without making you feel at all In lands very distant from you I raised flowers which you like I know I left you by yourself With unforgettable memories... Every so often You felt uneasy Because of my badly digested words You stayed sleepless... During successive days I dragged you towards mornings without a sun I was in these pages. I hurt you with touching songs which I liked I touched you with my poems Again and again, I drenched you With my feelings... I was in these pages. I often took you for walks On the most populated streets Of Istanbul With your heart beating Your beliefs and acknowledgments moulded time Behind blurred window panes... I was in these pages. The sky was different Light was acid Avenues were without people Streets were without soul When I lost you In the stopping of a bus... I was in these pages. I made you wait until mornings On the streets of Istanbul I made you tremble in full jolts while you dreamed During your sighs I threw your shades I...

Computer Of Love Heaven is the width of a look A look is the depth of heaven Pain is the touch of God God is the touch of pain Dream is the width of a soul Soul is the depth of a dream Light is the voice of silence Silence is the voice of light Darkness is the cry of shining Shining is the silence of darkness Rainbow is the gladness of light An idea is the dumbness of the soul Soul is an idea undraped Light is the depth of knowledge Knowledge is the height of light A steed is an animal of space A cat is an animal of time Time is space curled into a ball Space is jump of a steed Sun is the body of moon A body is the moon of love A ship is wave of metal Water is the ship of wave Sorrow is the emptiness of space Gladness is the completeness of time Time is the sorrow of space Space is the completeness of time A man is the heaven turned inside out A woman is the man turned inside out A man is the woman turned inside out A heaven is the man turned inside out A touch is the space of a man Lo...

A Shady City Relentlessly… acid rain… is falling continuously… (It had been rain some day). Street….Never lonely, shadows and shows, So, so…shady shows, shadowy streets. Muddy human souls, cruel crowds, empty bowls, hands, Smoke and fuel that provoke wars. Smokes of glory, empty of principles. A hollow, a show, a shadow and a bare plate. Empty of glory, fin secular hands. Drugs and scare, violet violence On violet dreams. Abrupt, interrupt, disrupt, sudden, rushed, a hundred feet insect falls under a car… Tongue on Tango. Argot of the dirty city, The city of the dirty money. A dirty angel… There’s a muddy injure in his small hand. Scuff, ouch, it hurts, a pain restrains me. Why me? No bread, no brotherhood, no breath… In the middle of the muddy rubbish, Only dreams of glory. In the muddy city in an empty world, I am the child, the baby, A rabbit, A bit.

The Moon Over An Old Temple From behind the temple the moon is ascending. Buddha's ancient aureole gleams on the shiny top. From a bamboo flute a lonely tune flows suspiring: Nostalgic linger of a melancholic, wagging heart! Wild grass sprouts in the slit of the stairway stones Along the road that leads to the golden-lit Buddha! The image of Buddha is getting clearer and clearer. The Living Buddha's yard is hard to see the starlight. From behind the temple the moon is ascending. Buddha's suavely sieving evening twilight and The grave, sad tune of the flute confer solace To the pilgrims, who come from back of beyond! Simple alcoves, old scrolls of painted characters! It's a heavenly renewed temple filled with mystery The silhouettes reflect the people's world in deep Pondering to become like Buddha's shiny heart! Whatever you want, just show off looking at Buddha's Image, where the cross-legged Buddha sits abidingly. Let the heavenly bamboo flute flow out its...

Assemblage Of Heavenly Blue The sky with its tinge of heavenly blue, The sky which is coherent and true. The sky so beautiful with its purplish face, The sky that can conquer the human race. The sky so sweet at lemonade, The sky that can bring the earth an adolescent grade. The sky that helps at the time of drought, The sky that causes newborn seeds to sprout. The sky that can bring crackling floods, Doing so can shed a lot of blood. The sky black and swollen near the river bank, Hungry clusters of flower expecting all they can. The drops of pelting water all hope for, The sheets of rain showers already gone. The sky with it protuberant legs stretched, The sky that can get a house creshed.

Onion I am peeling the onion The first layer is silver red Ok, itís a pleasure to help her in the kitchen An overburdened wife is a burden With children ready to go to school Myself ready for office And I peel the onion The aroma of her food is inviting I peel the next layer of the onion Layer after layer Color fades And turns white A petrified sight A beautiful morning Eyes begin to dampen Onions dampen my eyes It's not easy to peel onions A mastermind created every layer Joined them together With an art of nature And with a care of the man I go on peeling Onion has a secret It secretes dampness in eyes Something to be sorry for "Hey", she calls, "What the hell are you doing? Peel it, ya!" Layers unfold A manifold curiosity Now! It is edible! The tender innerself of the onion I take it to my lips To put it on my tongue

Elegy On the snow in blue twilight I put the moon The iced your sleeping face I shall sink it in snows With your softness With loneliness Beside trees thick with snow Recalling the time passed with you Early evening in spring Fregrance of rape blossoms Even mountain ridge As you looked dangerous In the urban lonely pigeons are flying You would still has stifled Don't you smiled at your infant, yet? Looking up Tingling The finger of the tree with snow and ice Snows- Where shall it become snow?

Peace Is A Woman And A Mother How do you know peace is a woman? I know, for I met her yesterday on my winding way to the world's fare. She had such a sorrowful face just like a golden flower faded before her prime. I asked her why she was so sad? She told me her baby was killed in Auschwitz, her daughter in Hiroshima and her sons in Vietnam, Ireland, Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Bosnia, Rwanda and Chechnya. All the rest of her children, she said, are on the nuclear black- list of the dead, all the rest, unless the whole world understands - that peace is a woman A thousand candles then lit in her starry eyes, and I saw - Peace is indeed a pregnant woman, Peace is a mother.

