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John Wayne Gacy Sep 2010
Meru, sparkling eyed
Meru, I stand beside
Meru, Meru, why deny
You know you're a great person
Inside.

Hair so fair, and perfect length
Fragrance so sweet and loving yet, you deny
that you're the best, a friend that always must detest
the greatness and the elegance with which you know you hold
So must I make a move so bold
and write a poem, so you'll be told
Smile a little, you're not yet old
Youth is still within, and maybe you're self loathing yes.
But happiness derives from it, i'll free you from the life
that you so freely would give up!

A body that's above the rest
Skin that's not quite pale
In height you're not the tallest
but that's a minor detail
because your heart is how we measure you
and you're as tall as any
and if I had to choose my friends
I wouldn't choose very many
But you'd be on my special list
At number 1 or 2!
So i'll ask you kindly now
are these words getting through

Is it clear that you're very cool
and very beautiful
and although you are a fool for love
you're not a fool at all
You're a little too impulsive,
a quality I have too... But is it such a bad thing to do what the heart
tells
you
to.
copyright JWG 2011

Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.
I
Ribb at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn
BECAUSE you have found me in the pitch-dark night
With open book you ask me what I do.
Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar
To those that never saw this tonsured head
Nor heard this voice that ninety years have cracked.
Of Baile and Aillinn you need not speak,
All know their tale, all know what leaf and twig,
What juncture of the apple and the yew,
Surmount their bones; but speak what none ha've
heard.
The miracle that gave them such a death
Transfigured to pure substance what had once
Been bone and sinew; when such bodies join
There is no touching here, nor touching there,
Nor straining joy, but whole is joined to whole;
For the ******* of angels is a light
Where for its moment both seem lost, consumed.
Here in the pitch-dark atmosphere above
The trembling of the apple and the yew,
Here on the anniversary of their death,
The anniversary of their first embrace,
Those lovers, purified by tragedy,
Hurry into each other's arms; these eyes,
By water, herb and solitary prayer
Made aquiline, are open to that light.
Though somewhat broken by the leaves, that light
Lies in a circle on the grass; therein
I turn the pages of my holy book.
II
Ribb denounces Patrick
An abstract Greek absurdity has crazed the man --
Recall that masculine Trinity.  Man, woman, child (a
daughter or a son),
That's how all natural or supernatural stories run.
Natural and supernatural with the self-same ring are
wed.
As man, as beast, as an ephemeral fly begets, Godhead
begets Godhead,
For things below are copies, the Great Smaragdine
Tablet said.
Yet all must copy copies, all increase their kind;
When the conflagration of their passion sinks, damped
by the body or the mind,
That juggling nature mounts, her coil in their em-
braces twined.
The mirror-scaled serpent is multiplicity,
But all that run in couples, on earth, in flood or air,
share God that is but three,
And could beget or bear themselves could they but
love as He.
III
Ribb in Ecstasy
What matter that you understood no word!
Doubtless I spoke or sang what I had heard
In broken sentences.  My soul had found
All happiness in its own cause or ground.
Godhead on Godhead in ****** spasm begot
Godhead.  Some shadow fell.  My soul forgot
Those amorous cries that out of quiet come
And must the common round of day resume.
IV
There
There all the barrel-hoops are knit,
There all the serpent-tails are bit,
There all the gyres converge in one,
There all the planets drop in the Sun.
V
Ribb considers Christian Love insufficient
Why should I seek for love or study it?
It is of God and passes human wit.
I study hatred with great diligence,
For that's a passion in my own control,
A sort of besom that can clear the soul
Of everything that is not mind or sense.
Why do I hate man, woman Or event?
That is a light my jealous soul has sent.
From terror and deception freed it can
Discover impurities, can show at last
How soul may walk when all such things are past,
How soul could walk before such things began.
Then my delivered soul herself shall learn
A darker knowledge and in hatred turn
From every thought of God mankind has had.
Thought is a garment and the soul's a bride
That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide:
Hatred of God may bring the soul to God.
At stroke of midnight soul cannot endure
A ****** or mental furniture.
What can she take until her Master give!
Where can she look until He make the show!
What can she know until He bid her know!
How can she live till in her blood He live!
VI
He and She
As the moon sidles up
Must she sidle up,
As trips the scared moon
Away must she trip:
"His light had struck me blind
Dared I stop'.
She sings as the moon sings:
"I am I, am I;
The greater grows my light
The further that I fly'.
All creation shivers
With that sweet cry
VII
What Magic Drum?
He holds him from desire, all but stops his breathing
lest
primordial Motherhood forsake his limbs, the child no
longer rest,
Drinking joy as it were milk upon his breast.
Through light-obliterating garden foliage what magic
drum?
Down limb and breast or down that glimmering belly
move his mouth and sinewy tongue.
What from the forest came? What beast has licked its
young?
VIII
Whence had they come?
Eternity is passion, girl or boy
Cry at the onset of their ****** joy
"For ever and for ever'; then awake
Ignorant what Dramatis personae spake;
A passion-driven exultant man sings out
Sentences that he has never thought;
The Flagellant lashes those submissive *****
Ignorant what that dramatist enjoins,
What master made the lash.  Whence had they come,
The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome?
What sacred drama through her body heaved
When world-transforming Charlemagne was con-
ceived?
IX
The Four Ages of Man
He with body waged a fight,
But body won; it walks upright.
Then he struggled with the heart;
Innocence and peace depart.
Then he struggled with the mind;
His proud heart he left behind.
Now his wars on God begin;
At stroke of midnight God shall win.
X
Conjunctions
If Jupiter and Saturn meet,
What a cop of mummy wheat!
The sword's a cross; thereon He died:
On breast of Mars the goddess sighed.
XI
A Needle's Eye
All the stream that's roaring by
Came out of a needle's eye;
Things unborn, things that are gone,
From needle's eye still goad it on.
XII
Meru
Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a mle, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter's dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know
That day brings round the night, that before dawn
His glory and his monuments are gone.
Babu kandula Feb 2015
When Gods tried to churn ocean
For nectar with Meru mountain

