Soul Pressed Poetry

Poetry that comes from our soul.

flow (30 Jan 2010)


I just met an extra terrestrial
(that sounds so sensational)
indeed the sensation

had me sitting next to you
wanting to know you
  further than your name

wanting to know how you
came to be
  in a woman’s body

in a man’s voice
on a suicide pact
that failed and here you are

talking with a small wry smile
talking about the sensations of sound
you call it a new language

you call me to speak from my heart

I feel sad as I utter my hopes
I am unable to tell you
what makes me tick, these words

are inadequate, a contradiction -
the distance between meaning
and sounds become vague and invested stories

you ask me to try Kojsh
  the language you learnt
to speak to your goddess

the source of all, the light
that brought you in to being.
You lead; confident, self contained

lying on your back
and out you breathe, throwing
your limbs with the sound

it’s playful; you are earnest
I want to talk with you (and her)
so I lie back and breathe and stretch

out my reply; short, punctuated
crisp, like my gesture
- this helps you say

You lead; moving your limbs out slower
your language trots through
that space. I follow; my arms

flowing, my sound breathing
and now introducing my self.
You speak again, clicks

inhabiting syllables and glottal
stops pregnating the sound.
My hands conduct this

language, hitting a bubble of
laughter. We are talking!
I am talking more likely a truth

that meets no contradictions, language
that is not squeezed through
a tiny channel in my brain

this language has no attached
meaning – only
I understand that I am passing

information; the important stuff
like there’s a complete
auto-biology that I wear, and it is asking

for expression from within
by way of service; a contribution
to all efforts in raising life’s vibration

let me be of value

something like that is transmitted
through my conducting hands
my swirling signal of sound

while the tears loosen
  in my eyes. You take my hand
You understand

You tell me my way
  of existence is to arrive
where time is art and not money


In the freedom of our life
long conversation, I think I
sent my first totally unattached

prayer; a prayer in the
language of angels where
no-words are a flow of sound

the sound of creation
feeling oh so tangible
and so immediately creative

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