Poems Spanning the Literary Universe

Aberjhani's first published book was I MADE MY BOY OUT OF POETRY. Although the title emphasized the poetic nature of the book as a whole, it is actually a volume of half a dozen works in memorable prose and some 52 poems. Published in 1997, by 2012 ebook standards it could be considered two books in one.

Both individual and collections of poems by the author may be found on the Internet on a diversity of websites. These include Creative Thinkers International, which he founded, and other popular sites such as AuthorsDen, Red Room, DeviantART.com, The Poet Seers, and others. Below are selected poems from his published books.

Quotation: "Poetry looking in the mirror sees art, and art looking in a mirror sings poetry." from Illuminated Corners, Collected Essays Vol. 1 by Aberjhani

DIVINE MORPHOLOGY

Yesterday my heart was an onion.
Your love swerving east like an ax
chopped it in half
and sucked tears from the breasts
of a pregnant summer sky.

This morning my heart became a candied yam.
All mixed up with a thousand secret spices
I had no taste for praising or condemning.
I steamed, smoldered and burned
with every kiss that glistened inside your eyes.

Tomorrow,
or three seconds from now,
I shall become something else,

such as that silent white glow
in the air between your lips
when your soul breaks open like a fresh galaxy
and releases the buried typhoon of your fears;

or a leaf that flashes jade
for a season
then folds back into the topaz mysteries
gathered inside autumn’s tattered pocket.
Before this song comes to an end
my heart shall beat and surface
through many images:
a groom, a bride, the ring on each of their fingers.
The vows that make their tongues sweet.

One infinite flux of beauty--
like that one just now--
and my heart becomes your ears
lovingly swallowing these words,
buzzing like a star gone wild.
Getting hot.  Now hotter.  Like raw honey catching fire.
      
       --from I MADE MY BOY OUT OF POETRY

ANGEL OF EARTH DAYS & SEASONS                                                                                   

A soft dream of green
colors starlit intentions
with sincerity.

In your hands winter
is a book with cloud pages
that snow pearls of love.

Your flight shines classic––
composed of symphonic nights
and honey-hued days.

Inside your laughter
spring’s kiss animates the beat
of summer’s warm song.

In your hair oceans
leap with sky-blue abandon
and sacred timelines.

Eyes of bright autumn
stare with red tear-stained wisdom
at human regret.

Bombs explode gashes
that flicker tales of men’s blood
splattering your lips.

Rivers of poets
flow blues-heavy urgencies
naked on your knees.

Even when muddy
your wings sparkle bright wonders
that heal broken worlds.

In the dancing fields
of your sweet and holy ways
heaven blossoms gold.

     --from THE RIVER OF WINGED DREAMS

ANGEL OF PEACE


    Such are these places
where lovers of bliss behold
the angel of peace:

Above the burning,
and below the cold of all
the sad killing fields;

Where poetry sighs,
smiling magic in the lap
of flesh and blood joy;

Upon the shoulders
of elders carved beautiful
by sage artistry;

Where a starbright gown
trails healing through gardens of
eternity’s laughter;

In the arms of dreams
that shepherd hope through the eyes
of praying children;

Under waterfalls
bristling silk storms from the shores
of my skin to yours;

In the taste of a
woman glowing firemilk through
the tips of her breasts;

Afloat on rhythms
of minds too stoned on love to
recall how bombs work;

At the edge of a
man’s kiss casting holy spells
of sweet compassion;

Inside the beauty
of faith’s unburied treasure
sparkling truth and hope;

Beneath trees of song
heavy with angelic light,
evergreen with strength;

Upon the wings of
nightingales trilling comfort
to embattled grace;

In your heart’s whisper,
soft as love, that truly all
is well with your soul.

by Aberjhani
(from ELEMENTAL, The Power of Illuminated Love)

AND THEN THE RAIN GOD SCREAMED FOR LOVE

 



















 

I am a sloppy lover
that much I will confess.
My kiss has swollen rivers
into torrents of night
and reduced continents
to bashful stuttering islands.
But my eagerness is sincere
and my passion never arid.
Oh behold sweet darling Earth:
the nine billion silver drops
of my fingertips
poised like a species
of liquid birds
suspended
above the hills
and mountains
and deserts
and valleys
of your lush cosmic beauty--
Waiting for you to  say “Yes,”
to say “Touch,”
to say “Come inside my love,”
to say “Annihilate,”
and “Resurrect,”
and “Where sweet love are you?”

