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Poetry
Poetry is the magic germinating out of the miracle of life
The Moon Flux Songs
The Moon Flux Song is an epic and areal narrative that has Six Units in
total; each unit having six parts in them and each part is comprised of six
sections.
Emmaphire: I
Emerald: II
Sapphire: III
Lightmond: IV
Eyemond: IV
Eyeonium:VI
Here are Two Opening Units for you to read.
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Emmaphire: I To Read the Following Poems Follow the Links Circularity of Our Understanding
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Emerald: II I i. They still doubt it Even though I spoke With the statics of the church spire Even though the words brought the silk of dynamics of winds and tides Even though I spoke of beautiful flux and fluidity of hours and about Emmaphire They still remain colder than any empty coffin’s lull and lingering deathly silence ii. They still think I shall not find you I shall never find you to reach to reach to reach I who wrote the Book of Hours after I crossed the first death-river on the arched-bridge Built on the gifts of the Leaf Woman and on the woods of my parents’ sunken hearts I who wrote the Book of Hours in the clearing among the bamboo-breeze singing I who at four wrote the Book of Hours on Maa’s dust-dry milk with my pebbles Till I would cross the second death’s bridge on my Brother’s silent lingering songs iii. They still denounce me even though Their eyes are marbled up and solid Even though their faces are all cemented bricks They still think I shall never reach you-never For they do not think this Ocean exists and That I shall therefore never find her Shore iv. Yet, I am the Muu the whale-the whale that spoke to my mother In the body of the water where the moon swam at night by the Village where there was the temple of the moon of silver songs There I played the organ made in the muscles of my heart I played Sapmitele for my Sapmitele Maiden who they do not Even believe in yet I who rose like the sun do and sing you v. They say I shall never find my way in the mist where deserts form of sticky haze They who are figurine doll-like silence staring all made up solid making marks They who never listen for their hearing has hardened into the pavement slabs In the city where the rain makes them mirrors to which they even do not look They say: He shall never find the Strand of whatever in this haystack of dark They say this without knowing that I can torch my heart out into firefly lights vi. They still deny what I say for they do not have the spring earth Where the seeds find a home that makes them into living books And they look at the tea-hut and find a guy selling teas and they Look at the sky glistening in the flowing current of the ocean of eternity And they even do not register the kites flying flowing rising like children They still say with steel contempt: He shall never make it to the Shore of Naz II i. They only read a word as if it is a brick a cemented one for it is safe as a knife In their kitchen drawers but I who spoke words and in with and through them And when I say today I can hear yesterday’s falls and touch tomorrow’s carnivals When I say today they hear the time of death yet I mean eternity the time eternal But they do not listen nor do they want to step up or out or down the path that They do not know or heard of but how could they if they never venture out at all ii. They always want to predict They always want to pre-empt And they do not know they can not For I know when the second death came calling me My Brother had already left the temporal city and its spread And I heard my Naz Strand’s Shore calling my brother’s name iii. Yet they do not know that nor would they believe in it For they only hear the sounds of coins and notes that they print Yet I crossed the third Bridge made of the Mynah Bird calling my Brother Before she walked into the other kingdom where everyone goes but she went Like lightning goes through the sky curving rivers with the blood of lights That these figurines do not know for they have no strand at all to charge them iv. I came now to the water and the fire took hold of me and sang to me power To break my every silicon of the body and I carried on riding on my pebbles I carried on writing my Book of Hours and my Father fought like a Karelian soldier My Mother stood there being a lamp of hours and I crossed the fourth death-bridge And I rose on my wobbly feet where a Sister I had of law who became my scratches And even though I wobbled I learnt to take strides and wrote on my Book of Hours v. And there were other bridges of death I crossed like white rivers over black soil Little death marking holes over my being’s marshlands where fires lit on holes Holes like the ones made by falling bombs on vegetation green burnt to holes I crossed those bridges one after another one after another taking it in mutely I then