"experiential" poems
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~
your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re
my claim conceptual
refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived,
that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise
nonsense
so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am
with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my
code of conduct poem-mine;
and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested,
main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily:
on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late
ok;
just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission
around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3,
and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding
are done, in the yard, put out to
pack n' peck n’ play
so that’s an intro to this work
that jumps the line of a
hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue:
insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was
pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers
bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that
has an impatient waiting list
of poems waiting anointing
each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed
this particular one for you,
~
my complexity non-Napoleonic
just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and
into a veining so lovely colored
each poem a waving wheat stalk
before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more
“of me, of mine do sing”
so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light,
for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my
words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats,
the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums,
and mon préféré, prairie spring white,
which is my secret nickname for a duality woman,
poet and farmer,
posing riddles
that deserve answers*
maybe
—-
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Life in Duality and Non-Duality
Birth is the first gate.
Death is the second gate.
Between these two gates lies the path of life
travelled by all sentient beings.
All are born.
All will die.
Between death and rebirth lies the unameable state
where the next life is chosen, determined by the individual Isnesses
stockpile of accumulated Karmas,
Good and Bad.
All human beings,due to their accumulated Karmas,
both Good and Bad,
must pass through this unameable state
and be reborn into their next life.
All beings accumulated Karmas,Good and Bad,
are assessed in that state and that assessment determines the next life they are reborn into.
There are NO exceptions to this process ever.
Karmas,Good and Bad,are accumulated in each life.
Karmas ,Good and Bad,are the result of the morality
of each individuals actions.
Karma is of three types.
Good Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Bad Karma which ties each individual
to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Neutral Karma is the only way that each individual
to can free themselves from
the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth.
Both Good and Bad Karmas tie each and every human being
to the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth as a human being.
Only Neutral Karma can free each individual from
the endless cycle of birth,life ,death and rebirth as a human being.
Neutral Karma is only realisable through the practise
of the Six Fundamental Yogas.
Neutral Karma is the only way to erase both Good and Bad Karmas.
The practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas increases the BrainBloodVolume to the level of that of Foetus in the Womb,which causes the Mind and Conditioned Identity
to dissolve,temporarily or permanently.
Those individuals,female and male equally,
whose practises of the Six Fundamental Yogas cause
the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve temporarily or permanently will enter into union with the Isness of the Universe
as an equal,temporarily or permanently.
Those individual human beings who pass their lives accumulating Good and Bad Karmas are unable to escape from the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth.
For the overwhelming majority of human beings who refuse to generate Neutral Karma,by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas,life can only be lived, in the state of
Mind created Duality and Non-Duality.
They are unable to enter into the state of union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
The permanent feature of such a life lived in either Duality or Non-Duality is the ceaseless deep suffering of being separated from the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
For those very few human beings who,through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas,have dissolved Mind and Conditioned Identity,permanently,life is lived in union with
the Isness of the Universe as an equal.
Life is lived in the state of Experiential Knowingness
which is called Separate and Merged.
They live out their last lives in this realm in union with Isness of the Universe as an equal.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Is mystery dependent on me thinking of mystery?
It is a safe bet.
For when what is central is knowledge, then I can only become aware of mystery if upon something new or unknown.
Thus, mystery is not knowledge, but the lack of it.
Mystery is ignorance.
Thus, my meditation is rather reflection on ignorance,
As if I'm trying to better describe ignorance, or find a way out of ignorance with only the experiential.
I think of mostly consciousness and the universe here, in terms of my and humanity's ignorance of them.
Not only am I limited by my own understanding but also the understanding of others, however much they are even more intelligent than me.
I see others working on problems that have proven to not solve the mystery, the mystery being ignorance.
The only thing that could solve it is omniscience.
Then it follows that what I'm really trying to solve is omniscience.
"Infinite cognition" as the Buddha put it.
Even if a person could have omniscience, it would be colored by how they can make sense of reality.
Knowledge would take the form of what is most familiar.
Thus, when wondering about a question as to what is pi, they may say about 3.14.
The answer conditioned on how people and the omniscient one would have the capacity to hear.
Maybe this seems more like intuition.
But omniscience would denote the person as a speaker, yet only allowable to speak as what was conducive for everyone's best.
This is how Baha'is look at Manifestations of God: only allowed to share a certain amount at a time.
Just as the Son said "I have many things to share with you, but you cannot hear them now".
