justoneman - Hello Poetry

All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. You see, they crave Emptiness to become one with the All. How elementary. I crave a lack of craving, and by doin so crave bother mor and less. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. They attempt to manifest the primordial God with small acts of charity and kindness. How naive. I invoke both Chaos and order Everytime I tie my shoes. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. Sackcloth and ashes has become quite the ascetic. How basic. Anybody who is nobody is rocking the tshirt and jeans. For if there is no one. There is nowhere to go. If there is no one. There is nowhere to go. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others.

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Jul 27, 2020

Jul 27, 2020 at 7:59 AM UTC

Something

All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. You see, they crave Emptiness to become one with the All. How elementary. I crave a lack of craving, and by doin so crave bother mor and less. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. They attempt to manifest the primordial God with small acts of charity and kindness. How naive. I invoke both Chaos and order Everytime I tie my shoes. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. Sackcloth and ashes has become quite the ascetic. How basic. Anybody who is nobody is rocking the tshirt and jeans. For if there is no one. There is nowhere to go. If there is no one. There is nowhere to go. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others. All things are no things, But some things are more no things than others.

25

What reality isn’t illusion, When the pain is so real. Slaves to our insecurities, How much can we heal? And when we can’t? When to bear witness is to behold humanity. Our Depth. Our Sorrow. Where do we guide our empty sacrifices? To God or to ****** Jesus wept and the people blinked. God died and no one mourned. I will be with him in trouble In all that distress, he too was distressed Him and not an angel

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Apr 20, 2020

Apr 20, 2020 at 5:58 AM UTC

Next Year as Free People

What reality isn’t illusion, When the pain is so real. Slaves to our insecurities, How much can we heal? And when we can’t? When to bear witness is to behold humanity. Our Depth. Our Sorrow. Where do we guide our empty sacrifices? To God or to ****** Jesus wept and the people blinked. God died and no one mourned. I will be with him in trouble In all that distress, he too was distressed Him and not an angel

15

Yesterday I visited a priest, an imam, a rabbi and a pauper. One God. Three God. All God. No God. And yet today she visited me in the form of a goat. “Baaaa” she called out and I knew it was her. I recognized the accent. I called “Baaaa” back. With reverence. In jest. She thought it was funny and ate some grass. We locked eyes. It was time. The kingdom of heaven awaited me. Ask any questions and answers shall you receive. And yet I was baaaaaren. I had paradoxes for the philosophers. Poetry for the beloved. But for a goat, unprepared. “Why do we suffer?” I called out. It was the most I could muster. Black clouds enveloped the sky. Silence dominated the land. She looked down to the floor and whispered. “Baa”

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Feb 27, 2020

Feb 27, 2020 at 7:32 AM UTC

Prophecy

Yesterday I visited a priest, an imam, a rabbi and a pauper. One God. Three God. All God. No God. And yet today she visited me in the form of a goat. “Baaaa” she called out and I knew it was her. I recognized the accent. I called “Baaaa” back. With reverence. In jest. She thought it was funny and ate some grass. We locked eyes. It was time. The kingdom of heaven awaited me. Ask any questions and answers shall you receive. And yet I was baaaaaren. I had paradoxes for the philosophers. Poetry for the beloved. But for a goat, unprepared. “Why do we suffer?” I called out. It was the most I could muster. Black clouds enveloped the sky. Silence dominated the land. She looked down to the floor and whispered. “Baa”

19

You told me you saw God in your ascension to the heavens, but I await for her arrival in the field, among the people - Breaking bread with the broken, Bearing the burden of belief. The morning light is peaking and neither of us can sleep. Not because we don't want today to end, But because tomorrow will be the same. Worse that the fool is the fooled, Darker than the depths is the fall. I no longer cry out for unclipped wings, For now, I too, know why the caged bird sings.

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Dec 28, 2019

Dec 28, 2019 at 8:52 AM UTC

Small hours

You told me you saw God in your ascension to the heavens, but I await for her arrival in the field, among the people - Breaking bread with the broken, Bearing the burden of belief. The morning light is peaking and neither of us can sleep. Not because we don't want today to end, But because tomorrow will be the same. Worse that the fool is the fooled, Darker than the depths is the fall. I no longer cry out for unclipped wings, For now, I too, know why the caged bird sings.

13

Winter has returned And I can feel it in my bones I can taste it in the air. Like an old friend, We pick up where we left off — With an awkward smile A touch so soft Ancient Lullabies Coddle me in my sleep. Chanting, “Once upon a time there was Chaos. And in that Darkness, The Primordial Man, The Prophetic Prometheus Fashioned Fire out of Friction, Preaching Love to the non-believers. I hurt because I feel I feel because I love I love because I am Love I love because I choose Love I love because I hurt.

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Dec 19, 2019

Dec 19, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC

Psalm 23

Winter has returned And I can feel it in my bones I can taste it in the air. Like an old friend, We pick up where we left off — With an awkward smile A touch so soft Ancient Lullabies Coddle me in my sleep. Chanting, “Once upon a time there was Chaos. And in that Darkness, The Primordial Man, The Prophetic Prometheus Fashioned Fire out of Friction, Preaching Love to the non-believers. I hurt because I feel I feel because I love I love because I am Love I love because I choose Love I love because I hurt.

