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LD Goodwin Feb 2013
A soft snow fell today
burying the Fall,
causing the deer mice to scurry.
Darting, and dashing,
eluding Yoji,
Feline King.
Gone are the dizzy days of Summer,
here are the days of reflection.
Introspection that's Winter's job.
Judging me, preparing me,
"keep up Larry", the Winter says.
"Let us temper ourselves for another year."
My Parents are both 95 now,
95 Winters have they.
Of keeping up, they are Masters.
Planning each hour of the day,
quality time is all they have.
Resistance is futile.
So, like the Seasons, I must change.
Taking off the clothes of one,
understand to die with each breath is to live.
Vowing to accept the suchness,
welcoming the unique events in my life.
Xeroxed, I think not.
Yesteryears' regrets and tomorrow's fears are insane.
Zealous am I about this moment.
Harrogate, TN 2013
My first A to Z poem.  Inspired by my fellow poets here at HP.
Rob Tuck  Nov 2014
suchness
Rob Tuck Nov 2014
this year, horse chestnut
leaves were first to fall
lime trees were the last
Onoma Dec 2013
By some Remove privy to self-preservation's
extras...to be, or not to be had...beached, I've
been...electromagnetically torn asunder!
Odd sounds do, and do come in and out...
a crackly chirp singing the foundations of worlds.
The melancholia of space junk stuck to a mind of
distance...hoards copious amounts of love-filled
forgetfulness.
Bye...bye...Buddha, in all your "suchness"...bye...
bye...letting go is the only Way.
Ideas usurp various limits
by the judicious art
of cross-application.
Onoma  Jan 2015
Eagle-man
Onoma Jan 2015
Sunlight rushed on your talons
as receding seawater...
the sand quickened black...
fine tuning stars.
Over-majesty...horizon's
scream vowed to silence,
~High on Light~
your crazy outburst of flight.
Weighing on air--
blank with groundless view...
spirit-sifted.
Solitary to the degree of
divine feedback...
moment to motion....
motion to moment,
perfectly still and air born.
A pounding and liberating
heart thousands of
feet above...
for below.
Feathers refined by fires
too dear to see...
more akin to what experience
Knows of itself.
Entire languages contained
in mere words...
that seem to be unsaid
in the saying.
You're the White bedside
vigil of life to death.
The Narrow Way
narrowed to nonentity...
till nothing was in vain,
and such became Suchness.
Love's love of being gave
your being...
as simply and fully.
Ashes to ashes, you fell
from a wayward sky...
a wiry Cruciform trembled
beside you as if on a
projection screen.
Perhaps to symbolize
you could go on forever flying...
or close your eyes and go on
forever in the here and now.
You are the stuff of dreams...
as I Am...
I don't know what else to call
you, but Eagle-man...
may you sleep deeper
than sleep
upon a purple
cloud.


*Based on a being I saw in a dream years ago...I tried to
put the being's essence into words.
Part of this mind
is furiously angry
and part of this mind
is extremely kind
and this is a condition
which applies
to my whole family
and I have been struggling
to control the anger
by letting it be
and I have been practicing
to bring out the kindness
by being right here with us
so the dual nature
of the split mind

is non-existent
in this suchness
which doesn't have
to be silent,
only loving.
I stand in the shower with lavender fields in my chest

how do I scrape off the muck, scoop out the loathing
and take off the gloves to pick up the patches of fear
that periodically gather at the base of my shower drain  

how do I heal each limb so that with majesty
I awaken knowing
full and bright that I am a child with wings
and elevation is the right song that pours out when I dream
an inheritance marbled into my being’s skin
                              …
how does a child beget forgetting
how does an adult continue such forgetting

what is the suchness of wholeness
whose scent of remembrance seems mythically far
but its verity present within our plot

                              …
our hands reaching for the bunches of lavender
that can be gathered from a bountiful field
a calm whiff of what we truly are
that can send us back into an infinite space of fruitful life
cusping possibility
                            ...
portable pastures inside our homestead
running water
and a chance to be cleansed
what suchness of being over my body  
how ecstatic
how simple to stand under the showerhead 
on the toes of today
with a meadow in my chest
you are slow like daggers or
        cancer.

this is what it feels like to travel
on a discourse:

something about you metastasizes
in my mind whenever the silences
are no longer beautiful;

and just like that, I thumb a prayer
to the fallen obsidian,
this harbinger of marvelous calm.

sometimes all the rooms are white
and I am immersed deep into pallor –
when both our eyes do not meet,
I wring out a cockeyed miracle:

dragging the blood of the trees with me,
these bushy polyps,
   these benign volcanoes skin,
ashen and dull like a heart – these agonized
appurtenances, I gleam like light
   cut from the mirror and fade out
as my visibilities hide.

something in me smiles when you
are flattened out – cross-legged, interconnected
  unloose a star fettered somewhere deep where
hands cannot reach for the inside of a tomb.
  
  this suchness that when I feel your sensations
press their threats against my skin,
      you are a salutary squelch
in this pure-iron condition, or a heavy-earth machinery
   moving inside my marrow, that deep

  into death like a morning waist-high
with tears, walled in by requiems.

— The End —