Be a Divine Fire

The genius is the one who knows
How to invite you in the place
He made -- with him, the world, it grows
In brand new ways, creating space

That never once existed. He
Is who you want to be, and you
Perhaps could be him. You must be
A willing author of the new

No matter where you find it: In
The future, present, past, yourself,
Or others, in your glory, sin
Or shame. Expect it on a shelf

Or hidden in your nuclei --
In atoms or eukaryotes --
It matters not, just don't deny
Your diction or what it devotes

You to unfold (or, better, fold)
Into a web of truth with eight
Eyes staring out from the black gold
Where lies within -- as sure as fate --

The tattered wings and crooked legs
Of souls like yours the only thing
That could be said by you, that begs
The ears and eyes to always sing.

The coward will deny your voice --
The Weak in soul, they will deny
That genius is a valid choice --
A cult, they say -- you shouldn't try

To rise above, to be the best.
They'll medicate you, beat you down --
They'll rig the game and every test
And call unfair your earned renown.

Such evil must be fought with wit
And love for each and every soul --
The kind of love that will not sit
You down, but raise you to your goal.

Beloveds, take the hands of those
Who promise greater beauty -- take
Those hands, for then you'll know you chose
What virtue loves, for its own sake.

The Cockroach On My Coffee Cup

I must construct myself, discover who
I plan to be, erect an ego through

The forces, personalities all bent
On normalizing. Once, when greatness meant

A recognition of the beauty in
A soul, a mind, a masterpiece, the sin

Was in destroying it, but now the goal
Is to ignore -- degrade, de-wing -- the soul,

Ensure sweet ignorance prevails. A moth
In feather-felt dim evenings where the wroth

Can hide their hatred, or a butterfly,
Kaleidoscoping color fractals high

About the treetops in the sun in joy --

Who do you want to be, become? I show
My choice in eddied words, constructal flow

Of sounds that shape the unseen bed beneath
The surface lying like the truth. A wreath

Of words I weave in bold cliches and smart
Mixed metaphors to challenge workshop art.

A bold embrace of green surrealist tropes,
Postmodern nihilistic nonsense gropes,

Rejecting them through my embrace with lines
Romantic poets might have penned defines

My style, of who I choose to be, embrace.
Thus those who fear me fear I will displace

Their worlds -- I will, with all I can employ.

Seeking Love and Hate

I love it when I see someone succeed,
Find happiness in life and what they do,
Contributing to positive sum growth,
And in these things remain to themselves true.

I love to see a business grow, a new
Thing made, or new discoveries. Avoid
Immoral men and women, those who hate
When they see creativity employed.

I hate it when I see such people cry
The good and virtuous must feel deep guilt
Because of all the beauty they have made,
The value-laden networks they have built.

I hate it when such people end up praised
As moral and as virtuous, the drones
Who hate the good, the beautiful, the true
And only seek to lick the flesh off bones.

I seek to rise above such black and white,
To see things from an elevated view,
And understand our lives as time unfolds.
I seek to understand this world anew.

Fractal Enlightenment

All beauty comes in partial things --
The fern unfurls its deep-cut leaves
From spirals. Crumbly soil, springs
From rocky ground, the spore believes

The partial information woods
Provide, the dappled sun, the mist
Of mornings in the Spring. The hoods
Mayapples give their flowers, kissed

By insects, split and spread to hide
Those bright white petals. There are no
Circles here, and those that died
Provide the only fragments. Show

Perfection, unconnected parts --
You'll show me death with either. Fold
Pink petals, forming bleeding hearts
Above cut leaves and chase the cold

Perfection threatening the net
Emerging with, between the trees.
Perfection bringing light, we get
Destruction on the drying breeze.

These even rows you bring perfect
Your vision, level difference
In all the beauty you reject,
The beauty found within the dense

And complex things the universe
Evolves. I find enlightenment
In dapple-lighted woods and curse
The blindness of your firmament.

August

The summer sun has made the air
Affectionate -- I struggle out
Of its embrace and I despair
It won't let go. I look about

And hope the wind will flow like time
Between the buildings. Where's the wind
To cool this love, the summer's crime?
The heat beats down on rooftops tinned

Like late November leaves. I long
For shorter days that tilt away
And lessen the affection's strong,
Oppressive presence felt today.