Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zywa Jan 14
The monk sews, he pulls,

pulls the thread through the fabric --


No knot at the end.
Life is a constant process without fixation

"An accidental man" (1971, Iris Murdoch)

Collection "Unspoken"
Keiya Tasire Dec 2021
Within the Eternal Sea of Light
Stands the Tree of Life
Of seven branches, seven roots
Each a mated pair
Crowned in white Light
My Spirit rests
Along the shore.
Where the flowers sing their songs
Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before.
Tazim, Tsum
All flowers sing their songs.
Oscillating
Undertones and overtones
A rainbow of petals in "Om"
Sounding Multitudes of Love.
Elohim, Jah-Jah!
Yahweh Hashem!
Creator
Father Mother
The First Trinity
Now, in Unity Stands.
I give you my raging canyons
Wind torn spirit, haggard body
Broken heart & soul.
Stepping into courage
Hand in hand.
Lengthening inhalation
Slowing it's release  
Breath of Life!
Moving into the expansive
Show me the Light.
Sweet mercy!
I am weightless
In the green fields and rolling valleys
Tumbling among the rocks into still waters
Ashes of past pain
Afloat in silence.
All is white
within Light's embrace
Traveling 90 degrees to the right
Flow into the Sacred Heart.
Within the Holy of Holies
Is a rainbow
Where thousands upon thousands of colors
Each root within the seven
Stands the Tree of Life
Of Seven branches, seven roots
Each a mated pair
Along the shore
Where the flowers sing their songs
Listening to a symphony I have not heard before.
Within the Eternal Sea of Light
Crowned in white Light
My Spirit rests
In Harmony's rhythm
In Unity Divine.
I am
In Unity Divine.
Enfolded in Harmony's rhythm
My Spirit rests
Crowned in white Light.
Within the Eternal Sea of Light
Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before.
Where the flowers singing their songs
Along the shore.
Each a mated pair.
Of seven branches, seven roots
Stands the Tree of Life
Where thousands upon thousands of colors
Is a rainbow
Within the Holy of Holies.
Flow into the Sacred Heart
Traveling  90 degrees to the right
within Light's embrace
All is White.
Afloat in silence.
Ashes of past pain
Tumbling among the rocks into still waters.
In the green fields and rolling valleys
I am weightless.
Sweet mercy!
Show me the Light.
Moving into the expansive
Breath of Life!
Slowing it's release  
Lengthening inhalation
Hand in hand.
Stepping into courage
Broken heart & soul.
Wind torn spirit, haggard body
I give to you my raging canyons
Now, in Unity Stands
The First Trinity
Father Mother
Creator!
Yahweh Hashem!
Elohim, Jah-Jah!
Sounding Multitudes of Love.
A rainbow of petals in "Om"
Undertones and overtones
Oscillating
All flowers sing their songs.
Tazim, Tsum
Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before.
Where the flowers singing their songs
Along the shore.
My Spirit rests
Crowned in white Light.
Each mated pair.
Seven branches, seven roots
Stands the Tree of Life
Within the  Eternal Sea of Light
Processing life with the map the Tree of Life  patter given to helps us connect more fully with the Creator, angels and spirit.
Robert Watson Nov 2021
A gallery full of flawless art.
The colorful walls are lined with portraits.
My canvas face observes patiently.

The drones buzz around the room.
Stinging, they leave no honey.
Jagged lines, a black and white visage.

Swarms amass on the colored sheets,
Desperate for a hit of gratifying nectar.
My crude gaze has none to offer.

The incessant humming is deafening.
As I hang there, suspended, in neglect.
The sun sets; wasps return to their hives.

The artist who drafted me chose stark lines,
And hung me unfinished in that dark corner,
Reminding us of apathy for works in progress.
Kassan Jahmal Nov 2021
Lift my eyes inside my skull'
Searching for the words I;
Can quickly pen down:
Write a Poetic piece,
And for a moment feel proud.
George Cheese Oct 2021
we are back here again,
offering up prayers to the patron saint of lost things.

we are haunted by eidolons of past states,
snapshots of perfect moments,
lingering phantom pain.

the monument is
swept away by an ocean
of time and desire,

lost to the seabed
and laid to rest.
Cara Anne Sep 2021
I'm terrible at this!
But aren't we all?
How does one successful say goodbye to one of the biggest portions of their life?

Do we treat it as a ****** in our life story?
Or is it simply just a new chapter featuring a dingy blank page?
If so, how does one keep clicking away on the keys of their typewriter in hopes that it won't jam.
To build the strength and aspirations that one will not have to face the frustration and sorrow of restarting a page that was difficult to begin with.

Could this writing journey be boldly stated as an example underneath the definition for the grieving process.
Clearly stating and defining one's inability to keep moving forward, and one's refusal and disbelief to accept that a chapter in one's life is ending.
But truly, how does one simply try to move on from love, happiness, and laughter?

How does one extinguish the fire that is burning a ******* hole in their story?
What does one do to fill the void of a missing soul?
I guess I will just have to let you know as I navigate this uncharted storyline, but I am dreading the day I have to wave my final farewell.  

One of the hardest days will be when I have to mournfully watch our pages softly close.
Closely followed by the weeks, months, and years that it takes for the once crisp white pages to turn crinkled and yellowed.
Just remember that I'll always love you lots and lots and lots, and that I'll always carry my beautifully bound book with all the lessons and stories that you told!
Steve Page Sep 2021
Place the pen on the page before inspiration hits – that’s important.  You write – that’s what you do.  
And as the pen moves, a combination of memory and new ideas combine, they interact with the catalyst called inspiration and you’ll find that the further the process is allowed to progress, the more the New takes hold and memory drops to a whisper and before your mind can comprehend the words, you find an unexpected theme.  This time it’s about the evil of memory and how it needs to be subdued / reduced, put in its rightful place so that the New can breathe / can grow / create a new memory that will one day abdicate space to the next generation of New.  
One day we might find there’s no heir, no one who cares enough to continue the line, but until that day we’ll have generation after generation of New - each slowly growing old, gradually fading thin and becoming a memory that knows its space and gives way.
I pause.
That’s always a mistake.  
To Pause.  
That’s when memory sneaks back in, raising itself above its whisper, giving pause to the New and raising an appetite for a brew which lifts the pen…
Is blueberry jam on madeira cake wrong?
Listening to Poetry Extra on BBC Sounds.  Inspired by William Stafford.
basil Aug 2021
i get over things
right away. i'll never get
over anything
processing things is a ******* roller coaster and i just wanna get off this ride. rip.

08.16.2021
Next page