crossed these death-dunes but carried on listening to the Yellow Bird That put on fire every tree she flew onto that copied oceans of delights in my heart vi. And I now fell in love with you who were the Yellow Bird fire of all my hours The letters of the alphabet of the language in which I was writing my book of you My book of Naz, my book of the Shore of today of yesterday of tomorrow of always But they would not listen to me and still say: He shall never find the shore of Naz I who defied all the stones turning them into banana trees that stood on white marrow I made all the negations a Bayhoola steel giving it life of Rypale-vine flowing river III i. They always want to stop me speak of you and say: We know what he is going to say They wait and when they fail to spoon me out they become angry for they do not know How to read the Book of Hours the Book that I have inhaled every syllable of every Alphabet of and every of its punctuation mark and every of its brook I lived in every Breath that I inhaled as a river I inhaled as the ocean inhale the coming dancing rivers So they fail to predict and they shall forever fail to predict what I shall say I shall say ii. So here when I speak I speak to thee you see they could not know that I call you thee Thee who spoke to me in harsiman a tongue that took different shapes and colours But I forever knew when the sands of Naz when the Shore of Strand rises to reach Yet they would want a stick six fit and a quarter of an inch and it always a stick For they would not know how nine worlds rose through the leaves of nine elms Or how a Maple tree offers leaves to call times flow and yet seeks Poplar’s spread iii. One two three They say he is going to sing but I on the other hand tell them that I shall not sing I who learnt to love you in the time of Cholera spreading like a dark fire across villages I smelt death I heard fear as if a mythical beast came alive in the cries of wolfs and dogs And they still wonder: What is he speaking about! What is he going on about! Love! He shall never reach the Sapmitele Maiden on the Shore of the Naz Strand never he shall iv. And yet I loved you on while fears and frights spoke during Cholera A boy still out in the rectangle of moon-shaped courtyard flooded at night I stood listening out and the Book of Hours in which you were safely singing A river of white silence and all its layers of current and concurrent rhythms I learnt to figure out the shape of your Shore and the Strands of the colours Of your speech where you are the speech itself and I am the hall of silence v. To write this book I had words falling out of the window of my mother’s mouth Like butterflies flowing out leaving dust of areal gold and diamond and they were The pebbles with which I wrote my names to name you you see Mim is where I was For you were the words my mother’s and I wrote you in my Book of Hours seeking To draw my journey’s route that I ought to take to reach the Shore your Shore yours The Shore of the Naz of Strand but surely they do not believe me when I speak of you vi. The story that my mother spoke where the Giant stole the Princess They would not believe in it for their stories are all soiled soggy papers That the Giant stole the Princess and made her into a Bee and kept her in a gold box At the bottom of the sea and the Prince rose high and dived deep and found the Giant And fought him and got the Princess out for she was his soul and he let her out onto life The Bee of the Princess rose like the day of the dawn of the rose with the Prince now IV. i. Kalewala, Taikka Wanhoja Karjalan Runoja Suomen Kansan Muinoisista Ajoista You see like the way no one can predict how the wind forms a whirlwind I am Like the way no one can hold but I who call you by making the verbs a noun I who sung your trails of left marked in my soul I who spoke of you and speak Always with the depth of lights and spreadth of dark I who always knew how How to love you for you were my Yellow Bird letting all green burn yellow seas ii. Kalevela! Kaalbella! They read and say why are you speaking of words like that As if they were bigger than us or smaller than Canary Wharf yet they do not know That the smallest of bird brings forth the biggest of gifts as it sips honey from flowers They do not know that words are all I have of my Mother and of my Father and all I had was my words to follow your silk to follow your call to follow your gravity’s pull Words like har words like menhir like mimir like simir like silmapari like ihana lempi ii. Angorkha said my mother and the cardigan spoke to her Korhee called my mother and the pebble spoke to her Yaan sung my mother to locate a new house at the north east corner From where my House of Hours rose solidly rising opening to the south And Kalevela! Kaalbella! Rose in death for it is the black time of Black Death Where heaps of black form a Blackheath in times of cholera plague or epidemic iii. They seek