Still their capacity would be limited to what they themselves were interested in.
For one who is marginalized and oppressed or even thronged by multitudes, often has no willingness to delve deeply into subject matter, it causing some to stray from a correct path.
Since fractal systems work strongest in more diverse settings, it would seem that the very thing that makes it strong also makes its capacity to hear weak.
Omniscience therefore, if given to only a few, has a limited range of effect.
But even this limited range would change the entire system.
As Baha'u'llah calls His followers "the leaven" and the Son calls His followers "the salt".
"Many are called but few are chosen" seems derogatory in a world where "ye are all the leaves of one tree".
World consciousness almost arose to love tonight, but the lover ensared it in his anger once again.
If I close my ears to them, will it go away?
If they close my ears to me, will I go away?
Strength in the diversity of parts.
Strength really meaning pain.
E Pluribus Unum.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars,
diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray,
birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines,
occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures,
sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even
defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar
*not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling,
many voyages of indeterminate measuring length,
leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations,
each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated,
without critique or commentary, the numbers are the
gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination,
terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute*
a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced,
notated but not annotated, just numerical truths,
(sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie)
and today my calculator app informs, that I am now
19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected
naturally this provokes a natty,
spirited, self-inquiry, lessened,
lessor, for better or for worse?
have the physical alterations
accompanying this reduction
mean exactly what,
if, it should be, a greater lesser?
here is the hard part.
your have always been a mirror~poet,
laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven
AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied,
the external never denying the interior “less~than,”
a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions,
counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections,
of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical
less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am
*gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue,
the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:*
I,
am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds,
my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices
and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter
many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man,
there, internal infernal
too…
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet
thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…
much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards
back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism
now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
Experiential seeker
Live in the moment sort of believer
Capture the essence, capture the feeling
What is the story, what is the meaning?
Ephemeral and fleeting
Such is the world through eyes of human beings
But just for a minute forget what you're seeing
Embrace this pure and unadulterated freedom
Now give up control, your conscience is leaving!!
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
“Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker”
Leonard Cohen
<>
“Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?”
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I,
***instant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees
With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.
now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.
hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful
so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy
in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest***!
(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)
~~~~
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
The Psychedelic Deli
Is sometimes in an alley.
It can seem accidental,
Some of it experimental
All completely experiential.
There is no shop, no store
You must have a friend
If you really want to score.
Everyone is different
Under new management.
Let me make this clear;
Anything you want,
Everything you want is here.
From champagne to beer
All the time, every year.
You can send out for *****
And have nothing to lose.
Only just all your money,
But you may think that funny
Once you’re getting chummy.
So mostly bring your own
And don’t drink it alone
Because it’s best to share
That’s true just everywhere
If you have the grace to care.
The Psychedelic Deli
May sell wares ***** nilly
They’ll charge you indecently
As stuff they made just recently
Must be paid for immediately.
They have this and that
And if you pass the hat
You’ll go on a trip with no ticket.
You surely don’t want to miss it.
But there’s always a bit more to it.
So, you better be up to it
Because many more blew it
And ended like a fish on their belly,
Their minds about as stable as jelly,
Shopping at the Psychedelic Deli.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
that's all you have.
Ive got words too but I don't use them
to describe my "inner landscape".
they just get in the way of "experiential knowingness"
of my personal energy field of unconditional love,
they just get in the way of being my beingness,
for I am where there are no edges.
For I am and equal individual independent and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe,
which you can immerse yourself in,
merge into and become as one with me,
like I am eternally one with you.
if you can drop the Mind and Conditioned Identity in the head,
of the body that you are incarnated in temporarily,
just for this your latest lifetime,
and it could be your last lifetime as a human being..
that's the only condition--drop the Mind--let it go--you don't need it--
but it needs you to deceive and manipulate.
The Mind needs you to survive but you don't need the Mind to survive
for you are as I am and we all are eternal and self sufficient,
beyond edges and dimensions.
Just imagine the Universe and all that is in it inside your head,
impossible you cry but that's truthfulness in action.
I know who you really are even though Ive never met you
and am unlikely to ever meet you,and when I say you I don't mean your body--.
I don't mean your "name" or curriculum vitae or certificates on a wall--or photographs of a face among billions .
I mean you--the individual Isness--that small part of me that you are--as I am that small part of you that I am.