Recall please the fury
of our innocence:
my shy gaze of melting hurricanes
dissolving
in the landslide
of your breath rushing forth like tigers,
recall, please
my fever dropping from the sky
and filling your belly
with sapphires
and rubies
and mysteries neither revealed nor forsaken.
To what did our tremblings give birth?
To oceans of green
and to air
with a knowledge of itself,
to the very lightning
that severed our coupling
with the sad roar
of its jealousy and hunger.

And what was that like
for you?
Lovely Earth of passion
            nailing Jesus to the cross of mankind’s ignorance,
Earth of nations wolfing at each others’ throats,
Earth of moonlight and crushed hearts
            and days dizzy with beauty,
what was that like for you
seeing my arms turn
suddenly to ghosts
and watching my face
float backward into
the heat’s cruel laughter?
I feared the sun
had murdered you
thus I flooded heaven
with a thousand galaxies
of unrelenting vengeance
until my tears
gathered blessings
to fall once more upon your breasts
so sweet there upon your breasts
how lovely there upon your breasts
and it has been
that way ever since:
me spiraling downward
stormy and luscious inside of you
then snatched back into sorrow
by the sun’s bitter teeth.

I am rain and thou art the element of my desires,
spread soft the holy garden,
and with this thunder soothe your weeping fire.

by Aberjhani
(from Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black)

---

HOLIDAY LETTER FOR
A POET GONE TO WAR 

If in the midst of mannequin bombs
disemboweling pregnant insanity,
a poem of love should seduce your lips,
sing each soul-dazzling stanza
with such soft rapture as an angel might.

If your comrade’s head should explode while
you sing with such soft rapture as an angel might,
bandage your heart with thoughts of simpler things—
mowing the lawn, washing dishes,
waking up dreaming in your lover’s arms.

What can bombs know of the illuminated fields
so golden with heaven in your heart’s sacred lands?
How can bullets hope to penetrate the armor
of your soul’s endless capacity for love?

If death should suck the marrow from your bones
while you mow the lawn, wash dishes,
or wake up dreaming in your lover’s arms,
remember: you were born a child of light’s wonderful    
   secret—
you return to the beauty you have always been. 

by Aberjhani
(from Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black)

---

BIG BLACK MAN WITHIN A NONSOCIOPOLITICAL CONTEXT
 

Snowflakes roll calmly over the edge
of your amusement, drift down like shredded sky.
They are temporary and not serious,
placing their entire bodies upon the mouths
of the chrysanthemums and violets that fill
this field.  I am a blackness, and a melody,
and a serving of the universe’s curiosity
about  itself, watching the snow fall
and melt upon the tongue of my bare chest,
or fly into the curly black rhapsody
of cosmic forest lush beneath my naval,
leaving diamonds and blue to kindle my riddle.

My knees are at home resting on the earth’s shoulder
even as my spirit has been at home expanding
and exploring the energy and pulse of Sirius.
And a sunflower as tall as I wraps its leaves
around my waist as if it were all compassion
and nothing else.  We feed each other our personal
mythologies, weeping about the power of  shadows
and light over our past.  A seductive aroma
strokes the melanin inside my skin and we shudder
prophecies from one moon to the next.
The soft gray hair of dusk spreads outward,
joins with the  whirling dervish snow
to choreograph a jazz ballet of magnetic bliss.
There is an oak tree fond of telling the tale
of my origins and possible destinies.
There is a river singing ballads of miracles
I have yet to achieve.  This lion standing in
majestic silence is an undiluted sexuality
rooted in the gardens of infinity.

Looking up from the lush tapestry of this
nightfallen moment, every third star is a lover
with whom I have found neverending
enigma and uncontainable sweetness.  This snow
falling upon this hill melts down my spine as if I am
made of history and it is nothing less than revelation.
We absorb just enough of each other to discover
a thousand new ways to love and be loved.

My arms are the mountains that hold time in its place.
My tears are the atoms that give substance to space.
My blackness is the music eternity makes when singing itself as me.

 Aberjhani
(© from I MADE MY BOY OUT OF POETRY)