Brown Eyes Whispering [Poem]

When her brown eyes whisper, “I love you” 

and her cheeks redden in my presence, 

My blue eyes are spellbound.

Her face is both innocent and mature, 

merging the instinctively heart-capturing softness of a little girl 

with the life-loving radiance of a young woman.

Around her I have felt both young and old - 

nourished by her warm presence, her affection watering my roots, 

as well as my delightful duty to protect her , my benevolence enveloping like a sky. 

Her voice is soothing like a message,

as sweet as honey in a liquorice tea, 

as comforting as a gently moving cloud. 

Her passion-dipped words are verses of masterful poetry,

verses written in our hearts but not on paper - 

some words are too precious to be written down.

Conversing with her is an encounter between my heart-of-hearts and hers.

We go delving into the hidden regions of our soul-caverns,

discovering mysteries shared with no one else. 

Her hand is an invitation to adventure,

and oft have we been swept up in the gales of our enthusiasms,

to gallivant in the towns and in the woods.

And in those edenic mornings, 

before the day is corrupted with time, 

we have said, "your embrace is my oasis".

The Love of Wisdom [Poem]

Out of the profoundest sufferings,
come little drops of wisdom.

Wisdom's shimmering blue light -
Every subtle spark
was worth more than all the happiness and pleasure
I ever had to lose to gain it.

Here God shows me His two faces,
the dreadful and the blissful,
in equal measure.

Oh, Wisdom! Sophia!

If suffering is what I must go through,
to be closer to you
then I will plunge headlong
into agonies and dangers
without a second thought.

Otherwise, what kind of
lover of wisdom am I?
Does not a lover wish to die for his beloved,
and sacrifice everything on the altar of his craving?

Oh Sophia!
Did not one of your lovers say,
that You want us to be courageous and untroubled,
for you are a woman who loves only a warrior?
That message wasn't heard by the vulgar ears
of those timid souls insincerely proclaiming their love for you now!

Oh, Sophia!
For You
I will venture. I will fight.
For only out of the wilderness,
do the wise ones come.

The Labyrinth [Poem]

Life in this world 

is a mere sojourn. 

Of the many who have gone before

who can say he truly knows the path? 

Will I follow the life-roads laid by past-men

or go where there is no path and make one? 

No one knows with absolute certainty

which life-roads lead to joy or to misery. 

                                              

Life-roads intersect and intertwine, 

forming an enigmatic labyrinth. 

                                                 

No one can foresee where any life-road leads

causing doubt to pervade each and every one. 

                                       

Thus, can it not be said with a sigh, 

that life is a sojourn through a labyrinth?

                                                

                                

Necessity [Poem]

Necessity is the dictator of my life
and his severe voice commands me
to work so I can afford to sleep
in my own little corner of the universe
and have enough food in the fridge
to silence hunger's endless barkings.

My soul is weary of Necessity's lashings
which drive me to mundane, repetitive work,
but my spirit and hopes will never be crushed.
I dream of wrestling my freedom away
from Necessity's cold and steely clutches,
so I can be ruled by want instead of need.

Then I will be as brutal a ruler upon myself
as Necessity was to me - no rest for me, none!
For being freed I must excel at my soul's vocation,
otherwise I will waste my freedom on mere luxuries.

To defeat Necessity, I must learn what he teaches:
Before the soul can soar in the skies, 
it must first have mastery of the ground. 

When I Return [Poem]

Growing up in Cape Breton Island
felt like growing up in a world of softness - 
comfy furniture with blankets and warm hearts to cuddle into 
were always present to fend off the cold. 
Omelettes, school, meat and potatoes, and electronic entertainments came and went
with as much repetitive certainty as the tickings of a clock 
and the tickings turned into months and years,
and that was my life. 

But then in the middle of my stomach I began to feel a fire well up inside me. 
It started as a subtle spark,
and this slow, burning pain permeated my days with dissatisfaction
for that which I knew I should be grateful.

This subtle fire was fed by great books, tantalizing images of ancient, mysterious places, 
and the company of those who seek wisdom, virtue, and honour
until finally this subtle spark grew into a great invisible flame burning and blazing within me 
and when I could no longer deny the heat I felt in my soul every second of every day 
I could no longer deny what it was -                             
This flame was an instinctual inferno of ambition! 
This feeling of my heart pumping and blood burning 
in anticipation of all the dreams I am going to fulfill in this life.
I want adventures and struggle so intensely it hurts - can you imagine?

I knew the only way I could extinguish these fires was to dive into a veritable ocean of activity! 
And thus, I left Cape Breton - this world of softness, my home, 
in search of the desperate battlefields and treacherous mountains 
my soul needed to prove it’s courage and might. 
But where does one find such things in this present age?
Let me tell you: Out of the combined workload of theatre, school, and part-time jobs
I have made my fearsome opponent, my daring adventure. 

And like the heroes of antiquity, once I have won golden glories for my name,
I will return to my home, rich in honour, adorned with wisdom, 
and I will regale my kinsmen with the story of my saga.
But until then - 
Goodbye, Cape Breton, my homeland!


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View more of my poetry here: My Poetry

Your World is Your Reflection [Poem]

The mini meadows of green grass that are scattered, strangely, amid the concrete chaos of our cities, emanating simple stillness.


The ruined relics of steel structures in the ominous outskirts of suburbia, which make for amusing adventures to ascend.


The wondrous woods when they are sunny and sublime, or when they are shadowy and secretive, perfect places for reflection and reverence.


The bountiful bookstores filled with timeless treasures on every conceivable concept, visited voraciously by aged, amiable souls.


The blissful beaches where the opulent ocean and the splendorous sky meet, giving tantalizing tastes of a promised paradise.


These are the sort of scenes that I meet myself in, and I often wondered why.

I realize, now, it is because these are the places that are my soul's likeness.

 


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Read more poems here

To Live is to be Marked [Poem]

To live is to be marked. 

When we are born we are a fresh motion of the universe.
We are born an energy of overflowing newness

unleashed upon an ancient complexity of causes. 

We are thrown into a world of people who have been marked, 

and we delight them with our marklessness.
“All children are kind and forgiving” I have heard us say, us marked ones.
They speak of marklessness with a voice both joyful and sorrowful.
Joyful, 

because marklessness exists.
Sorrowful, 

because they know it is transient,

because

To live is to be marked. 

When we grow up the universe changes us as we change the universe.

Some of our markings are like scars from daggers, 

and other markings are like the sweet moisture that remains from a kiss.

The shadows of our memories follow us everywhere we go, 

conditioning our experiences, 

and those conditioned experiences themselves become new memories,

which further condition our experiences. 

To live is to be marked

to change, to become, to be wounded, to be touched,

to live is to be-born-die-and-be-reborn-again and again.