"heedful" poems
The way you play your harp,
effortlessly weaving your fingers
through those nylon strings
is oh so captivating.
The firm hold you have on your instrument,
secure, yet light enough,
being careful not to break
the mahogany frames.
The heedful ears you have,
used to listen to the echoing sounds,
your harp makes in response to
even the slightest flick of your finger.
The beautifully composed melody,
brought forth by the
dissonance and resolution
of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever known.
Wherever did you get the practice?
Perhaps it was from toying with my heart.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
I am the Reaper.
All things with heedful hook
Silent I gather.
Pale roses touched with the spring,
Tall corn in summer,
Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms--
Reaping, still reaping--
All things with heedful hook
Timely I gather.
I am the Sower.
All the unbodied life
Runs through my seed-sheet.
Atom with atom wed,
Each quickening the other,
Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless
Ceaselessly sowing,
Life, incorruptible life,
Flows from my seed-sheet.
Maker and breaker,
I am the ebb and the flood,
Here and Hereafter.
Sped through the tangle and coil
Of infinite nature,
Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.
Taker and giver,
I am the womb and the grave,
The Now and the Ever.
3k
The sun descending in the west.
The evening star does shine.
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine,
The moon like a flower,
In heavens high bower;
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight;
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping *****
They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm;
If they see any weeping.
That should have been sleeping
They pour sleep on their head
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tygers howl for prey
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful;
The angels most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit.
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lions ruddy eyes,
Shall flow with tears of gold;
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying: wrath by his meekness
And by his health, sickness.
Is driven away,
From our immortal day.
And now beside thee, bleating lamb.
I can lie down and sleep;
Or think on him who bore thy name.
Graze after thee and weep.
For wash’d in lifes river.
My bright mane for ever.
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o’er the fold.
2.3k
The sad and solemn night
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
Day, too, hath many a star
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they:
Through the blue fields afar,
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way:
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim,
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.
And thou dost see them rise,
Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set.
Alone, in thy cold skies,
Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet,
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,
Nor dipp'st thy ****** orb in the blue western main.
There, at morn's rosy birth,
Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,
And eve, that round the earth
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there;
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.
Alike, beneath thine eye,
The deeds of darkness and of light are done;
High towards the star-lit sky
Towns blaze--the smoke of battle blots the sun--
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud--
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.
On thy unaltering blaze
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,
Fixes his steady gaze,
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast;
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,
Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.
And, therefore, bards of old,
Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,
Did in thy beams behold
A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.
1.5k
An explosion of motion
It is morning
The day lies open
Water runs between my claws
I pretend I am the permeable colors of glacial melt
Where I am distinctly heedful. No eyes. No hands
I want to be invisible;
the lazy colors of gold and blue;
unable to recall any identity or reality
I can’t say why. Invisible hurts. Maybe its easier to feel the hurt of invisible but know that the struggle of existence will never be in me
I’m sick at the prospect of a cage but it’s easier than freedom
So I quietly dismantle myself during your sleep. I wait in my constraints for the machinery in your mouth to turn
That sound is my cue. The only evidence I know
Maybe I’d be good for a living hell; tied to the incessant bluster of gods with animals heads, munching holes in each others pale golden horns
But the war is at a pause for now. The cavalcade is sitting down
Is it still morning?
I sleep to shelter my head. But good sleep never really comes
The drop line reaches down my throat and hoists a voice
How condemned I feel
Condemned to action and reaction, burdened with contempt, choked by doubt, commanded to love
How can I be, if I cannot know what I am?
Why can’t I be invisible?
Some enchanted morning senility will be upon me. And when my body begins to cool, let it be
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
The pavement is full of spurious persons,
Training each other to pretend they're eclectic,
Using differences to assert the vilification of mankind.
Cross from them stands the truth,
Perspicaciously watching
The hedonists
Be not heedful,
Listening to their speeches full of trifling, inconsequential consequences.
A furtive plan snakes from the mouth to the ears of the truth,
Manipulating it to bolster the lies.
The belief that everyone deserves rights
Akin, alike, homogeneous, to the human nextto him,
Is brought down with the laud, the praise, the inception of the end.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
A baggage full of hope
With fragments of dreams and ardor
Desiring to get up to the slope
Where she’ll find her own harbor
A baggage full of hope
In ceaseless heedful caress
Not wanting to ever elope
Amidst the melody she cannot express
A baggage full of hope
Packed for the long journey to Utopia
Wishing to just remain afloat
In a night sky with stars in cornucopia
A baggage full of hope
Drenched in a swamp of sorrow
Will she still be able to cope
And be saved from being hollow?
A baggage full of hope
A casket of ambition, lost and lifeless
Will holding on to the obtrusive rope
Bring her back up and leave her boundless?