A Letter In The Wind In Benumbed Weather to run, to break my fetters to smash the death that seized me so to make my way to you my princess, my princess I was still looking in the distance I still believed that all belongs to me I was still swelling out my breast happy to meet you happy to touch you when I heard already my horses neighing in nether world I was still preparing myself to welcome you I was still waving hung by the old mirror when I was told that you had left to make my way, now, near you now, when you left, to hold and embrace you! death chained me up so well that I' m ashamed of crying even my princess, my princess.

Seagulls At Night A twilight canvas barren of life prelude to the masterpiece hovers unseen upon desolate skies waiting to be fashioned. Out of darkness they emerge white winged choreographers painting circles and breeding life. Seagulls At Night soar, faithfully, indiscriminately a free form phenomenon.

The Ancient Heart My ancient heart has made a wondrous pearl of the pains passed. My mind, eagle - eyed, flies high and sees all the Darkness and the Light. The breeze of My hands, caresses the gentle Wombs haping the mountains and the plains. The notes of My thoughts flow in the air, embracing a few passing hearts, and now fade away.

The Visitor Like rain dropping into the sea like mist evaporating when boundaries disappear I grow larger and larger The shape-shifter that sets me free unveils what I hold too tightly, lives behind my masks and in them, in stones too, and mere words Faithful as a rising sun love appears dressed in light to unite with me, to create new life, when I am willing.

Illusions Noiseless wrinkles on our forehead the frontiers of history, shed oblique glances at Homer' s verses. Illusions full of guilt redeem wounded whispers that became echoes in lighted caves of the fools and the innocent.

Carried Along in the garden of love and on the day of deliverance, frisky the morning rose opens her pedals in half-lit simmering of dawn spreading her scent now the night has died on the day and it fell into its face - my Mistress' toll is taken - she started to decay loosing her scent - grandeur - and her majesty the summer too will end and the bleak debris of love it'll wrinkle like waste

At The Last Moment When words are stuck on lips Thoughts get tired and put off / Then There is no prayer and no complaint Why don' t I keep today' s prayer For the last moment? Those bells were fake That rang, Time to time Ears became habitual To hearing falsehood What was truth? What was false? Now is the time To start the journey again What is the difference between False and true? Let me sing a false prayer Prayer in dishonesty And untruthfulness in honesty Both mixed so much Cannot pray for long You closed the door That opened toward the world Now you can hit me With all your bullets Will you now squeeze me To the last drop of blood?

I Placed Stones In My Words I placed stones in my words and screamed at the ocean until i could hear them whisper over the waves I placed my soul in exile and reached through the walls to touch a world which wouldn't heed my thoughts I placed my eyes in the garden and learned to listen quietly for the opening and closing of the dew glistened rose I placed my feet upon a path and realized that i could never turn back until i could hear my words whisper over the waves

Coffee? - Coffee. I brewed it with love, showered with my kisses And poured in a mint green Thai Celadon mug. It settled there and gave me joy in intervals of one minute sips Oh, that the patch in rural northwestern Guatemala far away would bring a yield and serve me this - my perk, my morning delight, my heart's desire. And time could go on making me oblivious to cares of day, find me dancing to music I alone could hear. I have to go on with my sips, get the best from these, grab every precious moment before aroma fades and cup turns lifeless cold leaving only a bitter taste in lip-stained cup where once the coffee was so good. And so it is with feelings- nurture them take your sips to savor all the best there is in peace of mind and heart and soul. And when you sink to all time lows and sometimes hit rock bottom Do not stay there, do not give up. Learn to tread and float and tell yourself it's time again to brew a fresh new pot.

For My Rivals I don't want to lapse into the promiscuity. Lapsed Idealisms obscurity. As around me religions and religious' fail. Nor do I want to write my poetry and prose. From within the confines of some jail? Or see my poetry turn into the paperwork? For someone else's love affairs? Rather I'd see my heart turn against? The sacrilegious acts of The Pen. Clutched in the uncaring money stained hands. Of, my rivals, other men.

Trial Rightful or unjust? It's the place of claims and pleas and lies. Questions reverberate on the corridors of the mind. The hall is crowded and all want to get into the court room. It's the place where I defended rapists, crooks, the man-eater and the vivisector. But who will defend me, the most terrible monster of all? A long row of corpses turn up, they were all called to testify.

Cowboys On The Range I. Cowboys on the range Adapt to wilderness life And arid deserts! Riding on a horse The cowboy aims the rope's loop Towards a bull's head! Cowboys wearing chaps Firing rifle into air To herd the cattle! The sun starts to set They guard the cattle at night When the wolves come out! Full moon in May's spring The mountain lion wakes up To search for a meal! II. The cold evening bites Cowboys prepare a bonfire To cook a man's meal! Cowboys love music He grabs a guitar and sing Country music rules! The fire warms the skin Hands become warm over flames Branch turns into ash! A hot chicken soup So soothing to tired cowboys It perks up the soul! Barbecue chicken Corns, hotdogs and marshmallows One delicious meal! III. Silver moon appears A pack of wolves start to howl Ready for a kill! He shoots in the air To scare the wolves on the prowl Terror lurks at night! Cattle huddle close Upon hearing the wolves' voice Sounds of great horror! Howling wolves st...

Ideals Snow-covered mountains, ancient monuments, a north wind that nods to us, a thought that flows, images imbued with hymns of history, words on signs with ideals of geometry.