duets with other poets – abichica

last touch 

“…something is there
within in the deep
but whose childe it is
we do not yet know…”
-Lao Tzu

last1a

First Touch…

“I’ve never done this before”.. I whispered more to myself than to her..

and so narcissus steps into the bottomless pool once again sighing

 

“I’m glad i’m your first” She murmured..

ignorance is not bliss you are neither the first nor last to taste transgressive fruit

 

Distracted by the sound of my dress hitting the floor..

such disrobing unveils not glory but mere carnality

 

She watched me…No.. Gazed at me..

the nefesh soul loves to wrestle in the mud

 

Eyes glazed over in lust.

but we have opposable thumbs not fins

 

Pure unadulterated desire..

regression is an endless temptation

 

Taking everything in as if in a trance..

losing myself in a can some pr man called earthquake

 

As if I’m the sexiest vixen alive..

but you are not because opposites restore equality

 

She sat quietly as I took off every stitch of clothing.

and now we submerged ourselves in pathetic pornography

 

Letting them fall one by one..

where is that can of an earthquake we prefer to this

 

Exposing myself to her hungry stare..

we used not to call this satan now we call it boring

 

Until I stood in front of her with just my heels..

oh so now our hooves are our horns our primitive urges

 

As she strolled towards me..

it is impossible to danse with two left feet

 

Prowled more like

the ruach soul is not a panther

 

Focused, sexy and confident..

rather just hungry so lacking compassion

 

Like a panther stalking it’s prey..

exactly lilith seeking whomever she may devour

 

Ready for the take down..

satan’s mistress will ultimately be taken down

 

A slight shiver of anticipation runs though my body..

 

my neshamah if it was lacking compassion would be boring me

 

As she stops in front of me she ran her hands over me..

too bad for you prefer intoxity to reality

 

Leaving goose bumps trailing behind her caress..

oh my goddess…you are lost in the deep throat of pornography

 

Starting at the nape of my neck..

working her way down into something not poetry

 

Down my arms..

into an unfertile crotch

 

Touching the side of my breast..

where a child is supposed to suckle

 

Barely grazing my nipples..

men have nipples too

 

“So beautiful” She said sounding amazed.

there is no tempting darkness greater than unfamiliarity

 

“Am I really all she says i am”

yep you can be a  slug in the mud if you must

 

my mind starts to wonder…

excuse me  you are as mindless as a snail says the raven

 

She moves her hands down my waist..

was it not the bard that said such a waist is a waste of shame

 

Grabbing my butt and squeezing roughly..

sadistically masochistically regressively

 

Moaning deep in her throat before her soft perfect lips

one slips not into vertuoisty but mendacity

 

crashed down on mine…

crashing is not uplifting nor exulting

 

All thought dissipated…

yes you found the bottom of brutality

 

All that mattered was this feeling.

and your chayyah evaporating into stupidity

 

This moment..

 

celebrating such narcissism

 abichica1

 

humanity abandons dry land and extinction returns

 

abichica https://chicpress.wordpress.com/2014/07/30/first-touch/

 

chrétien marc valentin

(© 2 août 2014)

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reweaving threads unweaving – with apologies to robert okaji

there is a cruelty to it*

(to the Muse of muses and her shadows)

“The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

-Thomas Hobbes

cruelty1

we are born to strive to understand

without understanding the struggle

 

there is a majesty to it

 

we are born to seek a beloved

without a beloved to love

 

there is a cruelty to it

 

a ten thousand faceted harshness

keener than a sacred warrior’s blade

 

there is a majesty to it

 

a starry brilliance awaiting birth

hidden within the hart of darkness

 

there is a brutality to it

 

a compelling darkness arising

forcing us to seek without knowing

 

there is a majesty to it

 

a kaleidoscopic transcendence

a blissful danse so mysterious

 

there is a cruelty to it

 

love’s danse through brilliant complexity

compelling a brutal symmetry

 

is there not a majesty to it

 

