…everyday life in the future

Deliverance is music and splendor
We go beyond the chaos
We open up to other innocences

Our desires live inside
inaccesible gardens where the trees
have no root, where the plants
sing of freedom and infinity fringes
the latticed flowers on the gate,
open to all pollen, bittersweet with
the flavors of distant fruits

we’ve circled one another for so long
hesitant, reticent, waiting for all
defenses to fall, the hunger in us
grows through tomorrow like a vine
strangling fear; we are for each other
no strangers to ritual; our candles
and memories are omens, our longing
becoming prayer…

we barely speak this language of love;
that improbable existence of luminous
joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor
for me, his poet, we offer to others what
we deny ourselves while dreaming
for too long, defenses one by one burning
from the center of Self reaching
for the horizon, our hearts embracing
before the suffering Light,
our hearts bathed and washed in
waters of love’s benediction; placed
along shores where the fires ravage
our fierce dreams, inaugerating that
which is not yet in us



It’s not in smoking volcanoes
Nor in the boiling blue foams
rising from the oceans
Yet in these regions is where
you and I live, here we name
the secret streets and make
elegant histories to describe
this, our indecipherable colony
of love, here we live through
nights and days under the wide
open gaze of the sun and the
moon, looking for augurs in
in the skies, searching for the
dazzling eclipse, a white crack
the thundering gash of God His
holy hologram Eye all seeing
emerging through the hollow walls
of our planet, He offers us incense
and fire with which to light up the
the scattered syllables of the
lost codes written on these stones
which I carry, each in its own
upturned palm, as I seek him who
will read these invisible stones
which are my burden; yet

despite my patience, no fiery
winged Pentecost descends
around me, just these snatches
of darkness, as I put on my
lead mask, turning my face up
to the sky; innominate meteors
fall down, robbing me of
my vision that fails just as he
locks the doors behind us.


Why We Love to Fly In Our Dreams - Atlas Obscura

Vampyre flower

You fall once again through the slit of the
night with no other weapon but open eyes and
terror against the invader. He is legion,
Relentless Legion is his name; growing
tenfold, you’re cornered inside the
ravenous cobwebs of his blind romance
Sentry Soul, you are the One closing his eyes
becoming the home of His whole universe,

Whoever opens his eyes draws to the border
to remain homeless there forever as insomnia
comes tunneling through to prove the
inconsistency of all reality;

Night after night I am punctured by
the single bullet that you shot right into to me
in the dark, and I try to recognize you when
we waken from the memory of death, you,
my perverse temptation, adorable angel attacking
my Sentry Soul, kissing my skin, your sacred face
buried in my hair, whispering conjurations to
make up for having been born..

You who speak of bribing the emissaries of my future:
at the bottom of Everything there is the Garden where
the blue flower of Novalis’ dream blooms eternal,
it is the cruelest flower, the Vampyre Flower


Myth & Moor: Stories are medicine: the folklore of healing


Groping, you chose me to be the statue of
all allegory, just by the habit of immersing
myself in your sea at the end of the world;
I lose my head beneath your bare stare and
with each step I become glass to be ground

By chance were I not your favorite lover,
the one who advances sans hesitation to
nestle inside the hatch of your hand just
as it snaps shut, were I not your favorite
lover who bites to sip the venom from
your wounded heart would your palm open?

Oh tie me down so that I do not go
away every time I hear your thieves song,
singing at the expense of day, I confuse sand
and snow, wolves and shadows, your hand
on my shoulder, and it’s too late to turn back
to set my hours by the sun, now you have
marked me with your secret alphabet, and
now I belong to the tribe of those who dwell
inside the radiant darkness of those who look
their best with eyes closed, lying alongside
the edges of all abyss, languid to watch
ravens fly away, never to return before the
Dove of the oblivious moon


Reproduction d'Art: Odilon Redon "La Naissance de Vénus" 30 x 70 ...

ad dominum meum

I am Streaming silent Radiant longing;
I am streaming helpless prayers
I am pretending to tear down all the
fragile dams so tenderly built to
protect your precious treasures

I love your mind’s measures,
it’s restless order calls to me, come
to follow and I will take your lead
take me to our love that brings us to meet
in temples where the sun still sleeps in
ancient stillness among tombs,

I love your reason’s wise madness, I
love how it breaks and re-constitutes me
into your architecture of passion, this
is the price of your love saved up and
mine taken at the cost of my life,

You living like a lonely child inside
the pit of my heart, I love you even when
I am a veil of rain inside your laughing eyes,
I love you with purest unity, portioned
without cut and without any returning
to my destiny

I love how your love takes us to the
sharp dangerous edges of your soul, nearby,
our guardian angels bend down in blessings
as every safety promised by God is allowed and
made manifest under your stern gaze, and I
inside your heart, this is where I sleep,
forever here.



