it comprehends that creating
that surfing to the moon,
that lover who comes along all to soon,
that flying in space
with no surface,
yes, my poetic zest
with rhyming end
is this a trend?
poetry can contain
omni-poetess
only not me
I cannot sing in the rain
but poetrycontains,
a song with epic refrains
disdained and yet
uplevelled
and fuelled
by tears
and mears
poetry….
I love thee!
yours, Sylvie
© Sylvia Frances Chan – All Rights Reserved
Friday 5 June 2020

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You fill our souls
With words of grace
A love no one
Can steal, efface,
Not even, Jupiter’s
Formidable Thunder!

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Of talking to oneself
When no one’s around
To listen,
Pretending,
You are just,
Blending
Artistic sounds,
And nothing else,
While,
Keeping pride
And sanity
Intact…

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Because it blends feelings
Because it dries tears
And sometimes provokes them,
Touches your heart,
Holds your hand
Invisibly,
And thru words can,
Even, take your Soul
To its promised land.

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Catapult you to the stars
In long loving summer nights,
Have the moonlight softly
Kiss you,
In a rapture of delight,
Cross the oceans,
Make the sterile deserts flower
Capture love’s sweet, finest hour
Make you feel, so fancy free
Allowing, you to enjoy
All that you are and want to be
Indeed a veritable wonder
That can elevate the soul
To regions of unimagined thunder.
And yet,
Much to Poetry’s regret,
There is one miracle,
It cannot give,
The real, true love
All beings need,
To live.

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How can I help loving you?
When the things you say
Capture beauty’s eye
Send the heart spinning
In a journey full of Love
Way, way up into the sky
When I’m with you,
Wings I do not need to fly
See, what this love is
I think I’ve given you
Enough reasons, Why.

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Freedom of space,
Of mind, Of spirit,
Embracing, Grace,
Happiness, placed
All of Life in it.

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Or steep it in a cup
As if it were English tea,
It’s there or it isn’t,
There is no recipe.

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It sooths me,
It keeps me sane
In an insane world,
It opens doors,
Never bores,
Communicates,
It’s with me always,
Poetic voyage,
That takes me,
To the brim of happiness,
Saving me from darkness,
Keeps me breathing,
Keeps me living,
Was my first love,
And will be my last,
Always with me,
Unending love,
Universally vast.

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The one and only Queen
Of emotional expansion
Love,
As written passion,
In immortal fashion.

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When loneliness
Is at its height,
And Stars, converse
With mortals,
About Love.

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To whom, you just can’t say
Go away, get lost
Come back another day,
It just doesn’t work that way,
Imperatively, they must be written
For the poet’s survival
And the poem’s, birth day

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Would be like being deaf,
For from you,
The sweetest, saddest,
Music from the soul
Was immortalized,
Verbally.

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A poet’s blood
The air he breaths
The love he seeks
A living must
And Words,
Words, from the soul,
Expressing all.
If one day
All this goes away,
The poet, dies
So strong are,
These living ties.

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Thoughts
Feelings
From the heart,
Blaze
Life!
Created
In a sort of trance
With no formula,
To even give it
A head start,
A miracle,
A mystery,
In which the poet
Just plays,
Gratefully!
His humble part.

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That keeps on giving
So that the spirit
Love and feelings
And whatever else
Is human in us,
Doesn’t dry up.

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On me,
Schizophrenic delight,
Withdrawal from reality
Into fantasy, delusion
Emotional profusion,
Flight!
That totally liberates me,
I travel thru time and space
At the velocity of Light
No waste, just faced
With being,
What I want to be
Just delighting in fantasy,
And, completely,
Totally and overwhelmingly,
FREE!

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That laid
The Golden Pen.
And We,
Don’t even know,
How or When.

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When I read you
When I write you,
Feel your uncontrollable tide
Such emotion and devotion
Gathers deep and way inside,
Transfiguration happens,
Velvet voyage,
To a more spiritual state,
No longer do I feel deprived
Of all the love and emotion,
That no one ever really satisfied,
My sea of loneliness, demystified,
I travel, longingly, to your side,
My deepest Love,
Life of my life.

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You feed the soul,
Accompany,
Who cries alone.
Of all you speak
And feel it All
Most lower instincts
In us, you stall,
How not to be in love with you?
When Love you write,
And are love, too.

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But not for everyone,
I cannot really tell you
What it takes to be a fan,
But a certain luminosity
And a dose of great sincerity
Wants to be passed on,
Friendliness and Blessings
That a poem leaves behind,
Are like divine, heavenly colors
That, so well, the spirit understands,
In conjunction with the mind,
And that speak to you and sooth you,
As no other form of language really can.

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Molds together
Truth and feelings,
Imagination,
Inspiration
Plus observation
And then,
Creates
Language miracles
That go
So much further,
Fantastic creations,
Heart incantations,
Hallucinations,
Worded beauty
And fascination
That sometimes
Can produce,
The most,
Unimaginable,
Sensations.

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Regardless of
Ruthless times
And sadness had,
Please bring out,
The very best in us
The Love, the Goodness
The Beauty, the Truth
The Wisdom,
We are supposed to have,
The humanity we’ve lost,
Along the way
And never again found,
Bless us with your music
Heaven bound,
Give us the Peace,
That we were meant to have
Make us whole again
As we were meant to be,
Please,
Long Live Poetry!

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Another place
Generally,
Full of Love,
Beauty and Grace.

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And shared,
It gives,
Such pleasure
To communicate,
This way!
Have ideas,
Share ideas
Maybe even
Have some stay,
And change
A grain of salt,
For the better,
Maybe?
A little,
Day by Day.