can we not resist love’s cruelty

nor deny our love’s brutality

 

are we born of love to die for love

 

the consonance of gentle midnight

with the dissonance of high noon

 

to die for love are we not born of love

 

amidst dawn’s sapphire fluidity

embracing dusk’s amethyst finality

 

is it there beloved that we are yours

 

is there not a dignity to it

chaos integrally embracing order

is there not a finality to it

 

or is it here my love that you are ours

 

as you are not there so are we not here

sweeter rebirth dansing with bitter death

within the far edge of swirling stardust

 

must we always my love arise again is

cruelty2

there so little charity within our hart of harts

chrétien marc valentin

(© 2 août 2014)

 

*the unpublished first draft of this poem was first composed in 2005

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duets with other poets – Gaza, Robert Okaji iii (american corporate capitalisim)

say we were more decent (funny word) than wrote,  just another symbol, right?, joh stewaqrt

 

ai challenge this asshole to trump our  compassion with his quick but pretension  irony?

what a dehydrated robber baron he pretends not to to be…steven is too busy enjoying filling his bank account pandering to mendacity to keep his tesla  charged to think about social justice!?

 

”we are fairly certain he will never read this, but even so we re-dedicate this wilde & crayze poem to one of our many heros!  JON STEWART WE LOVE YOU! your permutations of integrity and compassion are endlessly delighting.  cobert nation eat shit and die (i am both jewish and catholic  – u are vulgar and narrow-minded not witty!)

 

amercican corporate capitalism
(for The Muse of muses and her shadows)
 

“…the larger your hoard the heavier your losses…”
-Lao Tzu
 

Gaza

gaza1

-marc chagall

 

Gaza

wounded knee and auschwitz and nagasaki and now corporate depredations

We presume affliction by census,

we dawn ambivalences like flack-jackets resisting immigrations embracing opressions

whereas light

requires renunciation of atrocities and denunciations suchness  

requires no faith.

whereas remorseless curiosity requires selfless investigations

Is the roofless house a home?

is the empty cathedral a temple of a mere mausoleum

When you call

and we do not pick up the receiver who protects the museum

who answers?

when only nobody is listening to nothingness is it nobody if not

The vulture

absolutely not the eagle let alone the phoenix winging

spreads its wings

those are fodder for howitzers dragnets for drones so darkness itself

but remains on post.

posting shiftings ignorance prevaricating

Shifting,

equivocating bifurcating discriminating

I note minute of angle, windage.

taking aim you meet the enemy in your cross-wires

No

the undutchable enemy cannot be you lacking unamerican eyes have no

regrets, only tension.

the suspension of endless recollections of ultimate solutions

Breathe in.

breathing out extinctions

inhaling renouncing endless confusions delusions collusions

embracing differentiation within integration leap reaching

leaping beyond words annihilating annihilations assassinations

discovering endless migrations are timeless salvations

transfigurations transforming endless transfigurations

  gaza2

 -marc chagaall

as voltarie is still admonishing let us not forget the atrocities

Robert Okaji, http://robertokaji.com/ (July 27, 2014) 

chrétien marc valentin

(© 1 août 2014)

 

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duets with other poets – beledbyreason

love is always springing

(to the Muses of muses and her shadows)

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”

-Albert Camus

 spring1

photo source: http://www.fanpop.com

 

When a flash of memory cripples me

when the night cascades not stars but rains tears

barely able to lift myself from bed

when the  noon is eclipsing an onyx moon

 

springing is nothing absent autumning

 

I realize I’m not like I used to be 

times of recession precipitate progression

wanting to believe it’s all in my head

consciousness is a ring of toad-stool  thrones

 

summering is nothing absent wintering

 

trying to remain happy and present

as futile as a rosy crown lacking thorns

But the lie covers me like a second skin

or a silky chrysalis dreaming of wings

 

wintering is already springing

 

the past now written with resentment

is the rosy seed of richer contentment

my mind no longer turns pain into joy

the hart is the womb where joy melts into bliss

 

springing is already summering

 

