"catechisms" poems
10,000 steps to a poem
<~>
walk to save my visions, my subterfuge-self, trying to
encapsulate the moments, seconds of nano-instances of a
tableau of histories, of actions becoming interactions,
a physical mitosis, ground into one human paste of word-cells
by a singular mortar and pestle that more than blends, but condenses
walk in Whitman’s footsteps, prowl old cobbled
streets seeing them anew, listening to the patois
of each skyward pathway, a commingling of
catechisms, Tefilot, Salah, Stuti Karana, into a stampede becoming a tornado funnel of a multivariate alphabets singularity - a prayer|poem returning to birth-mother
rush homeward desperate to retain the holy mess of verbal music,
before aged eyes release the visions, into a heavenly lost but found
depot of single lefty gloves, snatches and refrains, hymnals, phrases,
10,000 preservation band steps keeping but scraps, weeping
for the so much lost, yet blessing-uttering thankful for this one,
to a one
*who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to
this moment, to this season.*
4/4/21
1:50pm
~writ by night, daylight born~
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 1:57 PM UTC
Choking off people’s assumptions,
I’m not like the enigma.
I may look complicated;
Yet I’m just a small, arduous spec of the universe.
I may give catechisms;
Bet it’s painless to break, if you feel.
I might have a perplexing persona;
But honey, that’s the shadow of your ego.
I was drowning, in the basin of lies called fairy tales.
And I was drunk, in the virtual reality you made.
I let you choke me, with the wine so called love.
I’m awake;
After weeks of being high of your lies,
After months of being high of your manipulating acts,
Bet that’s why you’re making a great actor.
The masks finally ripped of the performer;
The lies, the bitter truth,
Leaving the ego, caught in the act.
Turns out that I can’t differentiate between reality and stage-play.
I can’t find the difference between when you truly do something,
Or when you’re doing your job on the stage.
I have myself questioning about things,
Do actors have feelings? Do actors always manipulate their acts?
I finally read the script;
The deceptive tears, the dishonest sweet words,
And how I’m just a puppet to your puppetry.
Then I realised a thing.
I was not a conundrum.
I was a slave to your ego,
In your stage-play,
And you did great on your show.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
consume endless stimulants
anything to get through this
lifeless eyes with sunken souls
tucked away in hidden holes
the hands on the clock do a full rotation
returning then surpassing their first location
alternating breaks between coffee and bogies
i sit on the floor, my effort withholding
breathe in, breathe out, inhale deep
i know not about counting sheep
a few more bodies tough it out
"we are the champions," i want to shout
and i'm delusional, so i just might
tell this empty room about my sleepless night
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
you are a complex circuitry of veins and arteries
a compendium of extremities and intimacies
you are either a trillion accidents or a single success
a whisper of life or a shattering of precedents
your structure is art
your conception a masterpiece
mechanically, you are beautiful
the core of this existence is uncertainty
does your rib cage shiver around the catechisms?
at your worst, you are
the part that can not be cut open
the part that can die before the body
your existence is a war
a perennial blooming and crumbling
your mind and body's slow destruction
flinging themselves together and apart
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
The worlds collide—
We collaborate in time,
Countries connect;
Come together,
Creating harmony
In chaotic catechisms,
Unprecedented and powerful.
We chant and chime:
“We will survive”
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 4:27 PM UTC
He lived within my normal
Without catechisms
One leg at a time
Pants and glory
He loved within my normal
Without judgment
A freedom to live
The freedom of happy
He lays within my Normal
With complete peace
a freedom to laugh
A kindness to smile
He loved my normal
And put me to sleep
He slept, we sleep.
Then dreamt
My normalities became his freedom to be
His laughter Her Cadence
A rave of emotional dialect
Nothing to conquer
Nor ranks to achieve
He lived and loved within
Within my normal
Within the normalities.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
we are,
but the little pebbles
nestled
in the sand of time's
slow flowing river.
it is merely,
the disparate nature
of our minute size
in opposition
to the immensity
of the ponderous
river's drift,
that creates
the grind of pebble,
one to another.
causing,
the eroding
of our
singular thoughts.
it is only
the gentle tap-clacking
of another's desire
to know,
and be known.
that causes,
the acceptence
of the rasp and rub
of external catechisms.
causing,
rejuvenation
in the questing
of kindred souls.
that causes
the revelation
of differing paradigmal,
sways and drifts,
some sympathetic,
some callously
indifferent.
causing,
an ebb and flow
of treatise
and dissertation.
as we abraid
and hone
each other's
sensory disposition,
begetting,
spectrumunul emotions
from elanic bliss
to yearning,
dolorous sorrow.
that causes,
introspective despair
that grapples
against difinitive delight.
we the pebbles,
caught within
this mental current,
cannot visualise
the infinitesimal alterations wrought by time.
yet,
others remark
upon the changes,
that is the way
of the waters path,
as time flows,
unrepentant
into the basin
of life's sea.
we must to survive,
simply concede
our pretentions
and comply
to the power inherit
in the water's
flow
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Wistfully,
I wish I was watching the world from above
on a white flying fortress floating far away
from the flora, fauna,
and the fickle fools who fight for nothing, fruitless.
Up on my cloud, my cleverness creates constructs.
These convey to me knowledge both cerebral and celestial.
This sends me higher, to the cosmos.
There, I get caught in catechisms which force convulsions.
The spinning Sun stares into my silly soul. "Such stupidity!"
Scowling, I scorn the stars.
Further still I ascend, astounding the astral plane.
I acquire it all.
And now I know it is nothing.
Never have my nerves been so wracked.
I weep wildly wishing
for when I was waging war with a woman's warmth.
Oh, Gaia~
Waking up with wet eyes and wounded heart, I stand and walk.
I no longer wonder why.
I'm the anima.
I'm the evil.
I'm the sky.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 7:46 PM UTC
"As the old catechisms used to say, knowledge is a prerequisite for love."
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
Solvent catechisms
dripping thru the ashes
of complacency,
like a burnt-out cosmos
weren't enough to convince
a high-ender like me
not to dance along
to the beat
of my own
sordid
drum.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Here’s to all poets that unite in the catechisms of a vellum page.
In the mountains of letters that beg for attention
In the sun and rain that radiate enhancing our gifts.
Here’s to all poets who feel the energies and write from heart.
Who go to places people dare not go planting seeds of light.
Who illuminate the world with their intention and sacred text.
Here’s to all poets that know their power to dance with words.
To share their visions with a world that waits.
To move in the magic of a thousand dreams.
Here’s to all poets that breath deep finding the riches buried within.
Finding they are anointed with divine phases to change the world.
Finding out that inside our jargon of phases we are one.
StarBG © 2017
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC