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Universe is macroscopic
Atom is microscopic.
Universe is astral,
Atoms are universal.

Berthed in the crevice of cosmos,
Look far beyond the globe for trespass,
In timeless time to sense its size,
Along an obscure distance to deal,  
At the pace of thunderous lightning.
Unending end begins to end endlessly.

Peep deep into the bottom of atom,
Behold how the nucleus holds the atom,
Proton-neutron welded safe in stem,  
Powerful electrons circle in tandem.
Deeper you disclose, the deeper it displays.

Beware; atom bears an explosive energy,
Tap it safe with your wisdom and synergy,
No words and verse can describe universe.
Explored by explosions and implosions,
World is an infinite nuclear complex.
God-King of the Heavens;
usurper of the throne of Saturn-
his Father,
the Titan-God of Time and Agriculture.
Saturn:
the personification of Time.
Also known as Chronos; Odin.

But, back to Jove-
that is to say, Jupiter:
archetype for Masculinity.

To some, the true Patriarch.

He's said to have once called himself YHWH,
but some know him as Yahweh, Jehovah, or Allah.
Others swear he goes by Zeus or Ammon,
and yet others, by Thor.

Or, perhaps
that name brings to mind
the largest planet in our Solar System.

The fifth from the Sun,
and largest by mass and volume:
Jupiter alone has 2.5 times the mass
of all the other planets combined.

It has a diameter of roughly 11 times that of Earth,
or about a 1/10th of that of the Sun.

I venture to say
that the Scientific and Mythological namesakes
both tend to have a similar temperament
and gravity
for they who are caught
within his sphere of influence.
A take on this challenge by Ellie Hughes:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1019852/book-poem-challenge/

I used an old dictionary as my book.
The word Jupiter occured in the definition of "Ammoniac," with referance to 'being said to grow near the temple of Jupiter.'
What is it
within the realm of
my Self
that has the nerve
to question the divinity
of this current, fleeting moment?

Is it not the vessel of Life, itself,
that is used to navigate
these, the occluded
Seas of Death?

Could it not be
that a Mind and Body
are the very salvation
over which we so toil?

Would it not be an act of pure mercy
to have the capacity to look around
and to think, and create
while, all the time,
being pulled under
by the inevitable tide of change
we, in English, chose to call
"Death?"

That, in itself,
should inspire me to carry on
and to turn an eye
up from the ground, back from the past;
to within my self; this current moment;
and on, upward:
to the skies and, likewise,
the future.

What is it about my Mind
that so enjoys, or perhaps requires
some selfish sense of 'overlooking'
for the sake of ephemeral comfort?

Alas,
I know what word I would use,
but I dare yet not to use it;
for, t'is that a word, itself,
isn't the concept, itself;
and it's use would be to misdirect
from the nature of the experience,
and to mistranslate what I feel.

I realize the necessity
for names; for words:
we use them to facilitate communication.
I also understand their limit:
there is a great realm
beyond the transparent restraints
of our Languages.

I would identify the culprit
as either "Ego," or "Id."
But, better yet, I would argue
"both and neither."

Freud had some great ideas,
but I tend towards Jung-

I could sooner call it the Shadow,
or at least one aspect of it.

The Shadow is semi-subconscious.
It is an amalgam of fears and repression.
It can only hold so much pressure
before it erupts.
So,
I implore you
to study your Shadow.

It has great potential for change.
Failing to utilize it
is to be utilized by it.
Make it work for you
or you will work for it.
Use your Shadow
to your advantage,
or it will use you
to that of it's own.

Pick apart your Self;
put it back together.
Sometimes that's easier said than done,
but, with a proper mindset,
it'll come and leave
before you even know it.
It happens all the time.

Refuse the shackles
of thy Shadow;
break the chains
and share with the world
the fleeting feeling
of self-liberation.

That is,
if someone doesn't misinterpret what you've said;
looking through the Shadow,
everything looks darker.

Realize where you're going.
Realize what you're doing.

Heed what you feed,
external or internal.

Seek Balance.
Explore Ideas.
Gain Understanding
no matter how slow:
at all
is far better
than so many.

No one may escape these Seas;
but you can start some ripples
that will propagate ad infinitum.

Ask. Practice. Learn. Grow.
Mostly improvised.
Stream-of-consciousness-esque.

Call it following a whim~

Spoken Recording:
https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/fleeting-seas-of-death
 Jan 2015
Traveler
Could it actually make one happy
To relive ones childhood over
Would not the undeveloped mind
Still remain un-sober?