21

My world is closing in, Flooded by doubt Unprepared for rejection. Unable to keep back my storm, I still dare to share in yours. For I see your struggle - beautiful Your smile - Salvation I may be the Word, but you are the Revelation.

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Dec 11, 2019

Dec 11, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC

Lost in Space

My world is closing in, Flooded by doubt Unprepared for rejection. Unable to keep back my storm, I still dare to share in yours. For I see your struggle - beautiful Your smile - Salvation I may be the Word, but you are the Revelation.

8

Dear Diary, Today I remember I exist. Isn’t it funny that I usually forget until I am about to go to sleep. I made myself a cup of tea, and witnessed the holy wisps of ephemerality returning to the world of ambiguity. Does it always do that? You probably think I’m going to express my inner thoughts about how beautiful life is, or better yet, lament the incessant and persistent struggle of pain, but nevertheless find solace in some transcendent nothingness. Maybe. I mean, how many poets and philosophers does it take to repeat the sacred mantra – I am That. Not me, I am no poet. No philosopher. No lover of the unloved. No embracer of the unwanted. Right now I have no plans. I am slowly sipping green tea, transitioning between talking to you, a niggun beckoning me to go out on a search for lost goats on Judean Hills, and finding childish joy from vanishing smoke. This may be my greatest poem yet. A true ode to the ineffable. The interesting thing about remembering is that you totally forget what you were doing before you started remembering. I wonder what I forgot this time. I dreamt last night that my Zeidy shouted at me for disgracing the family. Pain. Unreal. Irrelevant. If this how Job felt when he remembered he existed?

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Dec 2, 2019

Dec 2, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC

Dear Diary

Dear Diary, Today I remember I exist. Isn’t it funny that I usually forget until I am about to go to sleep. I made myself a cup of tea, and witnessed the holy wisps of ephemerality returning to the world of ambiguity. Does it always do that? You probably think I’m going to express my inner thoughts about how beautiful life is, or better yet, lament the incessant and persistent struggle of pain, but nevertheless find solace in some transcendent nothingness. Maybe. I mean, how many poets and philosophers does it take to repeat the sacred mantra – I am That. Not me, I am no poet. No philosopher. No lover of the unloved. No embracer of the unwanted. Right now I have no plans. I am slowly sipping green tea, transitioning between talking to you, a niggun beckoning me to go out on a search for lost goats on Judean Hills, and finding childish joy from vanishing smoke. This may be my greatest poem yet. A true ode to the ineffable. The interesting thing about remembering is that you totally forget what you were doing before you started remembering. I wonder what I forgot this time. I dreamt last night that my Zeidy shouted at me for disgracing the family. Pain. Unreal. Irrelevant. If this how Job felt when he remembered he existed?

22

They share stories of the Other Place Just across the mound. Rumors of the Consumers Heard but never found. It’s said they overthrew kings And replaced them with cats Shed their restrictive clothes Made them decorative mats. Consumers of the Little Things Hedonists without Shame Abandoning Glory Their titles and fame. Heretics run loose Squandering the weekends Preaching about sunsets Puppies, coffee, and good friends. Monsoon in bed, Fruity Pebbles on sale, No alarm weekends, Finding the Holy Grail What fools are the consumers See ‘All that glitters is sold’ Such is as it must For so the mystics foretold.

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Jul 8, 2019

Jul 8, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC

Consumer of the Little Things

They share stories of the Other Place Just across the mound. Rumors of the Consumers Heard but never found. It’s said they overthrew kings And replaced them with cats Shed their restrictive clothes Made them decorative mats. Consumers of the Little Things Hedonists without Shame Abandoning Glory Their titles and fame. Heretics run loose Squandering the weekends Preaching about sunsets Puppies, coffee, and good friends. Monsoon in bed, Fruity Pebbles on sale, No alarm weekends, Finding the Holy Grail What fools are the consumers See ‘All that glitters is sold’ Such is as it must For so the mystics foretold.

24

You dance to the music Not to the crowd Silly and Soulful Simple and Proud. You dance through the struggles With shimmering grace Cry when you need Sharing empty space. I follow your footsteps Feel the Room Learning to Love Starting to Bloom

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Jun 24, 2019

Jun 24, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC

Boddhisatva

You dance to the music Not to the crowd Silly and Soulful Simple and Proud. You dance through the struggles With shimmering grace Cry when you need Sharing empty space. I follow your footsteps Feel the Room Learning to Love Starting to Bloom

12

Why do we always run in circles constantly trying to catch our breath. Desperate to finish when the end brings us back to where we began. How far must we travel to find ourselves at home We Theorize and Plagarize And the furthest we got was – Ohm. We struggle so hard Just to be Authentic. Method acting “Being Ourselves” Playing Hide & Seek With our Ego Grasping Self Only when we let go. I’m ready to be found.

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Jun 6, 2019

Jun 6, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC

Hide & Seek

Why do we always run in circles constantly trying to catch our breath. Desperate to finish when the end brings us back to where we began. How far must we travel to find ourselves at home We Theorize and Plagarize And the furthest we got was – Ohm. We struggle so hard Just to be Authentic. Method acting “Being Ourselves” Playing Hide & Seek With our Ego Grasping Self Only when we let go. I’m ready to be found.

24