quick compound they seek fast resounding sound bites And they cannot fathom how one could love in the times of cholera And yet there it was the Kaalbella and yet that is where they are stuck For an aubergine is just a vegetable to them just solidly soiled up defined Always weighing two hundred and forty six grams but it is more than that But only to whom who knows how to love like layers of silk in the wind iv. Kalevela! Kaalbella! But I knew the layers of words for my mother was one Layers upon layers stairs upon stairs skies upon skies heavens upon heavens And thus Kaalbella is eternal time or the time of eternity or the belle of eternity Or the violin of eternity or the float of eternity or even good time for these layers Called your names for you are of all the names beautiful words that I read and All the beautiful songs and landscapes I visited made up or dug out of this world vi. But they would not understand For they want fish and chips for They are dug in the concrete floor At the beginning of the flux gone solid Having themselves in the concrete of death V. i. I who rose and saw Black Death Of animals fallen sudden and quick Regardless of their names or types All suddenly fell on the path of the mouth Of Black Death that came like a whirlwind From nowhere a real dark fire a dark fire tornado ii. And all the animals died All except a Cockerel All except a Duck In the kingdom of desolate black silence Where smells of death and lingering fears roamed In their breath yet they carried on chipping the dark for lights iii. And I saw how magic materialised in silence Even out of Black Death how life grew the way You grow out of darkness of this city the way you smile Through the continuum of Black Death of this city The Cockerel walked solemnly fearing his shadow The Duck walked hearing her shadow’s scary voice iv. But I was drawing their drawings as they drew a circle Between them I who was writing the Book of Hours where your brooks Were spreading their white ink in my yellow book my Yellow Book You who rose through the mist and spoke to me with eyes of the imsleys You who spoke through the purple silence of the aquanims and birdsongs And I saw how they suddenly walked into the circle of eternity being the one v. There they were in the circle they made Circle of oneness of a friendship Friendship of the Naz and the Strand And they were now my alphabet to sing your notes And I played my Sapmitele for my Sapmitele Maiden Who were singing north wind by the southern ocean vi. They still say: He is never going to find this Naz Strand Shore For all it is a fabricated myth only what they fail to grasp is this This Plain is what I found there in the circle of the Cockerel and Duck This Plain was Itha Plain This Plain is Itha Plain where I built my Ithaca Here still they make noises but I spoke to them as though they were still Capable of being human but they did not understand that it was an honour VI. i. And now they ask What is he selling to us And I say I only have things that you need Like the way you need someone to live in your eyes And they reply: We surely do not need any such thing And I say to them then I have nothing to sell you I am sealed for you ii. They fail to see that I spoke to them because of you For it is the writing of the Book of Hours that I learnt How to speak and seek and reach and rise and form roses But then they do not even know how to bend their fingers They do not know how to form songs out of their fingers But I carry on my path to call and seek you from the nine worlds iii. And I who planted the olive tree at the south west corner And where always the sun sung summative silence and soul Of matters and non matters and the plant rose slowly like a green tide Rising and blowing in the seasonal winds and there the green velvet olives Became eyes of the tree and Bayhoola found her Simpalele in the snakes I found a chapter of the Book of Hours in the dance of the snerenaking snakes iv. And I carried on following the earth as she rose I carried on singing like the Yellow Bird and I kept on calling you I kept on responding to you rising and writing my Book of Hours And you were rising with me raising in me the copy of the Naz Strand And there were mists and oceans there were harbours and winds There were all sorts of callings and happenings all were in the Book vi. I am here before the shore of Naz Strand I am here before your ocean of rising hours And rising bells and I hear your footsteps rising like the ocean and here I am who is The answers to all your calls and I respond in the silence of time and who is always Following you like the tides of the rivers always coming back for you are my brooks My springs my rivers and oceans skies and worlds and galaxies of the Book and you Are my Kalevela! Kaalbella! My aina, always my time’s mirror my Itämeri ilmakupla
Go Up Circularity of Our Understanding
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