2013 10 13
I bounce around wide whirling universe
on expanding wings of my rubber soul.
I dream about the history of our world
when I look in the eyes of your words.
Our consciousness is nothing more than function
of chemical operations in our brains.
God does not exist, yet, since consciousness
of creative will, that animates brains
of breathing souls, continues to evolve.
Who sleeps in darkness of forgotten cave
and dances where silver moon shines,
then rises at midnight among dead trees
and scatters seeds of apple trees at dawn?
We carve forgotten dreams from rain-soaked sod
where serpents slither in dark misty wood
then dance and sing around bright crackling flames
and carve on hidden stones our secret names.
What weeping tree in eye of timeless day
will guide my steps to garden of your dream?
What dreams about this world can you relate
when I eat fruit you offer from your heart?
For years I have not been able to tell
the difference between ancient mythic stories
in the epic poem Metamorphoses
and stories about kidnapping and murder
I read every day on local news websites.
Writing a poem is like assembling a puzzle,
piecing together words to express a vision.
I see a grand vision in my mind, so I find
strings of words that depict what I see
and piece them together in flow of dreams.
So my wife and daughters love to watch
television channels about houses and food,
making me wonder why no one has yet
started a whole channel about sewing clothes.
I am fascinated by the strange impulse
that combines terror with arrogant pride
for humans to exaggerate in stories
of wild imagination human skills
embodied in gods and cultural heroes
endowed with supernatural abilities.
I have read the rise and fall of empires
in the eyeless sockets of holy cheese,
so I ate a roast beef sandwich by the lake.
Sweet chocolate and Chopin playing Raindrops,
as moon gleams gold through lattice of pine trees.
My heart flutters wings, embraced by your eyes.
We all live isolated and alone
in our own little private bubble worlds.
Now we can see each other and wave hello.
All the poems we write and the songs we sing
are crackling leaves that fall in restless wind
and sand castles that crash in laughing waves.