As a Light that always goes
In front, if I take you by the
hand, will everything be suddenly
simpler? The people, nicer, their
wordy evils turned to hardened lava
under their tongues, yes, as everything
is done by the hand.. take my hand
under this lamplight of love,

as from the black clouds, rubies and gems
pour out , as from my eyes your bottomless
sorrows fall into me; without your face before
me, as beneath each darkness of my eyelashes,
gardens bloom from blood rains pouring
down around my booted soul,

my love, what does a bubble
in the ocean know about the sea?
what does a handful of sand know
about the desert? Books are destroyed,
statues pulled down, banned
poems break like glass ..what would
even a child learn from all of this desolation?

I just want to be as a child for you,
as a Light that always goes
in front, I will take you by the hand
until we are both transparently, light
as light as places that have no names
in being, as essence as far from evil
just so you can stop and wait for me.


stripes of kohl

Blushed eyelids, stripes of kohl..
Colors of stigmata inside caved silences
violet stained red, horizons of absence, this
world is not mine

The trees of Eden do not grow in this Garden
and the soft breaths and the heaving bosoms of
flowers ignore my begging, claiming, but yes!,
you are the fruit of roots growing out of
deep nights descending the blind stars

Oh great Mother Night! daughter of Mercy, pity

our mechanical Egyptian arms, our drunken
glass eyes turned to the walls, reading
hieroglyphs between the drawings, laughter
reigns over this underground cavern of souls
our days of invention crashing soundlessly
our earthenware bearing resemblance
to the shamelessness of all shareable destructions


Khaled Hafez (Egyptian, b. 1963) | Tomb Sonata in Three Military ...

radiant prisoner

I belong to the tribe of those
who dwell in radiant darklight dawn,
Nights and days with eyes open
under the unbearable blinking
of the sun, watching
for signals in the sky,

The shadows of a dozen
dazzling eclipses on the face of time,
the whitelit thunderings from God
raging against a painted planet’s eyelashes

I’m on fire, I am reduced to ashes
The blooded bird takes her flight
disappearing inside a skylit ring
worn on the hand that paints the soft
grains in between light and darkness:
I live inside the eyes of a world
the eyes of a world where a man
takes no prisoners when he dreams.

© Ionwhite

Her train of Stars

Jeanne D’Arc

The demon of mockery
dragged you into the dust
to defile the noblest
image of humanity.

The spirit of this world
is eternally at war with
all that is beautiful
all that is good and great:
it does not believe in God
or in celestial spirits,
it wants to steal from the
heart all its treasures,
as it destroys all beliefs
by attacking all illusions.

But poetry, of humble birth
like you, is also
a pious shepherdess;
She covers you with all
the privileges of her divinity,
she surrounds you with
a procession of stars, and
spreads her glory around you …

O you that God’s heart made
you will live immortal!

The world likes to obscure
everything that shines,
to cover everything
that rises with it’s mire.
But fear nothing!

There are still good hearts
which quiver with sublime
and generous actions;
Momus delights the multitude,
a noble spirit cherishes
only noble things.



We Are All Made of Stars

My heart was tired of finding no one,
My eyes were tired of being disappointed.

One night, I wandered, thoughtful and dreaming
through sleeping plains; in the distance, snowfalling
on red horizons before the growing dawn,

In the shadows, I was slowly stripping away
memories of my loves, and when I was done,
I looked behind at what remained when
suddenly, I saw Him, calmly and serenely
walking slowly, weariness enveloping Him

I saw Him.. He came to me.. reaching out
His arms, hugging me; His eyes closed as if
to see further than reality, He spoke to beg me
“Let me see your blue eyes in the night”

Silver stars rose from the earth …
They say there are skies under which no
man can live, but I never saw them when
He smiled, He loved the azure of my eyes,
and nothing in the world was ever more
intense than this.