A poem by Donny Lee Duke

I’m soul.
I have looked in the mirror,
and I’m writin’ about it
every time I write it down.
This is not made-up speech.
It’s all I can do to write it down.
I’m a science of writing it down.
Whole and readymade
the lines come.
That’s all that I can say.

Would you excuse me a minute?
Here I am listenin’.
It’s explodes upon your inner ear in silence.
I mean you don’t let the mind touch it.
Hear that speech?
It’s one and the same
with hear everybody talk.
How wonderful, common, and ordinary.
I’ve raised the halls of speech
a metaphor in waiting.

I go down Moses
to the radio land.
A certain boundlessness sets its edge.
I basketball this to you.
Have you found my meaning yet?
That’s all I’m worth?

I meet the pages of your dream
with my speech.
I illume mind this to you.
You hear it in your court
a symbol sound.
I symbol this to you
how big that sounds.

Chase me off will yah?
I’m huntin’ the universe symbol God,
a poet’s lair.
The dream speech
symbol God.
Is that the rise of the universe?
A poet’s meaning clear.

The expressive word,
has it dawned on you yet?

This poem was written for the American magazine Collaboration, A Journal of Integral Yoga in response to their Winter 2021 issue that focused on poetry, publishing many poems by people involved in our yoga. The poem came unbidden after reading the issue, and it was clear what it was for, Collaboration, and I guess my muse, the agency of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo being the ‘over-editor’ thereof, wanted to give an example of a poem from the Sri Aurobindo school of poetry, if I may call it that, where a poem is received from the overhead regions or the soul via inner listening. I’ve submitted to them multiple times, especially over the last couple of years, never getting a poem published, half the time not receiving a reply. Here is the content of two emails from May of this year where I query for and receive a reply:

“Three months ago I submitted “A Poetry Speaks”. What is the status on that submission? If it’s a no go, I have some questions. My main question, are you mad at me? Have I been blacklisted? Will you ever forgive me? Are you consulting the Mother? Maybe next time.”

“Hello Donny,
I’m sorry to tell you that your submission isn’t quite what we are looking for at Collaboration. Thank you for thinking of Collaboration.”

Former times when I did get a rejection notice, I was told my poem wasn’t about the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, or when a poem or poems were, meaning mentioning our teachers by name, that it didn’t fit them, and so I wanted to know what the real deal was, the true reason, and if it I were wasting my time submitting to them. Hence my query. That was my last attempt to submit to them, and I stopped submitting to literary magazines years ago. My muse has some things to say about this process of trying to get my poetry out there, which appears here as a verse, but it’s not a poem, just some scattered lines I heard, some lost, as I lay listening from dawn on this morning.

He drive a force of nature.
From the letter in my throat,
the swan about the offering.
I really wish you'd understand.
You and under...
understand.
It appears to me I've been unfairly held in detention.
I've waited so long. [heard sung, song "Two Tickets to Paradise", sung by Eddie Money]
I guess I reminded them of my immorality in my ethos.
Hidden and ancient don't mean the same thing.
They don't.
Donny Denver miracle,
we never die.
Sunshine on my shoulders. [heard sung, song "Sunshine on my Shoulders, sung by John Denver]
Taken down to the police station,
the threat always hanging over my head.
He's left things dead all over the outside—
rejection.
How do I get into Auroville?
Last time like this time
I just have to wait.
How soon to Auroville?
One day it will be.
I've got two tickets to paradise, [heard sung by Eddie Money]
for the reader and for the yoga.
You think you're really something.
That's it for tweets.
A child is born in New York City,
get up,
get up more.
One of those sponge thingies
gets a hold of my poetry.
This is a good place
for a stick up.
Have a good evening.
Don't even tell yah they've been in your wallet.
Here to help
harm's end.