The body is just a vehicle made from mere flesh,to get you from point A--birth--to point B --death--.
it has attributes and emotions and possibilities but it most definitely is not and never can be YOU or me--.
Youre incarnated in it in order to realise your true nature as a small but equal independent individual and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.
You are,like me,the Isness of the Universe incarnated for this lifetime
in the body that surrounds you but unlike me you are
in the grip of Mind permanently--unless you dissolve Mind consciously.
Minds are the obstacle to union with the Isness of the Universe
and I am the Isness of the Universe incarnated in this body--
just like you are--and so the mind in the head of that body is
the obstacle to union with me.
The only difference between you and I ,female or male,
is that I am permanently Mindless by choice
and you are struggling towards
becoming permanently Mindless--unknowingly.
My struggle to become Mindless
and Conditioned Identityless is over thankfully,these last few years.
I live in the body but the body is not me.
I use the body for my many pleasures
but no pleasures of the body can compare to the pleasure
of being in union with the Isness of the Universe.
One can only be in Union with the Isness of the Universe when one is Mindless.
Words are absolutely useless for describing my inner state--
for my inner state is not of the body--
it is not made or nourished by the body--
my inner state can only be experienced.
Words cannot set you free--they can only make you a lifelong prisoner of Mind--the controller of what should be your words--but arent.
And individual Minds must coalesce into GroupMinds
which are families and relations and clans and tribes and races and nations and religions and politics and all the other groups that prevent you from becoming your true nature which is that of being a small but equal,individual,independant and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.
You have always that encompassing edge to your body--the skin.
I have no edges--my skin is permeable and insubstantial.
I am the Universe extant.
I am the Isness of the Universe.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
I chained myself to the earth
I planted the seed that grew into many
I chose not the stars
not the heavens
but land and gravity
when you're bigger than the universe
smaller than an atom
made up of matter and empty space
what's the point in floating around?
when there's no one to float with
you tend to be grounded
now it's not like that
I now feel clustered and confused
now I want to float and fly away
You have to take the bad with the good though
once you start something and let it's will be free
you no longer have control of the outcome
which made it all new and fresh
though I see redundancy and monotony in the flesh
repeating the same **** mistakes and learning nothing
have I gone mad?
Or has the world that came from me done so?
I guess that's why intervening now and again
breaking through unnecessary barriers
challenging faith and shedding light on a few things, helps the cause
I can't do it all though, well if I did, then many would lose purpose
that's why I just float so long as it all goes accordingly
unplanned and undefined
it's the point we shall evolve to
funny for one to think life is complicated
it is if there's no purpose
When the time comes those who went through all the trouble
those who were searching with their minds
are going to realize that the mind only seeks
the heart answers
we let our shells rule ourselves sometimes
but the shell only shows what the heart bleeds for
I will admit that it would be complicating to try and understand all that is
but you didn't make it, so how can you know what the artist felt when they were in the process of creation?
there were some points where it was complicating even for myself, but that was when I got closer to the finish line
which did I mention? It doesn't exist.
All in all we all evolve to resolve
from one into many
and many into one
you can look at a puzzle when it's all together and see beauty
but after you take apart the pieces and understand each piece's purpose for it's shape
you then not only see beauty, but beauty with experiential wisdom
I was a void to fill
now I'm full to burst
the void now has a void
for it no longer thirsts
the cycle shall carry on with miracles along the way
that's the way it is
and it will never stay the same
contradiction you may think
but I bring balance in a blink
I chain myself to break the chains
I break the chains to find freedom in new links
until the day when only scars remain
and the spirit of a star reigns
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:24 AM UTC
*facing our feelings
experiential release
soothing the psyche*
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
I said to myself,
"Someday soon you will
be dead and gone.
Your consciousness dissolved.
Forever."
Myself replied,
"What does this mean?
I have no experience
with which to relate."
"This is true," I acknowledged, "but
you possess imagination
and thus may conceive
of opposites."
"Yes," Myself agreed, "but
imagination can only construct
with what has been received.
To conceive of
the void of all conception
is beyond my parameters."
