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Orakhal Jan 15
its your childs mind

feel it your healing

we neither hear
nor listen to thought

we be busy on the body
and its weigh in on life force
Orakhal Aug 2020
Human has been a passenger
to its limited mind

now it must become the driving force
to steer it forward

or keep crashing into its limits
Orakhal Jul 2020
You doesn't know
it knows more than it knows

and will defend itself at all cost to death I dare say

from
knowing what it thinks it doesn't want to know
marianne May 2020
It starts a low rumble
sends its deepest ohm
from molten ore    up up
through ice and whirl and water
sleeping soil

more quickly now, spark and stir
jumps root to coil
smells the sky, aches for reach and measure
the other side

scorched, the soft inside of skin
touched by primal flame    up up it shoots
past fear and lists and blinking lights
nerve to neuron
fire to pen

called forth each day
by stillness
named each day, and nurtured
this first fig, this hot flash
eternal is
me
Lucius Furius Sep 2018
I
"She's lovely . . . so natural."
A corpse pumped full of formaldehyde.
My grandmother? That prodigious maker of
pies, cakes, stuffing, and cranberry ice?
That lover of Burger King restaurants,
amusement parks, presidential elections, and long summer rides?
Her flushed face is like stone.
This body is a mockery of her being.
(Her fearless motion is done.)
  
   II
She gave us life.
Crass, fond, willful. She gave us life
like turkey and stuffing.
She is the answer to our dark questionings.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_012_grandma.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Lucius Furius Jul 2017
. . . go out into the evening,
    leaving your room, of which you know each bit,
    your house is the last before the infinite, . . .
    (from Rainer Maria Rilke's "Eingang", MacIntyre translation)
  
The light which strikes my retina
as I look at the Great Galaxy in Andromeda
left there two million years ago.
(Hominids made tools from stone then, but had not yet    
    learned the use of fire.
Genetic material from certain of these hominids has been passed
from one being to another and now is in my own body.)
  
Millennia from now, humans who have
colonized the farthest reaches of our galaxy,
laboriously creating and maintaining Earth-like atmospheres,
will marvel that there once was a place so perfectly suited to
    human life
that such labor was unnecessary. (Just as we marvel that orchids,
whose precise temperature and humidity requirements would seem to necessitate a greenhouse, grow wild in the Amazon.)
  
I cannot believe in a personal God,
intervening in human affairs, but stand in awe
of the terrible force which set the stars and galaxies in motion
--strewing them like so much confetti--;
the life-force running through each living creature,                                              
as straight and true as a ray of light from that galaxy in Andromeda,
willing us to live, grow and be fruitful.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_063_fullness.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Anna Jones Feb 2016
The winter comes and goes
Lost in summer’s clothes
Leaves fall around me
Random memories
Bloom, then blossom
A bud in disguise

The picture tells a thousand words
You paint each one
Waiting, in hope
But the sun never lies

Cycles of the moon
Wash over your mind
Emotional
Recreational
An endless search
You will never find

Treasure surrounds you
It’s breaking the senses
And into the darkness
Dancing in the dust

Energy rises
Day and night
Feeding the illusion
And so we must…

Pursue the desire
To feel
To become
One with the other

Approaching midnight
But lost in time and space
Under moonlight
I trace a line
Across your face…

We are reflections
Barely grasping
At the youth
Slipping away from our fingers…

A secret wonder
This life is
We don’t know what
It’ll bring us…

So misunderstood
Connecting space
Yet feelings remain
True as blood

I count the times
You ran through my veins
Elements of you
Transcend distance…

And yet here
On this plain
Synchronicity
Seeking Invisibility;
I sense your resistance

Rehashed stories
Former glories
Cycle on
From one moment to the next
Going with the flow…

A lesson learned
You grow
With no rhyme, purpose or reason
Flowering, evergreen, everlasting
Yet standing tall, in your season.
K Balachandran Nov 2015
Foaming sunlight makes love
                 with the tender purple leaves of mango trees,
light crafts a crust of luminescence,
                  over the profusion of yellow and blue blooms,
avenue trees vie with each other to  hold forth
                  their  flowers on sun's water fall of light to bath.


Evening doesn't show any sign of waning
                   the ebullience  the day had sowed in the world,
"ANANDA" though unspoken as a word, aloud
                    is heard by  inner being, making everyone rejoice,
living and nonliving seamlessly join in,
                    and swim in the swelling  waters of force of life.
past invisible floats gently to the present
                  flows towards a sea of tranquility crossing nights.
*According to Vedas, the ancient texts of India, "Ananda"(Happiness) is the true state of humanity.Pain and suffering is due to habits developed over time by mind."Satchitananda"(Eternalconsciousness bliss) is the experience of the absolute or "cosmic consciousness".
Graff1980 May 2015
The blood vats
Stirring clotting goo
A tepid sticky stew
Crimson mess
Spilt on the floor
The hungry goblins
Gulping the pulpy gore
Plasma swimming
In spider web veins
The dripping fluid
Sticking to you
Soaking through
The stained washcloth
Swirling in the warm bath
Cloudy dispersion
Smoky mass
Dark diluting
And disappearing
Through time
And loss
So here we are
Generations of
Vampire blood
Leaching the life force
Spreading the plague
And bleeding
Life from one generation
To the next

— The End —