Firstly it was poison which came
Because of its severity all life forms
Where in great threat

All Gods prayed him

He decided to take the poison
And save the world

Which eventually made his neck
Blue in color

So we call him Neelakanta

He has a third eye

So we call him Trinetra

He is the destructor of Evil

He wanders in Cementary
To pacify and soothe the spirits

By doing Shiva Tandavanam (dance performed by shiva)

And saved us from those spirits

Shiva is his name

Chanting his name can save you
From any hazardous situation
Shiva one of the prominent Gods in Hinduism

I am an amateur guy to explain about a powerful God

Please forgive me if there are mistakes
Fah Aug 2013
I rest , slightly out of breath
Floating ...
In a little canoe carved with etched markings of ancient tradition - native - to mama earths paintbrush
Offering my naked body sleek with a slight sheen of daytime heat,
my face shadowed by the brim of a banana tree leaf sombrero ,

Lazily drifting into giant Lilly pads , lotus flowers spring up , rich sumptuous yellow suns adorned with skins of deep purple petals
Where I go , I don't know - Rivers leads the way

Curvaceous as my curls the water meanders into Lake Meru

Gently disturbing the pristine reflections of misty cloud mountains
Ripples cascade into the placid watery depths as I dock in where the river meets land , to find the seven nymphs waiting , to guide me home.

All this time , woven into a shirt that is iradeccent as the halo around lady moon as night falls across the vally.