- fr
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
"There is an appointed time for everything, /
A time for every activity /
under the heavens;" /
—Ecclesiastes 3: 1 (NWTSE) /
A season has departed, /
A season has begun, /
The Circle of Life continues, /
A legacy remains undone. /
The gauntlets I have transcended, /
Have diamonded my soul; /
Therefore, I offer this solemn petition /
Knowing the fight remains to be won. /
In time, there will be tribulations /
But this heart stands adamantine, /
These eyes remain dauntless, /
My spirit is forevermore unphased. /
A time of self- (re) discovery /
Has burgeoned anew, /
We will all metamorphose /
If we look to the future bemused. /
Your potentialities are enormous; /
Together, we are a fulgurant storm. /
Rise, rise, young stalwarts /
You are a Spark of The Divine. /
The experiential cascade is perpetual, /
Incessantly persevere, /
May wisdom inhabit each one of us, /
May we each forsake not to love. /
A chrysalis has unraveled /
Diaphanous wings have been borne, /
Doubt not inviolable beauty /
Always, abides in the light. /
(—Se' lah)
07-18-2021
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 4:47 PM UTC
***Book One
(∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞)
The Precursor's Psalm I-V
To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine.
(I) ―En Fortissimo
1 Tender with sentimentality,
I fathom you,
2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment,
Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace,
3 That your towering arms
May aegis these benighted bones.
4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be
Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity,
5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously,
―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix:
6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically
Before by romance, we touched erringly.
(Se'lah)
(II) Celestial Communion
1 O, Star Child,
May your beckoning
2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony
Festering in my faith,
3 (A besmirched hope)
Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt.
4 O Minstrel of Manumission,
Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong?
5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed,
The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream,
6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn
For the Arbiter of Fates.
(Se'lah)
(III) Song of Wishes
1 Velleity speaks,
It whispers,
2 In the twinkling of the stars.
When shall it end,
3 When
It has yet to begin?
4 Be still― and become one with all things,
As time fades, consciousness begins,
5 The Experiential Cascade:
All that was, all that is, & all that shall be,
6 Circular & Cycling,
Forevermore.
7 Know that there is a reason,
Know that there is a place,
8 Know that there is a person,
In this world for you.
9 Open up your heart and see,
All you were meant to see.
(Se'lah).
(IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future)
1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence
The Dreamscape glistens,
2 A Redolent Reverie wafts
The Tenuous Air amidst
3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves
& Crystalline Pulsations.
4 Ardently I pine,
For thine visage, groping for a rhyme,
5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine
Countenance sublime,
6 All desperations been defied,
For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times.
(Se'lah)
(V) Bastion Heart
1 The agony in existentiality
Unravels undying piety
2 And
Cloistered in cadence of solitude,
3 I, the Somnolent One,
Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance.
4 In wanting, there is life,
In desirelessness, wanting still,
5 Know thine Power,
Indomitable Will:
6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit
Are immortal.
(Se'lah)***
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
We expect our Mothers
to be kind
and it is not always so,
We expect our Fathers to be wise
how often do we err?
We expect of our families
patience and rarely we wait,
We expect our friends eternal
and lovers faithful
how we so disappoint...
the humans we love that travel
the same path slightly ahead
or behind..,
Knowledge is wise and only
compassion can free us,
only love that is true
knows the perfection of patience,
and only Experiential knows the
way of eternal change,
and only in this way
may we become the image
of our expectant God(s).
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
new words for an old day that’s just begun
even I, author of the conundrum above,
confused but let us sort it out as we
descend into the elixir that is our combo
of noises, prejudices, limited vocabularies
time noted, not even the nine o’clock mark,
so the day qualifies as new, but it’s an aged
sun rising, skills displaying, historical precedent,
ancient practice, adjusted for atmosphericals
the lawn is speckled, mottled, as light ray guns
through the defending battalion branches and
platoons of leaves facing up, to a certain death
later than sooner, no killing fields till September
the oak tree generals, wisdomed experiential,
prepare plans, take light a prisoner in sufficient
quantity to nourish the troops, yet, not too much,
for the sun can be fickle, a flame thrower machina
all that vision leads me to this pronouncement:
*Oh Lord, bountiful be provided, beloved, inscribed,
this day, its mega-millennium predecessors and
successors gifted precision amounts needed, then,
**Cast me gently into morning,
For the night has been unkind,
Take me to a, a place so holy,
That I can wash this from my mind,
The memory of choosing not to fight.**
Sara Mclachlan “The Answer”
9:18am Thu Jul 9 ‘20
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 9:29 AM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
We feel a little more deeply;
Our dreams and our hopes a bit more lofty
The hurt we encounter, more painful
The love, more fearsome, more courageous
Our desires, our passions, they burn as fire hot embers;
Convictions, belief systems, we, a bit more zealous than the rest
Sorrow and loss makes a melancholy bed upon our hearts, tears fall while
We give reverence to those great writers that came before us,
With nature, we are held in awe, as in crispy branches of Autumn trees
Come to us again renewed, children to climb your arms of Spring
Our senses heightened to silver lined clouds, we appreciate more
Our care, our commiseration more powerful, more potent, more poignant
On constant journey to find our place in this universe, more analytical, yet more confusing
A safe haven found among like minds in this community of poets waxing prose, lyrics
Connecting with those who embody the more aspect, finding peace, finding acceptance
We are one, we are family, united vicariously of one another's experiential travels
Herein lies the words of our lives, our souls borne on scripted stage
Likes, Comments, critiques of our word manipulation, not critiques of our being
Writing is freedom, from long exhaustive treks through hot desert, snake riddled sands
We drink our first cool waters from the natural springs of Hello Poetry
We love you one and all, and this to a Greater Degree, always.
