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Another Love Poem: Boundless Bloom

July 13, 2010

I really believe writers will always need to write love poems. ❤ Robyn

Boundless Bloom

She is love, she is love over and over. She is a beautiful anomaly expressed ten thousand fold ten thousand ways in ten thousand things and two years is only a part of her unveiling; she will magnetize the world with love and sail over the infinite landscape of every beautiful thing. She is an avant-garde adventurer chiseling through cement toward the seed of the soul and when she reaches it she will find herself mirrored back at herself, mirrored back our hearts before we have hearts in our chest, mirrored back a ray of timeless love as godhead, mirrored back a billion points of worldview deciphered by a well-trained third eye spirit blooming from spirit all around her, regenerative. my woman is a utopian dream and universal principle, beauty must organize itself around her, around her a pale city glows as a passionate macrocosm, around her bleakness becomes utterly incompatible. She is the softness of my satin. skin and the pounding of my pulse they are engraved so deep in me, engraved so deep this indention of a life into a life, engraved so deep that they are not truly themselves without both halves. She is the capstone component on an altar of bliss the essence of a moonlit kiss the intimizing cooling of november mist, the intimizing cooling of particles brought fatefully together into something like a song booming out solid and strong fated to vibrate as one. My lover is a grandiose love conspiracy revealed solely soulfully to those who truly see her, you can watch her sway in so many flawless ways always animated, she basks as two palm trees drifting along through quickly passing summer days, so many flawless ways you can trace her somewhere within the novelty of shamelessly used cliches, so many flawless ways you can find her guiding you like a sixth sense to the exit of a massive maze, you can still yourself and feel her following you into calm caressing cool or you can follow her flame steps leading you through a hot lush dripping pool, the best parts of both. She is a strange familiarity a childlike sense of deja vu a sagelike intuition wise and true, a strange familiarity that I never knew until the first second I saw her look me at me with those deep, detonating eyes, the love of my life, I had hoped she existed for all my life, an edgeless sense of bliss that will never never never die. Love multiplied over and over and over more boundless than the sky, she is.


The Painter & The Poet

July 13, 2010

Love is truly amazing. It allows us to endure through tremendous hardships and find destiny amidst vast chaos.

The Painter & The Poet

He shines in everything she paints.
His essence saturates each stroke
swabbed by her meticulous touch
onto canvases of splendor.

He shines in everything she paints.
His motives broad curves of body
bold and pronounced as they    display
resolution in strong contour lines.

He shines in everything she paints.
His repertoire of professions
feel as deep to her as textures
her brush could hope to recreate.

He shines in everything she paints.
He brings cultured composition
conjoins shapes once incongruent
but now organic masterpiece.

He shines in everything she paints.
His piety in her pigment
propels color across her world
igniting in rapturous hues.

He shines in everything she paints.
His poise pacifies impasses
juxtaposing colors together
in simultaneous contrast.

He shines in everything she paints.
His touch calms all disaccord
constitutes all values of light and
fills the void of negative space.

He shines in everything she paints.
He induces innovation
invokes lust like Mona Lisa
unorthodox as Last Supper.

He shines in everything she paints.
His eyes capture what they covet
content to share that second pure
as an impressionist piece.

[original poem splits here into an adjacent column]

Her voice in every word he writes.
Her allure resounds boundlessly
breathing warmth into all his words
strengthens each piece he composes.

Her voice in every word he writes.
Her fantastic free-verse figure
affects the senses sensuous
as the smooth sound of assonance.

Her voice in every word he writes.
Her fine-tipped passion possesses
the pen as it scribes the semblance
of cherry tree’s outspread branches.

Her voice in every word he writes.
She’s pen to paper in his arms
aligns disjointed reverie
gives form to sundry fantasies.

Her voice in every word he writes.
She’s the delectable descriptions
discerned by acute immersion
yet she transcends vocabulary.

Her voice in every word he writes.
Her kiss brings bliss to his parched mouth
edits tangents tactfully down
and expels writer’s block away.

Her voice in every word he writes.
Her proximity provoking
aspiration tones like his own
dialect of dual prodigies.

Her voice in every word he writes.
She’s loved like Coleridge wrote so well
“Thro’ all my being, through my pulse beat
I bless the lot that made me love you”.

Her voice in every word he writes.
She stimulates inspiration
independent of explanation
like liberation everlasting.