The last drops of sunset burning orange adorn my locks ,

Fire light calls and beckons , dancing flames whisper sensual pleasures and lick my skin leaving residual memories of rooftop nights , but , today we lie on the earthen - hearth falling asleep to the cradling , rocking rhythm that is
Sacred lullaby

Notes got us high on paper wings

Leave these flesh bodies in favour

Of ethereal

And father sky's cloud kingdom - star shine
Coats each kiss in bioluminescence
Forget cloud 9 , this , I, heaven on earth

When we return , bodies paired with dew

Under the blanket of sunrise
Serene

I have drunk from the mountain stream
Clean , clear , free.
Written first by hand, an enjoyable process under the overhang of lightning without thunder
There lies a picture on the mantle
of my grandfather, my step-father's
father, clad in U.S. Navy fatigues
and grinning slightly, almost a
smirk. The year is 1960-something
as he enlists for Vietnam and is
shipped overseas on the USS
Corral Sea to load sidewinders
into fighter planes that ignite and
****. It happens so fast.

It happened so fast. Two months
of time reduced to blinks and
minute-long visits. This house could
be cold as Mt. Meru's peak and I
would hardly notice. The brain has
ways of placing things on autopilot.

His life has come to pass and I am
left to wonder. I am not sure I ever
truly knew the man. I heard stories,
his helicopter shot down in Vietnam,
his E&E; north of the ** Chi Minh and
how he owned a gun shop on Main
St. in the town I came to call home
before it was my home. I cannot hear
his whispering, small wind of existence
sidewinding away from me and my
youthfulness. In small time I've come
to find life is meaningful if you take time
to make it so.

The day of his funeral is beautiful,
sunny and mild and full of breeze.
The gas tank of my mother's car is
close to empty and I am worried of
worldly things, will we make it and
when can we fill up again. 21 guns
gives my heart a needed beating.
For Grandpa Cliff
Justin G Dec 2014
If you know who I am?
Look for me.

I will be meditating far away deep within the
Great Mountains of Mount Meru.
You will find me
on top of a hourglass, groomed in all black.
You will see me feeding sunflower seeds
to purple winged sheep
that smell of lavender.

If you know who I am?
Please don't hesitate to look for me.
I will be levitating somewhere over the Sahara Desert,
on a carpet made from fire & brimstone.

Better yet!

You will find me drifting off in a rainforest
singing with the wolves, or dancing with snakes,
or even composing with the trees,

But if you truly know who I am?
Pay me a visit.

I will be below land
swimming in the vast seas of Atlantis.
I shall be decorated in golden pearls from head to toe.
I will be above and beyond the clouds, deep in outer space,
dodging asteroids in light speed.
You will find me desperately searching and striving
for a better place to call home
A better place to call my own.
Look For Me.
Causticji May 2015
Something stinking this way comes
not just the nausea of cobblestone
on Sundays and all public holidays
'neath the stairwell of insidious intent
hooked onto the static line for ages
the suicidal fish sinks deeper in the
pool of bile but cannot drown, so he
toes the line of the drama queen via
the lament-laden path trodden by
god's servant, past the corner where
foreignicating correspondents collide,
turn right or left – doesn’t matter
which way he chooses, it’s wrong.

The misfortune of being missed by
a Fortuner, he proceeds to jump off
Tilak Bridge and is hit by Range Rovers
endeavouring to hit and run after
the mundane Meru that lost its wind
shielding itself from the tyranny of
daddy's little boys with flaccid toys and
***** mouths and itchy trigger fingers,
misadventure interrupted they pause to
douse the flames of the dying but
urea isn't carbon dioxide; it's piscicide.

Something Kafkaesque calls him but it's
masked with the aroma of ******* served
in the nick of time from 22 through 71,
past Lahore Chowk down Baker St.
Pedestrian rat on the wrong side of
a one-way expressway to your skull
about turn into pitch black cul-de-sac,
scurries in through the out grille gushing
acerbic symphonies from the basement,
storm-water drain up against the tide,
never learnt to swim yet he tries.

After a while, she'll be home and dry.

The low ceiling makes him slouch
in and out through endless maze,
daily grind never takes a break
no room to turn around walk out,
yet again he forgets not to stretch
yet another fresh bump on his skull
now there are four score maybe more
benign, perhaps, who knows?
rats can't scan, only cats can.