-----ChawzzyScript
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
distant dreams repeat themselves
right behind my conscious thoughts
but all I feel is fleeing stealth
masking every thought up core
so all I have is an idea
of how to wander between shifts
knowing by not being here
or anywhere without a drift
I am alive - at least: am I?
all is floating through my mind
I see an image, that's a lie
but what is hiding there behind
my ideas and mental fakes
the answer is not mine to know
the question is not mine to ask
construction is part of the show
confusion is part of the show
so I repeat schematic dreams
(repeating weird schismatic dreams)
that were schematized by no
one else that I appear to seem
instancies instead of rules
abstractable by asking minds
after all I'm always fooled
by knowing what I seemed to find
but feeling free since I can make
sense out of dubious words and facts
enjoying every working fake
makes me a living mind that acts
in a world that's far beyond
the ways I can explore by thoughts
but all is blurred since it responds
to what's created in mind first
so integration lames my view
adapting to what I can think
changing within the things I do
framing self-referential links
so integration frames my mind
adapting to what I can think
living within the things I find
born by precursively ringed
ways of experiential links
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
Remember your true calling /
As the susurrant breeze wafts your epidermis /
And the platinum moon glistens /
Atop the clouded expanse of The Cimmerian Skies. /
Know The Transcendental One walks with you /
Forces unseen fight for thee, /
You are enclaved within the omnipresent mist, /
Of Jehovah God, The Most High. /
"But you are 'a chosen race, a royal priesthood, /
A holy nation, a people for special possession, /
That you should declare abroad the excellencies of the One who called you /
Out of darkness into his wonderful light.'" —1st Peter 2: 9 (NWTSE) /
Equip yourselves for your pilgrimage /
Doven divine Aether, /
For strength, wisdom, justice, love, /
Courage, beauty, & indefatigability. /
Your journey is yours & yours alone, /
Walk through the rain unafraid, /
Believe in The Light when Stygian Shadows fall, /
Cleave to The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love as you effloresce in The Light of The Sun. /
Your testimony is power, /
Your story is a shockwave pulsar through The Ages; /
Therefore, use your promenade down the experiential cascade /
To prepare your souls for eternity. /
(—Se' lah)
Feb 23, 2024
Feb 23, 2024 at 4:46 PM UTC
pelagic hearts sink fast,
intercostal routines never cycle to dead standstill:
we've drowned, at last!
taking vicious inbetween gulps of night air, stealing unsatisfactions,
meagre half-lung fills.
tread the water,
watch it grow
from clean nothing
to the murk of azure, affections and
crowding of teeth on that
vast sandy below,
miles down in the darkness,
husks of hope,
filter-fed,
through experiential banks and
cut down to bled chum.
and me,
here;
I wonder why,
you're so sad,
with the world in your palm.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
These hollow eyes tell a different tale
of a darker more nefariously slanted reality
that nobody understands but you.
How it was this- then that
and then that and that
then finally what its become.
A charade orchestrated by synapse and fear
as well as a lack of experiential experience
that I followed earnestly with my heart.
The unbearable weight of truth weakens resolve
bending intentions like magic bends the mind
until all energy flows away from the source.
The bridge now rests in water
with eddy's creating and dissipating
where the metal meets the cool cool water.
No longer can the other side be reached
looks like we'll camp here for the night
they'll be no crossing the divide today.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 3:10 AM UTC