Why attempt to satisfy
The endless hunger of our lust?
All those who came before us
Could never get enough

Who has gone beyond
And somehow made it back?
Why is anyone's faith in question
Isn't it merely imagination that they lack...
Work so hard
at what you love
that your idols
become your rivals.
 Jan 2015
Traveler
Tip'toeing around
An endless maze
Of hypocrisy
Thankfully grounded
In a state tolerance

Paradigm of equality
Yes I do believe
We shall all
Live forever
In or out
Of time

As our soul reflect
Within the fires
Of personal subjectivities

Transparent truths
Of who we really are
Burning eternally
The path goes beyond
Creation
Lovers Cathedral

Sweeping her into his arms, breathing gently they searched into each other’s eyes, locked the light flowed between them, both turning their heads the cathedral opened, the grand forest lay before them

Gazing in silence, willow trees graced the soils as though bowing to king and queen, tall oaks reached up into the stars and unseen truffles perfumed their basis,
Rocks glowed emerald by cascading streams, where fawns of pale red whispered their thirsts, and doe’s liquid brown eyes watched in peaceful sermon

Pathways threaded in pristine white onion and blue bells, and pouring’s of wild milk orchards clustered as golden sun sprang forth, painting endlessly into a picture, their luscious orange centers exploding like solar flares, below green prongs quivered on the light warm breeze as though princesses skirts splaying in curtsy.
Webs hung delicately through the trees and leaves encrusted with tiny suspended emeralds reflected sun rays that cast upon pathways

Around sweet flowers of gold and fuchsia bees played the air with the sound of drums, and fairy folk rowed their soft backs each carrying baskets of shimmering dusts, ants paused in reverence as light clouds of purple cascaded down, then continued on their way.

Ivy touched by sun glow wound lovingly around trunks in lovers endless embrace, and giant silver ferns spread the miles dancing like royal court members, one in front of another lightly touching, young succulent growth centers curled as though bowing listening to celestial music

Fresh sea salt perfumed the air and waves rumbled the forest floor, excited they turned to the distant mountains, pathways fell below scattered with quartz as glittering rainbows of colours awash formed ponds.

And the two lovers whispered in chant;

“We lay behind the star bright sky,
we do not fear pagan of heart are we.
Lore of old we both do share, my love for you,
by day, by night, in thought and in sight,
will my soul lean meaning of this life again,
from our moon lit throats candles high flare,
our dance begins, I meet you there.

Gazing back into each other’s eyes, he stepped forth still embraced their hands fasted, behind the doors closed as they laughed into the cathedral mists

── goodbye they mused

© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet  2014
If
One is
unwilling to change,
One cannot expect
One's life
to change
I think it's sorta funny
how when you pay with *plastic

they ask you:  "Debit, or credit?";
because,
as denoted in a dictionary,
they are polar opposites;
yet,
as connotated in popular culture,
they differ
only in the time it takes
to be charged,
that is to say
to incur a loss.

So,
in certain ways,
it can be said one is wiser
to chose "debit";
which, I find, deeply ironic:

In our culture
One
gets to choose
either debit
or credit;
and,
in our culture,
One
can be wiser
to choose
debit.

This, and more, withstanding;
I tend to try to use cash.
A debit is to incur a loss,
A credit is to incur a gain.

Dictionary is credit to team!
 Jan 2015
Traveler
The smallest part of existence
The atom
Is made up of subatomic particles
These particles
When observed, they seem to be moving
In an orderly fashion
Yet when humans try to measure
These particles
The pattern of their movement
Goes sporadic
Popping in and out of
The quantum barrier
An unknown dimension
A place immeasurable
By any scientific instrument

The act of the human mind intervening
Is the only variable
That explains this phenomenon

Everything that exists beyond
Creation/chance
Started from a thought
The imagination
And then was manifest into reality
i.e., cars, computers etc.

So if enough people intervene/pray for something
To come to pass
It more than likely will...
 Dec 2014
Musfiq us shaleheen
///
Oh! You could not try
To wit yourself
You are in the loop and banded,
How will you?
So you shore at halfway
The person who prop
On a boat at a distant river
He roosts into your soul,
As pieces exist in a showcase
You mount at darkness
Men live and brace into your heart
A man who has bilge and dumb
He who say in your voice
You don't know who you are!
Just behold!
Who grill god?
Where is the amorphous?
If you want to know yourself
You discover the man
At the end of the path
Wisdom says,
You underneath on yourself
God ascends on yourself.
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Know Thyself
 Dec 2014
Phosphorimental
Love's letters clattered in currents
Winds curled to stillness,
in a talus of potpourri,
Season totem, a cluster of hope,
waiting
For one match pulled and struck,
To scare the ghosts from the pyre.
In a choke of smoke
from sweet attar,
Loves heat fans
the embers within
the hearts own fire.

So many words
wrenched from mouth
and wrought from hand
Contortions,
twisted spoken grip,
we strip the evergreen needles
from the bough
and let them fall from the fist,
Sprinkling fir
To the earth as grist.

Had not a sentence stretched from
pulsing ink well
by plume to parchment, or
from warm breath of lip’s beseech
What then of our night would say,
And of our day to listen.

If we do not dare with deeds to fly
Then the falling never ends,
And poem, eternal, ne'er to begin
Loves expression, not its desire,
Is the cachet
to which both life and death aspire.
 Dec 2014
Traveler
When we laugh
We forget ourselves
Resentful hearts
Collecting dust
On life's shelf
The shining of our souls
Fails to illuminate
The black still buried
In our pockets
In time care will fade back to gray
If you recall
You lost me somewhere along the way
Silence overtakes me as the song ends
Soon enough
Restless heart's shall grow resentful
Once again...
Traveler Tim
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