The ache's spread to the limbs
the head and the hypertensive heart
then anterior now posterior
the costive claustrophe bleeds again,
it's a duct with a view downstairs,
he's a ****** not entirely by choice,
tom cat jerry kitten eating in and out
the pie is beyond grasp, at the exit
lies a mousetrap sans the bait,
nothing else for him to do but
work his fingers to the bone.
Justin G Jun 2015
If you do not
know who I am
Do not look for me

I won't be meditating far out within the
Great Mountains of Mount Meru

You won't find me
At the top of a hourglass,
Nor will I be groomed in all black

I will smell of albacore
drenched in blood
and anguish
Kissing wingless
pigeons with one eye

I will be beneath
frozen pillars
amongst phantom
Cries

If you are still oblivious to my identity
Please don't hesitate to walk away from me
I will soon be buried elsewhere
under the Sahara Desert
In a tomb made from fire & brimstone

Better yet

I will be eaten alive in a dark forest
either by wolves, or devoured by snakes
under decomposed trees left to transpose

But if you truly have forgotten
Who I am?
Pay me no mind

I will be below land
drowning in the harsh seas of iceland
I will be starved with unspeakable scars
thorned from head to toe

I will be ****** into a black hole
deep within outer space
brutally beaten by asteroids in light speed
You won't find me desperately searching or striving
You will simply live on
Without me as if my
love never existed
This is a dark counterpart to my old poem
Look For Me
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/996149/look-for-me/
Glasgow Girl G1 Jan 2018
Seedling planted in Meru, resistance to disease

Result in cherries ripe and sweet, grown in a Kenyan breeze.  

Support hardworking farmers, who toil and strive to live

Let’s lift the mist and misery, ethical coffee is not a gift!
Mark Wanless Nov 2017
I touch the mirror thinking i know
       the truth of reflection
Not separate but i moving i stare
       mesmerized in dream worlds
Flat      two dimensional      pieces of now
       pride swells to safety mastery thought
Of all claimed a union intimate wisdom
       if but shyly humbly
An ant whispers      hallucinating lions roar
       lions will      and billions of other ants
       see deluded      gold bushy mane
       carnivore teeth      breath of flesh
       eater
Braincarving rationalized existence
       ecstatic hope or fear for the moment
       in mind
Sight touch sound taste smell
       consciousness sensate
Variables infinite shaped perceiver
       perceiving perceived perceptions
Wave after turbulent wave
       light      gravity
       x-ray      thought
       one object      cause effect
       different view
Holding together a mote of cosmos
       non other than we this
       mountain meru
bulletcookie Nov 2023
each line, ladder's plank
eonic time & places
who'll climb Mt. Meru

-cec
Eric Rovegno Feb 2017
Every night I lay my head upon my pillow, not really feeling as though I'm home. Yet seeing that bright light which illuminates our eyes when we close them getting brighter and now filling with colors of strength, love and courage. Is this because you walked into my life, I don't know. What I do know is that not a single moment goes by since our first encounter that I don't think of you. Mystery? I don't think so. It's was something deeper and far more meaningful to me. Yet, I didn't fully understand even that until we began to talk, and I began to see what it was. It's not something that just comes to everyone, in fact most will never know this feeling. For me it's like watching the beautiful seeds I planted began to sprout and when I see you it's like I'm seeing that very first blossom as it glows with such deep, vibrant colors each and every time.  When we speak to one another,  I might zone out at times not because I am not listening but because your voice is like the sounds of the song birds every morning I step out my door, it's mesmerizing and in its own right like a beautiful Symphony playing the most amazing love song. With your touch my whole body charges from that single spectacular moment. It's that feeling you get when you walk into the most beautiful, serene, solemn temple. I believe it's the same feeling that we will encounter at Mount Meru. You are the beautifulist of flowers, your fragrance fills every memory and heals every pain. You are more than special you are my soul, my life, my heart and my everything.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
i have to most deserverdly like
a frederick seidel poem
when i read it -
        but not... when he reads it...

    some ancient grimmace
of h'america:
   those north eastern states...
mostly maine
and new hampshire...

