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Larry Kotch Jul 21
Your careful hands levelled out the budding bloom, and set the staging pots aside the heat of noon, thoughtful timing shifted them from watery sheltered vase to rough garden ensembles, like that you shaped the ravenous growths again and again.

With careful fingers you massaged around the banks, no garden book to guide such terrifying specimens, you could not bring the scythes to taper off the exploding flanks, so you watched from further every night.

And so with time you peer with awe at the new garden features, puzzled by a wilting stem, delighted by a fanning brush, sometimes tracing natures path, other times your gaze will be lost. Your garden bright and overgrowing.

Open the door dear gardener for life has been unleashed, when the toil of daily demands has reached its peaks, remember your creation. Know that all the blooms that cheer the neighbours, would, with your hand - the Nation.
This poem is an ode to my mother, creator of the garden that is my life. This poem thanks her for her perfect gardeners touch, helping to help me bloom, knowing when to shelter me from the scorching sun and when I'd overgrown the staging pots. But like all children, I grew in wierd and unpredictable ways, as if the garden was itself now out of control and the gardener had to watch from further every night. But though my developing personality and interests sometimes delighted her I know parts of my thinking and philosophies frighten her. To her I imagine it to look like a bright (in that her creation will always be rose tinted) but overgrowing (out of her control + out of control in general). The last stanza is an invitation to her to not shy from lending a hand back in the overgrowth. Despite what I hope to be myself now manifesting in some small way (i.e delighting some of the neighbours) I rely very much still on her to consolidate this mass of energy for a higher purpose still.
skipping stones
         on a
     still pond


do we ever see the end from the beginning?
Madisen Kuhn Feb 25
there is a modest
one-story home
with white stucco walls
and a red tiled roof
waiting for me somewhere
near a floridian beach.

the yard is flat and dry.
some days, i’ll lie there
on top of a patterned quilt
in a two-piece
hand over brow
reading a thick memoir
on loan from the library
that sits on the other side
of the brush, beyond
the wooden fence.

winter will just be a memory.
every week, my toenails
will sink into the sand
wearing a different shade of pink.
i will not fold away
my sundresses and shove them
under the bed.
they will only leave
their wooden hangers
to be worn and washed.

time simply records the falling
and growing and falling of things.
one of these days,
i will be the budding lily
pushing up dirt
to greet the other side with
all of the beauty
i am ready to be.

i have fallen enough.
Weary and wanting from the ache inside
No emotion at any depth I try to hide
A hollow pit waiting for something to burn
You can fill up the spaces but there’s always a way out
Down through the tunnel and out to be more
Th urge once again rises and the search continues
No absolute but a constant hope to be fulfilled
Something sufficient
Providing contentment
Would the pursuit transform into another
I beg for a new world
Or perhaps a new heart
No matter how hard I try
Trying is the opposite of actuality
A veil over reality by our thoughts and layers of excuses to manifest
In the end there is nothing and in the beginning there was nothing
The gap that leads into infinity
An understanding of a black hole empathically
Maybe it really does hold a universe
How natural is it to be empty and yet create boundaries of space and time
We perceive the outside but in essence is it truly empty
Or is it a hole even?
Perhaps we perceive a sphere but in higher dimensions we’d see it as what we understand to be a tunnel
Where would it take us
I think it will only take us to another land where we translate the hunger into a new form
The multiverse is just another reason to keep searching after we’ve only found half the answers in this one
It seems we never even finish what we start
Because we fear the end
We’ve made it fatal in our minds
When our soul knows nothing may be permanent here
There is a universe that came before all of this
where we truly exist
And know this is a game that we’ve played for eons
To entertain ourselves
To evolve as the divine always has
Transcending labels because it moves regardless of our insignificant judgements
Will the static stagnation into a dynamic situation
Simultaneous reaction
Awake while in a dream
Looking for an opening and the maze will always grow
Let it go
Nathalie Jan 27
Never abandon the dream
because if it came into view
it can also come true

Your imagination is more
than a mere figment of
make believe

It is real and there is
magic in that realization
witness the manifestation

You are more than
your thoughts, you
hold so much power

Source from that
energy and see it
transform in reality ...

George Krokos Sep 2018
The pulse of all the universe is the vibration of Om
the primal sound of the Creator it manifested from.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Note: Om = Amen
Kalen Doleman Jul 2018
Addiction to yourself.
Looking for bliss.
It comes in waves.
You search for it.
Constantly examining yourself.
Not wanting to believe in the bad,
but it is there.
Until there comes a want
a will
an ability to become.

At that point it is replaced by a power.
It is our intention.
We really want to be free.
Feel the motions.
Relieve the suffering.
Creating a life.
Kalen Doleman Jul 2018
See who the authentic you is.
It's a burning flame but its form is
that like water.
Claim it.
Yes clasp and aim for it.
Claim it
and do it proudly so.
Only then can you pursue your goals.
The goals that lead to providence.
Yes the big P.
The providence you decided.
Remember accept your enlightened nature for you're already complete.
David May 2018
Power is where allowing myself to realize
that I am now and can only ever be now -

and everything else is work
and everything else is,

In between that power and me now.
David Apr 2018
All things can be created to what I THINK I want, even what I BELIEVE I want,

but to create to what I really KNOW deep deep inside of me -
That I want is what I really want

But I don't get that with all my believing and thinking.
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