I can’t pretend like I could in my youth

nostalgia chants sorrows into wisdom

my magic is gone . . .yet mystery remains

I confess my unspoken shameful truth

 

summering is already autumning

you have yet to hear beauty whispering

autumning is already wintering

 

love awaits further up and further in

 spring2

love refining love forever springing

 

© 2014 beledbyreason.wordpress.com All Rights Reserved

chrétien marc valentin

(© 01 august 2014)

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weaving the tapestry – of the ancient tree of life

we are as shadows of one tree*

(for mirabai)

“God see nothing in us that He has not given.”

-St. Thomas Aquinas

tree1

all seeds grow

in the shade

of the trees

from which they fall

 

falling i am falling in love with you

 

while we grow

in the shade

of those trees

from which we fell

 

we are as shadows

 

of those trees

in the light

of the sun

to whom we pray

 

praying you are praying in love with me

 

while we grow

side by side

dark seeks light

and knows it not

 

we are as shadows

 

all trees stand

in the light

where such seeds

in such shade grew

 

growing i am growing in love you

 

as we grow

in the shade

of such trees

we are suchness

 

 

we are as shadows

 

of that seed

in the dark

that is love

such is suchness

 

growing you are growing in love with me

 

each such tree

in the light

of the sun

must grow beyond

 

we are as shadows

 

of the seeds

that we drop

in the shade

where suchness dreams

 

i am you dreaming dreaming you are me

 

all trees grow

side by side

light seed dark

unknowing it

 

we are as shadows

 

 

of what we already are tomorrow

 

i am falling falling i am in love with you

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

those chakras this circle that spiral these sefirot

 

-mark emmanuel christopher valentine

(revision – june 17, 2005)

 

*Gnothi Seauton – until we see ourselves as we truly are, we cannot truly become ourselves

 

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autumns symphonies – a symphony of words in one movement

(English translation below)

Parole de Les Coeurs Tendres

(to Father John Fitzgerald)

 

“…we are forgiven in so far as we forgive..”

-dafree whitewolfe

tendres1

Y en a qui ont le coeur si large

Qu’on y entre sans frapper

Y en a qui ont le cœur si large

Qu’on en voit que la moitié

Y en a qui ont le cœur si frêle

Qu’on le briserait du doigt

Y en qui ont le cœur trop frêle

Pour vivre comme toi et moi

Z’ont pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

Qui conduit à Paris a La Notre Dame

Y en a qui ont le cœur si tendre

Qu’y reposent les mésanges

Y en qui ont le cœur trop tendre

Moitié hommes et moitié anges

Y en a qui ont le cœur si vaste

Qu’ils sont toujours en voyage

Y en a qui ont le cœur trop vaste

Pour se priver de mirages

Z’ont pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

Qui conduit à Paris a La Sacre Coeur

Y en a qui ont le cœur dehors

Et ne peuvent que l’offrir

Le cœur tellement dehors

Qu’ils sont tous à s’en servir

Celui-là a le cœur dehors

Et si frèle et si tendre

Que maudit soient les arbres morts

Qui ne pourraient point l’entendre

A pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

Qui conduit à Paris a La Notre Dame

 

Y en a qui ont le cœur si large

Qu’on y entre sans frapper

Y en a qui ont le cœur si large

Qu’on en voit que la moitié

Y en a qui ont le cœur si frêle

Qu’on le briserait du doigt

Y en qui ont le cœur trop frêle

Pour vivre comme toi et moi

Z’ont pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

Qui conduit à Paris a La Sacre Coeur

Y en a qui ont le cœur si tendre

Qu’y reposent les mésanges

Y en qui ont le cœur trop tendre

Moitié hommes et moitié anges

Y en a qui ont le cœur si vaste

Qu’ils sont toujours en voyage

Y en a qui ont le cœur trop vaste

Pour se priver de mirages

Z’ont pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

Qui conduit à Paris a La Notre Dame

Y en a qui ont le cœur dehors

Et ne peuvent que l’offrir

Le cœur tellement dehors

Qu’ils sont tous à s’en server

Celui-là a le cœur dehors

Et si frèle et si tendre

Que maudit soient les arbres morts

Qui ne pourraient point l’entendre

A pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

Les yeux à fleur de peur

De peur de manquer l’heure

tendres2

Qui conduit à Paris a La Sacrre Coeur

 

chrétien marc valentin

(© 16 mai 2013)