      because: it's a hidden history
because the vikings came
prior to christopher...
   and the saxon soul will elevate
itself in secret to
this fact than...

          lend itself to follow
from the south with the conquistadors...
robert lowell et al.

         pristine h'america
as if bewildering never a displaced
european...

     i wish there could be something
impossible about a frederick seigel
poem...
  but i don't mind the "privileged" part
when i "know" of his father's
hard grinding knuckles
of owning a coalmine (etc.)

unlike novels and dogma...
a milan kundera essay about either
franz kafka or flaubert...
again proust, who i hope to read
someday...

          here in poetry: the next voice
without a dogmatic clarity
a novel like a tide
    a novel like a sunrise or sunset...
a poem like:
a disemboweled view
of a seaweed comparison...  

          to have children is to find
a new way to be startled...
        to have children is to...
   settle eternal affairs for future and
this... gall bleeding dry into
a frictive **** with pride...
  
  perhaps the pyramids can compete
with a kilimanjaro...
         speke or meru...
           of those long bones fathomed
with crosses and chalices
made from riddled jaws and teeth
like gems...
        
           at some point words cannot
be trusted...
   how many times have i teased
a misnomer - robert pinsky:
big... beeeeeeeeg on misnomers...
   a voice so tender it could
compete with gregory corso's lisp...
but of the latter: with youth! with paris!
anything goes!

unlike a novel: nothing is being
accomplished...
a breath if a lemon could breathe...
it's not the money that bothers me:
with or without it...
the words serve their own delights
and... procrastinations...
and...
        once upon a time: words
at the dentist...

  a woman will visit a tattoo artist
sooner than visit a hair-stylists...
she's sooner buy a wig...
since most women are dis-satisfied with
styling of the hair...
2+ years of "reprieve" from seeing
a barber...

             and then...
     turn around puritan, i.e.:
i never visited a brothel...
         i decided to claim... *** and cleaning
the bathroom...
  an exercise in dead-weight...
but what a comparison...
to emerge: liberty signalling -
   who's who and the abuse did not
extend into KINK...
          so... the barber replaced
the brothel as:                  neuhöhen...

oh if there was some pride
beside the otherwise lazy...
strict... nunnery of rejection and binging
on gym membership and bulimia...
the roman etiquette slim...

what sad times...
    this having to find everything beside
***: liberated from procreation...
the epitome surreal godhead-****-it-all
tentacle extension / plagiarism...
    bring me the brute and the asinine wonder
of the tongue...
i'll hope to turn my ego
into a chisel and retain:
an oyster shell from
a hoarded weathering of:
beginning with "random"...
                         this rock that will
become a replica of shell...
or muscle... or thereby an ingenuity...
of bone;
               a crown from treating
rock into this... hollow bell -
                      the soul an uvula...
the soul a fading / a dying out strobe
epilepsy: PARTY BIG'OH jiggles!

     parking lot delight... who had a son...
and oh the obviousness of
this tired: not -
      
          satan weaver...
                      blue blooded cuts of beef...
for there is no sentiment
concerning pork...
   why oysters are a speciality for the upper-classes
i will never know
given that the pickwick papers made
it sensibly plain: oysters were once...
what you'd make of tender-bits
these days...
   the nuggets of flesh...
god... a pork liver with onions...
a decent semi-broth of poultry hearts
with barley groats... and gherkins...
or poultry stomachs likewise...
                           esp. with barley groats...

i can't imagine why...
muscle is the go to piece of the animal...
the heavily protein skim reading
of the best of: excuses to not be a vegetarian...
the liver... the hearts... the stomachs...
mein gott! pork lungs!

even the feel of the raw product...
for the sauce... a hand filled with
about a dozen chicken hearts...
there is a compensating image...
when you could still feed pigeons
in trafalgar sq.

                 some might say: who...
once upon a time... did...
  good to know... a part of me is still loitering
around a culminating prospect
of... living without extreme!

— The End —