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Crow Nov 2023
among the lean and
narrow hours
when the brutal minutes
like the protruding ribs
of an emaciated animal

abandoned things shuffle
into dark unkempt little rooms
with the manifested debris
of a life

unspoken thoughts
in rusted cans
stacked heedlessly
on overused shelving
bowing perilously under the weight

mangled hopes
kicked into the corners
stuck to the floor
foul and fetid
vitiated with wasted time

black mold
leaking from dilapidated hearts
creating pointillism art
across the sagging plaster

consuming an ersatz
Sistine Chapel ceiling

saints and angels
prophets and devils
sepia toned
in their water stain media
into corruptions artistic virtuosity

only God remains visible
reaching out
to give life

if any are left
to receive it
Zywa Oct 2023
Everything that we

humans can touch is sacred --

Sacred Emptiness.
"Desolation Angels" (1965, Jack Kerouac), chapter 1-2-89: the essence of what you can touch remains a mystery

Collection "MistI"
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2023

v V v  writes:

It is quite amazing to me that everything in life, love, relationships, survival, progress, growth, etc. .. it all boils down to some type of sacred balance.. a balance that is extremely precarious, and fragile... even the known universe follows a sacred balance, the seasons, the tides, day and night, if any of those balances slip, we no longer exist.. fascinating and brain bending truth



there are somethings you just know

read the words above, without hesitation,
knew therein lay a poem co-missioned
that required instantaneous creation,
as if it was a observable commandment
that need instant gratification,
nay, more so,
a relieving, an unburdening
a lifting of a hearty blockage impeding,
distressing my existence

our lives are a life long attempts
to keep
A Balance,
our individual and mutually conflicting
as they intersect and sway,
on a flood plain, ever unstable and shifting,
so many eddies colliding on the surface of a mighty river

yes, there is something otherworldly here,
yes, even sacred,
in the finest sense of that overburdened word,
so oft overemployed that
one man’s overburdened sacred
is another’s overworked profane

but sacred is sacred

at a level just above our collective reach,
is an aspiration, a respiration and exhalation,
we unconsciously try to time our breathing in coordination
with our surroundings,
grasping, gasping, grabbing
for understanding, micro-management of the minutest
current of water or air running contrary to the main current,
that we plunge willingly and willfully into

when we open our eyes
every morning
and confront a new array
of illusions, allusions
and conceive our own illustrations,
and paint our lives and every act
on a corner of fresh page of a giant, ponderous
(or tomb, if you prefer)

I know you understand.

in a few hours, I will rise to
be confronted by chaos and challenges,
armed with bits of strings, tape and bows
to wrap them into a cohesion,
to present them to you,
insert them into your eddy,
and in the froth of poetic collision,
is our constancy of connectivity and breakage,
a perpetual reformation

so that we may
mind-bend into each other,
verifying our mutual dependency
and saying together,
out loud and silently

we exist,
we edit,
our eddies,
our overlapping lives,
in a never ending series
of Venn diagrams
all delicately balanced
at a single point,
forever transitory and reforming
our language of calculus
on a curve of constant change.
3:27 AM
Mon Sep 18

with the kind permission of v V v
jǫrð Jul 2023
In sanguine devotion
I give this body
for your
until my river
runs dry
until my soil
grows barren
until my sky
turns ashen
until my blaze
fades to ember
The History: Praise be
Ken Pepiton Mar 2023
Protesting, I, rise, e-raising my hand,
in ranked row,
three from the front, in the middle,
a glance,
and nothing more, and another,
Aseneth was her name, and she hated it.
She said.

Many were the flirty glances, unrestrained
what is different,
is this ink, or scar tissue?

Eight billion essentially identical minds, in use,
being tuned to consume elemental mental
as we form from base material, mother stuff.

We think in single words, letters let us do this,
that which formerly prevented, lets us do this now,

do you read me is not valid protocol on a voxnet.
You know. Five by five, is not valid either, listen.

Does your memed mind hear me now, Brown Cow,
Dao a do nothing dues paid note, this is business,
this is what the messenger in charge,
special agent,
secret agencies allowed, in my mind, baby, listening

constantly, no time,
only imagining Major Tom.

Waking spacy Sunday Morning, unre-tied to the strand
of faith that wound the core hard ball of pure rubber,
vulcanized, for bounce,

CRACK of the bat, where once, no, each once ever,
the feeling
one side, then the other, being mentally cognoscente,
cognoscenti, either way,
we both know, we both take knowing duty as demanded
of the code
we obey. At the command. We pay proper attention,
not too much of any thing,
take your own measure,
remember, certainty is bad mad solid state, bricked.
In a sermon writing state of mind after reading poets alive when I was young.
irinia Feb 2023
kanso infuses my eyes
everywhere there
even in a deer
my heart recognised him
skipped a beat in overwhelm
the sacredness of the air
touched everything
the great temple
the red shrine
its emptiness
so vibrant
pure beauty
my atoms turned
into God's particle

in my heart
misses him
in the unseen
surreal so
so it is
kanso of the soul:
I kept on
to be a deer
in Nara
IP Oct 2022
Long sacred
It now is unguarded
A sacred discarding
With allies now caving
I ask in this world
Is our nation worth saving?
Katelyn Rew Aug 2022
I dance out my anger in the name of the priestess,
draw in her power to extinguish my unrest.
I worship my body in a state of undress,
let my rage break free in radical protest.
I surrender myself to this sacred process,
stomping my feet like an unbridled tempest.
Maria Shabalin May 2022
Created out of my own imagination
It surely was not real
Running towards the dilapidated station
Of spacious spectacular zeal.
Like a butterfly wanting its cocoon
I want for the embrace of what I've made
The future feelings to come taken too soon
With confirmation of sickness on a *****.
I have dealt the deck many times
But to wonder what you have become
Is like watching paint dry.
I have seen so much and known so little
I understand now that all we need is care.
Care for me with the embrace I seek
Care for me like ships gently caressed
floating on the ocean's surface
And I will give you eternal life
Just say the magic words
I do , I do , I do.
Let the crevices of your mind fill with light
Truth becomes souls inside a blockade  
If not for your love and understanding
That I am who I am
And you are nothing but my lover.
What is really real? Not much. However, reality is under my thumb. Will I tell you my truth? You sure know I will. What's there to lose? I live in a concrete jungle and I want to go home.
Debbie Lydon May 2022
It is but one dilation of a sacred pupil, One blink of an eternal eye,
One moment made almost final,
Close to the eye's event horizon,
One rolling sphere of goodbye.
The blink of an eye
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