 

The Words of The Tender of Hart

(to Father John Fitzgerald)

 

“…we are forgiven in so far as we forgive..”

-dafree whitewolfe

tendres1

 

there are only but two with greater harts

there are only but two with greater hart

these are those who enter without knocking

there are only but two with greater hart

whose moiety all others see less than half

there are many who are so frail of hart

those hands whose fingers are slow not nimble

there are many who are so frail of hart

to live like you and me would crush their souls

those many have eyes cloudy with flowers

these eyes are full of stormy clouds of fear

fear they are lacking the hours to find

that all paths find old endings in paris

there are only but two with harts so tender

these are those who walk with their breasts exposed

these are those whose harts are always tender

whose moiety is both profane and divine

there are only but two with vaster hart

pilgrims on a pilgrimage without end

there are only but two with vaster harts

who danse upon the desert mirages

the many have eyes cloudy with flowers

theses eyes are full of stormy clouds

of fear fear they are lacking the hours

to find that all paths find new beginnings

in paris these are those whose one hart remains outside

this empty hart is that pearl without price

the hart inside which all other harts dream

is the one hart that carries all lovers home

these two here that hart that remains outside

as it is fragile so it is supple like but unlike

those cursed dead trees that point at stars

but do not hear angels sing

their dull eyes are full of flowery clouds

those eyes are full of thistles and sharp thorns

fear they are lacking the hours to find

that one hart that leads all lovers to paris

 

in paris you and i are always dansing

we are neither beginnings nor endings so

we are never not found kissing in paris

 

there are only but two with greater hart

these are those who enter without knocking

there are only but two with greater hart

whose moiety all others see less than half

there are many who are so frail of hart

those hands whose fingers are slow not nimble

there are many who are so frail of hart

to live like you and me would crush their souls

those many have eyes cloudy with flowers

these eyes are full of stormy clouds of fear

fear they are lacking the hours to find

that all paths find old endings in paris

there are only but two with harts so tender

these are those who walk with their breasts exposed

these are those whose harts are always tender

whose moiety is both profane and divine

there are only but two with vaster hart

pilgrims on a pilgrimage without end

there are only but two with vaster harts

who danse upon the desert mirages

the many have eyes cloudy with flowers

theses eyes are full of stormy clouds of fear

fear they are lacking the hours to find

that all paths find new beginnings in paris

these are those whose one hart remains outside

this empty hart is that pearl without price

the hart inside which all other harts dream

is the one white stag that carries all lovers home

these two here hearing that stag that remaining outside

as it is fragile so it is supple like but unlike

those cursed dead trees that point at stars

but do not hear angels sing

their dull eyes are full of flowery clouds

those eyes are full of thistles and sharp thorns

fear they are lacking the hours to find

tendres2

that one hart that leads all lovers to paris

 

chrétien marc valentin

(© 16 mai 2013)

 

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duets with other poets – weaving the threads duet viii with himani b

Majesty

 

or magical waters

(to the Muse of muses and her shadows)

 

“…your words are majestical waters to our hart of harts…”

-dafree whitewolfe

 majesty1

 

your

we are not other than your

one whisper

whispering your

one glance

glancing you

and i melt again

melting into our limpidity or

into nothingness

 majesty2

 

or if not that then into our magical waters

 

himani b http://tenderheartmusings.wordpress.com/

chrétien marc valentin

(© 30 juli 2014)

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