Pray for me
In life I still need to excrete
Not only faeces but thoughts
Just like food in my mouth
I chew possible sounds
Until they are… reproduced
What I thought was art
Is now a bit bitter on my tongue
The saliva must be tainted
With odours I’ve inhaled
Because this rubbish I taste
Is too flavoursome
I know this isn’t appealing
But neither is the finished product
Unwrap what you can
Of what we toss down to you
And swallow what you think is sweetest
You know it will all be… sour
What I thought was lasting flavour
Turned out to be flesh
And even as I write this
I feel the unpicked hair in my teeth
So that when I create
I am secretly painting in words
From the inside out
I am closer to you in this way
But in that way-
Not so much.
Pray for us
In life we must run to you
But in living we must wait
Amongst the rotting peels
We left in our backpacks
For too long
We’ve learned to speak
About the smell
But in doing so our breaths
Stink up the air
And our legs are getting stiff
Sitting cross legged and festering thoughts
Bubbling images we wanted
God, this is a witch’s pot
But she forgets to stir it on hot days
And we decay
Faster than you do, I swear
The curses don’t become me
I know, the curses
Must be me and them.
Pray, and still listening
I’m sorry about the foulness of everything.
What can I say
When things are this way?
Not much I’m afraid
Make a comparison to the difference, be it night or day…
Tell you that it will not always be this way…
Because only we as a race can say
And determine what it means
To be loved and to love
At least in this, this certain way
So what can I say?
When things are this way
Just be wise and be true
When you question that way
When a woman footy player explodes,
Read about it in this little ode,
She is so 'over' the antediluvian,
She knows what to do, some man,
Cleats to his groin,
End of his sirloins,
Off to the pub she went,
His supper was a non event,
A loud, proud f....ing moll,
No antediluvian's little doll,
A woman footballer explodes...
Thus concludes this little ode......
My grandpa told me stories
When I was a little child
I listened with attention with eyes just opened wide.
I didn't fully understand I hadn't got a clue
He talked about a treasure chest
made from brass with a greenish hue.
Now can you step into my shoes and imagine how I felt
I sat in school and pondered might there be something of great wealth.
Then one day I said grandpa, please will you let me see.
He kissed me on the forehead
then told me he had no key.
When he saw the tears flow
he took me on his knee
Now let's go to the loft, we'll take a light to see.
And when I saw the velvet chest I laughed so joyously,
he said to me, "one day you'll know, magic and mystery."
I marvelled at its beauty of red and golden strands
The velvet was divine I touched it with my hands
"Where is the key where is the key?" I yelled in ecstasy
He shook his head and said to me
"We'll come back in our stride."
He tried his best to tell to me tales from very long ago
And I just wouldn't listen and yes he scold me so
This chest you see has been here, for many centuries
"We can't take heaven by storm "he said, "for Heaven is given to thee."
And now this chest is in my home
It's in a sacred space
I can hear my grandpa's voice and see his adoring face
He truly is an angel who reminds me constantly
I listen to his words with attention consciously.
And still, I still imagine, the secret being revealed
And every day I create a beautiful new dream
I see the sun the moon and stars when I look inside of me.
And in joyous anticipation, in prayer I request the key.
Childhood grandpa magic joy revelation mystery. Imagination.
The cold gloomy clouds
pouring down snow
The harsh winter today
with its frigid glow
Looking at beautiful snowflakes
outside the windows
in their cozy warm homes
The smell of hot chocholate
Children throwing snowballs
Ice block Igloos
This is the picture of cold
By all these lovely snowflakes
Winter days are here
With Autumn best wishes
and Spring best cheer
- Dhwanit Sheth
this and that are words
he doesn't much like
yet they'll always be given
a dink on my bike
these and those do irk
him when they're seen
though I favor them
in my viewing screen
this and that
these and those
really get up his nose
but I just love them
being part of my writing pat
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised)
How to say this briefly:
Words that help convey the hidden.
Here is the gist:
Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim
Of being chosen.
Woven into scripture
Which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
Spirit's -ality puts stress on union,
The approach to life
On oneness under all beliefs;
On peace and joy and getting these;
Transcendence over time and space
A sense of being face to face
With truths about reality, its indescribability -
Yet not impossible to give a voice to.
Fear that goes,
Love that grows.
Agape’s universal call,
Connecting to an All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song,
Means to fit all shapes and sizes,
Geniuses as well as dunces,
Non-, theistic preferences
Which need to be demystified.
Not magic, pagan, or god-based,
Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful,
And mystical, the core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature Of & In Reality;