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That ever was,
Pure feelings,
Inner healings,
That, And more,
Poetry does.

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Full of melodious leaves,
Sea, Sun, Sky,
Clouds dreaming by.
River waters,
Pregnant with words,
Feeding the Earth,
Flowing the mind.
Guidance, motherly touch,
Flowered Fields,
That we love so much,
Ancient vineyards, reddest wine,
Poetry,
Heart of hearts,
Where life starts,
Eternal love of mine.

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Of presenting and judging,
Itself!
Without the necessity
Of wearing a hood,
When it’s good
It’s unforgettable
When it’s bad,
It’s just horrid!

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Wants to escape reality
Thru images, metaphors
And dreamlike incisions
That carry us away,
With marvelous visions,
While at the same
Time, facing and
Born from,
Reality, Itself,
And that is why
It creates that
Indescribable Feeling,
As deep and mysterious
As Life, itself.

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Error,
Of the mind
That lifts us
Off the ground,
Flying high,
Never better
Than when,
Right poem
Found.

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Sentimental beauty
That nothing else
Has,
When the divine sincerity
Of Purity,
Magically touches
Poetry’s loving branches,
Its unfolded arms
Can easily,
Reach and touch,
The Sky.

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Of new born Roses
Surrounds thee,
As you surround my soul
With new born visions
Of poetic benedictions
Beneath,
Love’s magic fertile tree
Of creativity
I live but
For your call,
Or not at all.

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You love it madly
Or not at all.
It’s like being
Forever, enamored,
With Life’s Song,
That you carry
Forever.
In the innermost
Part of your Soul.

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In sometimes,
So very little space
But when good
Heaven,
Never goes to waste.

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A waste of Time,
Probably,
Won’t bring in a dime,
BUT!
The immense satisfaction
That some poems give,
Is worth so much!
That moment of ecstasy,
That with a certain poem
You, may live,
Has an unforgettable,
Magic touch!

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We cannot see
The loves just dreamt,
But fancy free
The World on fire,
Passionately,
Romantic-Symbolism,
Traversing Time
So endlessly
Emotional Earthquake,
To senses and soul
Like nothing else,
Can ever Be!

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You feel, you write it,
All, no parts
Nothing ever stays inside,
A poem is a one way ride,
With truth and beauty,
At its side.

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That is simply so unique,
The way it stresses, feelings, words
Not sold at any boutique.
Poetry, cradles feeling,
As if it were her child,
And makes us go into Beauty’s throw,
With the strokes of some words,
With a movement, not blurred,
Of a pen, a heart and of Life.

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That you have with yourself,
An intimate conversation,
A Love deliberation,
More than words,
Music, feeling, sensation.

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Can also give a tear,
But best of all,
It makes you feel,
That human warmth is real.

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That make you think.
Poets are not only,
Paper and Ink.

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reflect love’s bright
refulgence
otherwise
it dries and dies
a personal
indulgence

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Magic,
Not all poetry.
And we are all
In between the two.
And we merged
In one
That is life.
And life is
With us
To take a new turn.
True to say
No one is single
And fragment
Not possible.
Expression is important
And not the lesson.

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a magic, field–like the space
between a sleepwalker’s outheld arms!

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Poetry for what,
What the philosophy of it,
What it to give to man?
The philosophy of poetry,
What to say,
How to say it,
Poetry is philosophy,
Philosophy poetry?
The poet a philosopher
And the philosopher a poet,
Poetry as visions and dreams,
Thoughts and ideas,
Images and pictures.
The poet a philosopher
And the philosopher a poet,
Poetry is philosophy,
Philosophy poetry,
Everything has but a philosophy
Accept you or not.

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Tracts and domains
With topography
Of the wild and Nature
And population scattered over
And with global positioning system
Tracked and untracked
Telling about location
And the unlocated indescribable.
The fields and fallows full of solitude,
The wild with eerie silence,
Nature calm and in furies,
The hills, dales and vales,
The woodlands touching the canopies
Of the sky
And dense and deep.

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What is poetry to me,
Sir,
What to say about
If ask you,
How to say?
Poetry,
Poetry to me is
A spectacle of the bhaluwallah,
The bear showman,
The bandarwallah,
I mean the monkey showman,
The juggler,
The sleight of hand of the Indian juggler.
Of yogis, fakirs and sadhakas
And tantrics
Fake and real,
Astrologers, palmists and horoscope-makers
Astrological and astronomical,
Who is what,
I don’t,
Can’t say that,
It is better
To have a tryst with them?

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What is poetry for you Dubey
If somebody questions me,
What shall I
Hearing him,
Keeping mum for a moment,
Pausing to respond
And thinking over,
Poetry,
Poetry,
What is poetry
And that to me,
Me?
Poetry to me
Is aesthetic beauty,
Beauty perceivable,
Truth to be realized
And goodness to be appreciated,
Satyam shivam sundaram
From the Indian point of view
As am an Indian
And my viewpoint Sanskritic and Brahminical
Re-voicing,
Shivoaham shivoaham shivoaham.
My discourse one of Atman and Parmatman,
The transmigration of the soul,
The Soul and the Over soul,
Death and maya,
Karma and dharma,
Yama and the dark night
And the flutter of the bird,
Satya, ahimsa and shantih.

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A treasured love
For whom the poet’s heart,
Forever longs.

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The oldest and less profitable
Of all Arts,
But who cares?
As long as it touches
The deepest fibers
Of loving hearts.

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