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them ole bones - 
they was made for diggin! 
they was made for diggin, an' 
they's forgot about lovin. 

that **** girl - 
she was on to something! 
she was on to something, but 
she ain't got nothing. 

them ole weirdos - 
kick up an awful racket! 
such an awful racket... 
sounds like something tragic. 

**** ole heartache - 
gone forever! 
said it's gone forever! 
just like magic
Dusting off this little number for a friend. You know who you are... We likes to keep it light on a Frid'y
Less than 10 miles from my house
is an insane asylum
(Granny said "nervous hospital")
(Papaw said "***** hatch.")
It is built on an Indian Burial Ground.
There is an adjacent golf course.

How long, oh lord,
before we get to see
affluent white men
in stupid pants
running for their lives
from a swarm of psychos and
the ghost of
the displaced Noble Savage?
No ****. Check out the Wikipedia entry for Moccasin Bend. There's also a brewery. Happy golfing suckers!
on a hillside facing north
into an infinite blue Jersey sky

Sarah was laid to rest
on a brilliant crisp
Monday morning

she was surrounded by
loved ones and friendly
Highland Peaks

gathered together this
Thanksgiving week
to praise, honor and
give thanks for the
the life of a beloved
transfigured soul

Sarah entered
the world with nothing
yet departs on wings
filled with an abundance
of riches garnered
from a well lived life

she nurtured generations
of family and fostered
a bounty of diverse friendships
all who count themselves
fortunate to have experienced
the grace of her love

Sarah was a
strong loving matron
of a vibrant clan

her home
filled with
laughter
and the chatter
of children

guests found
a hearty
welcome
and genuine
hospitality

her door, ear
hearth and heart
always open
to anyone
in need of
refuge,
understanding,
a good laugh or
a loving embrace

Sarah's legacy
bequeaths an
extended lineage
of flourishing children
blessedly assuring
her presence
remains a vital
life force in the
spirit of future
descendants

as Sarah was
committed to a
final earthly embrace
to rejoin her
beloved husband
George

white wisps
of gentle
cirrus clouds
gathered to
anoint the brow
of reverent
Highland crests

Well done
Aunt Sally
God bless you
and Godspeed

Fleetwood Mac:
Landslide

Sarah C. Lundberg
Born: August 01, 1933
Died: November 18, 2015
Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears

the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
                      pure consciousness.

"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.

1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's  knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having  sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together,  eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their  chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that  moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
                                                #@@#
Know thy self as an inner  universe, integrated to the outer,seamlessly,
which is, eternal, non-dual, peace in essence, effulgence and happiness
enshrined in the core.All the explorations in to the core by ancient Indian seers, record these findings in the "Veda"s (The "told" chronicles)
in my dream, we have no eyes for blind mice
and that's nice, if you ain't got three, and a grand clock
but we lived in the pendulum of an arc in a long box
laid to rest in a deep room of rich soil, and dumb rocks.
the dream bent, where i stepped aside from my suspicions
that you had eyes in your pockets. while i had only holes...
and paper cranes.
i keep the moss on my fingertips, when i dig into the sky -
to find your face.
and that's nice, if you ain't been grounded; stuck in a fugly glut
of gravity's finest hits. pinned to the wings of a butterfly, pinned-
to an anvil... strapped to a georgia peach.
you always have the shark fin soup, as i graze the pit.
as the pit gazed into me. you sip a bit, n'swell your cheeks.
we are nothing like our waking lives
while sleeping so truthfully.

somehow we're on the beach. where it never started. but deja vu
as if remembering the beach. and forget how we have not the eyes
for blind mice save the eyes in your pocket
while i have all the holes
that you need.

and paper cranes.

II

the bleeding has stopped, where a spear kissed an artery too violently
and shook loose my red roving rivers of rebellious reveries. stopped - and now it's a knot's petty game. it extends my life just to mock complete
Happiness. but i peep the same. i know the moon is the only sister that has my back.
where i have slept
beneath her...
dreaming on earth
dreaming on earth

dreaming, alas*....

— The End —