When the birds take back their language,

when the trees unloose

their tenderly hands from around you,

when the air doesn't breathe

and the seas are tearing,

when the flowers whisper:

No, you own nothing,

then remember:

You're visitor,

honoring the hospitality.

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And one day,

the sun stopped,

the rain stopped falling,

the flowers didn't look high,

the sky emptied of stars,

then a tear dripped

from the heart and became our breath.

We need a sacred tear,

before the fall...

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My listless life just drifts on by
Like the clouds that float up high
All is still. I see nothing move.
And of all things I disapprove.

And so turn thy wheel. Let life be good.
Then let us all be understood
Let the Sun now break through.
Let this golden globe echo my life's view.

Take me from this world of trouble
Prick and pop this secret bubble
And through the tears of heaven let m...

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No, there does not exist a perfect person

Or a perfect scheme of life,

And there is no path all smooth to travel,

With all happiness and with no strife.

And while cannot turn back time

We may amend our mistakes

And we can then learn of them

No matter how long it may take.

So patience must be our lifelong guide,

And not to dwell into despair

And not spend our...

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Where is the magic?

We all start out knowing magic.

We are born with hurricanes and whirlwinds,

oceans and galaxies inside us.

We are able to sing to birds and read the clouds

and see the destiny in grains of sand.

But we have forgotten the magic

and we feel without compass, alone and desperately,

only selfishness, only pain, fear and darkness.

But, magic of love has nev...

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You came in to this world

with enough light to find

your way out of the dark,

enough kindness to save a soul,

enough love to shift a planet.

Don't worry, you are enquipped

with all you could ever need.

Look with in,

you are drenched in magic.

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Why are we all here?

What is life all about?

Are we sure that there's a God?

Or are we in some doubt?

How should we all live?

Is it always right to be good?

Are we constantly being judged?

Or are we understood?

Where are we all going?

And is it left up to fate?

Is it best to be early?

Or should we arrive late?

Is it best to be honest?

To be des...

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Every day we live a story,

Including characters and plots.

Some of them are exciting,

While some of them are not.

Is it firstly all planned out?

Or made up as we go along?

What sort of person shall we be in it?

Will we be weak or strong?

Can we choose to write the scripts?

Can we choose how it all ends?

Shall it finish good and happy?

And is there a moral...

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As I observe, I feel I need to ask myself “Why is it that people talk without thinking first?”

I see it everywhere I venture, people creating their very own version of hell and I wonder “Why would they do that? Make their life so limited and one dimensional?”

Further pondering on the matter drew me to further observe “They ask for exactly what they don’t want, all the time, why would th...

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Day 8 of NaPoWriMo asks us to write poetry using the jargon of our professions (or someone else’s profession). As a philosophy instructor, my only learning objective was to destroy the smug and self-satisfied confidence my students had in their own knowledge. Petty of me, I know.

On the Destructive Power of Measureable Learning Objectives

Your destruction is both
Achievable and measurable
...

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Every time I think I have become enlightened and can handle anything, a new challenge shows up to test me. Whether it's toxicity in my body, family illness or death, rejection of a lover, friend, stranger, job, point of view, whatever... ego is the first to show up on the scene, like a paramedic giving CPR to revive my pride. Pride dies, only to come back a little weaker next round, like a cat wit...

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Dr. Love (or How I Learned to Stop Wallowing and Write Poetry)

By: Rodolfo Perez

Love is (sometimes) patient,

Love is (sometimes) kind,

And sometimes, love is a needle in the eye,

Or a kick to the groin.

It is a cliff-hanger,

With your mother waiting to catch you,

When you let go.

It is losing your voice,

From crying into your pillow.

It is real...

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