Spirit Animals #6: Tiger

July 8, 2010

Thanks to all for your continued support! Chase your trophys this week.


camouflaged in undergrowth lying silent and still
anticipating his trophy, pulse beat predator’s thrill
hairs raised like menacing needles
the love of the chase is a primal fuel
launching skyward and pouncing down so deadly
another affirmation of wildcat vitality
paw the prize around in proud pale-painted claws
every capture strengthens the snarl of his song
decisiveness is delicious confronted head on

Amor de Congeria

June 23, 2010

Amor de Congeria

The sensation of loving a woman is the most sudden surge of concentrated energy the psychological equivalent of a junkie’s first incalculable ecstasy shooting aimlessly out of the barrel of a shotgun as a slug propelling perpetually forward but never reaching its target because that would be the end of its exigency. To have passion is to abdicate everything you had been working toward instantly turns to dust to have passion for someone else is to involuntarily relinquish power and control passion is chosen over food shelter friendship rationality and all other forms of sustenance to have passion is to set ablaze everything you’ve ever constructed and start over again with her as the sun. Every other matter in the macrocosm is pushed aside to provide precise focus on her vitality an all-encompassing specification within which is contained every minute and trivial detail about her flowing full hips set against the backdrop of a tight refined body the color of caramel crimson luscious lips accented by piercing omnipotent ruby-stained eyes that burn when they engage your own. Overwhelmed with insatiable raw unmitigated excitement you become a fiend ceaselessly obsessed with molding yourself into the man she would chisel out of stone and your reality spirals into a conspiring multiplicity of her reverberations from every mote of matter in the universe and the more she carves you away the less and less of you remains and it all becomes her. Feeling her nails slicing downward over your shoulders has become an agonizing privilege and you engage all enemies of your love with the ferocity of a ravenous wildcat with the aggression of a rapacious shark aroused by the sight and the smell of a circle of red. Impulse replaces planning and appetite replaces thought and instinct replaces sense and she governs all that you are, and you hope like hell that she doesn’t need rhythm in her life because the whole song’s one sound in your mind one rude cacophony there is a jumble of noise that you can place no more disparity or order on but it’s beautiful to you a violent tour de force because she created it she orchestrates it she controls it. You become chaos. You become her chaos.

Spirit Animals #5: Bear

June 9, 2010

Please send your hopes toward ending the oil spill in the gulf. In some native cultures, the bear is a vessel on which one can project their pain, hurt, or whatever other negative obstacle they hold inside them. The bear is able to handle that weight for them and essentially recycle it. Thanks for reading.


a bristled brown mountain timeless dust
a grizzly bear directing the rivers rush
healing wounded creatures and trees
heavy and weighted against frost fragility
snarling mountains bellow out a winter wind
your mouth an assertive abyss for afflictions
we examine each other with rude intrigue
our drumbeat pulse unites us, the warrior creed
I know there are crimson claws within me

Pursuit- For Deepak Chopra

May 25, 2010

Deepak Chopra was on television this week speaking about shadow work, and he inspired this poem. Our shadows are not completely bad or useless, they are a part of us that can be harnessed and used in a healthy or unhealthy way. This is a poem about the addiction and obsession in the positive sense.


if you are going to chase a vision then pursue it with intensity, and if you are going to raise an army then organize with immensity, if you want to burn a bridge then throw hellfire burn it to the ground,  and if you want to make a statement then stop listening to the crowd, if you want to take a single step, then dance until you are utterly dead,  and if you want to break free then never go where you are led, if you want to savor something then you should intake it in excess, and if you want to save the world you’d better keep fighting striving for progress, all the goals you crave must be savored with passion, and tear the city limb from limb if that is what it takes to get a reaction, if you want to write a poem then let every word resound and if you want to lift your spirits then obliterate existence of the ground.

Death of a Sage

May 19, 2010

A person is arrested for violating marijuana laws every 38 seconds. While alcohol and tobacco kill over half a million people annually, marijuana has been shown to be a non-lethal substance with many medical benefits. Why then, is our government so stubborn about legalization? Happy reading.

Death of a Sage

envy etched everywhere on the modern wall of intemperance. adam and eve want sensimilia and the fever is endless. they feed their primal need to be free, to be released from december tension. old men fear what they do not understand, and bury it deep in a valley of misconceptions. but eve ate the apple despite authority’s warning, and so will we our forbidden fruit to eat. teens experiment dealers need green and the police need a reason to exert superiority, and so begins an endless war, this battle of the senseless. Two bull headed teams who never weep and never sleep, two armies of arch enemies trying to keeps the defenders edge. the red team is a legion of desperate men in hoods protecting every red cent they can get. the sky is the limit just as long as it renders them successful men. severe cement revenge bleeds for green and they don’t feel an ounce of regret as the agent’s chest clenches at the steel bellied serpent. what have we done to sever the sympathy of these men? we misled the people about a harmless weed, a healing herb made of serenity energy. the blue team fabricated a heretical deceit and we never questioned it. instead made the d.e.a. and they lied through our communal teeth and choked out rebel yells with extreme persistence. we planted a seed to throw as many black vermen in the pen as we can manage. a cold breeze blows and I sing out the heavy melodies of don henley: desperado, why don’t you come to your senses, you’ve been out riding fences for so long now.