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
you bite my toes -
that evokes
a wondering frenzy
that all of the
previous lovers
were (are)
just a bit (?)
selfish and lazy...
you tickle my feet
and all over a bit
and lap up
and lap up
and up my belly
and press foreheads
and my insides rally
for -
that there may be
more wondrous heedful lovers
who'd find
(or to look for?)
me -
quite possibly.
you softly grab
my leg in sleep,
and i almost weep
(hoping?)
realizing cautiously
that maybe,
just
may
be
there is merit in me
for an even more
wondrous and heedful
relationship -
whenever that
comes in free.
and i still feel
your spirit on me,
and hope
it will flee
as soon as
i cross the ocean -
safe in the notion
that none of us
really needs running...
(c)kRu, 07.11.(on the plane)-09.11.11
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 10:05 AM UTC
It takes on deaths horrible form thereunto,
Breaching the seas pensively askew;
Spun brutally from troubling winds of false accord,
Ignored by expression but surely explored.
O 'tis madness, voices beat savagely in my head,
Upon quiet of night as insanely they wilfully imbed.
Through mortal fear I am awakened,
There's nowhere pleasant to run 'tis my chastened.
Of life's despairs nor demons wrathful hold,
Hast thereof nightmares foretold.
In the chilling air, killing heedful wisdoms impaired,
Had I faltered, I'd been sadly unprepared.
Pressed onwards I could only dream,
With care it'd be a future supreme.
Deep in my bleeding thoughts I tried to grasp it,
Yet every brutal bound 'twas likely unfit.
Ah, let evil echo through my disrupting mind,
The faces, that blushed mostly unkind.
A hideous desire inexplicable, entombed from within,
Hastily it beckons thereunto an original sin.
The voices, whose horrid duty I deplore,
Of the old vast despairs it will implore.
But alone I am 'tis surely surpassing a realm of rage,
And all I seen, mattered naught offstage.
Regrettably in the valley of despair I have always lived,
Therefrom I am truly a weltered child deprived.
Onto the rough cobble stones bloodied and quite torn,
That tragic wind, caught in hells uproar forlorn.
A sea of red, kept in an eternal twinge,
Through to agonies I'd impinge.
Ah how they weep, the mystic fools they weep,
In fake smiles these too rustle forth and reap.
Though I'm stirred I cannot follow,
O'er endless toil I as wallow.
Unto violent passions, soaring in tempting extremes,
Of pastures buried, a life in poor redeems.
For nothing concerted I came thereafter seeking,
Every question asked it begged a haggard beseeching.
Thus in a dim labyrinth of lies I found some solace,
Here in the direst valley of despair it's my disgrace.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
As the cadence of time is in a hustle,
Life and death undergo a constant scuffle
And it all will end with coup de grace,
Let’s be a li’l heedful to some benevolence.
Time flies, much swifter than thoughts
Do all that you desire, before it’s lost.
Loyal were never the moments of bliss,
Engaging in goodwill would not go amiss.
Let the grime of your heart form a ****
Try to love each other, its half wisdom
Forgiveness is a trait which blesses two,
The one who is forgiven and the other is you.
- Elina Dawoodani
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
Twilight tiptoes through curtained clover leaves
Cape starlings stanzaed thank mighty Lord
spindly legs shake on spritely evensong breeze
closing chirp reminding that day is just a chord
What achievements marked chanting hours
manifesting with helio hands and heedful head
paper, pencil, thoughts danced about in bower
patterned sensations twirled needle and thread
A silent hymn I sit awaiting bright sickle moon
indwelling spirit dissolving wispy wanton wishes
blossoms lotus, liberates mind a special boon
intentions iambic winking flimsy floral fetishes
Moment to moment tasks tangent complete
each twilight twins a masterful morrow sweet
__________________
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:10 AM UTC
My Reportage for 10/8/2018
When I was a child, my mother and the neighbors
would sit on the front stoop and gossip
about current events: ones would pretend
to be reading her book, but ones ears were like
cable vision indoor satellite: broadcasting
Christine Blasey Ford and Judge Brett Kavanaugh
Stirs up a lot in me this past week
About my childhood memories,
I felt unnerves, about topics that old folks chat about back then:
I remember the villains, child *** predators and ****** fathers
the child's entrapment and powerlessness era in our small village
Where the old folks buried the secrets under the rugs
And prayer about it on Sunday morn
Flashing back to those stories,
too often is nerve wrecking
I called them the gossiping sundown moments:
Shilling was a clone of Brett Kavanaugh: he drank and he forgets:
**How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! /
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. /
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! /
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
'Eloisa to Abelard', Alexander Pope**
Those gossiping sundown moments,
Never dies when it enters the ears of a heedful child:
I was always one of those children,
Who was so careful about stranger’s looks?
the friendlier the neighbors sweet talk tones
I would take off with speed like the swarm drone
Odd! but that was all it took:
**All emotions, even those that are suppressed and unexpressed, have physical effects. Unexpressed emotions tend to stay in the body like small ticking time bombs—they are illnesses in incubation.”
― Marilyn Van M. Derbur,**
:
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
I flourish,
I fade
Let me live in your home,
perfectly I stay poised
Let me live in my home,
unrestrained
I grow freely
I lure you in with my stately scent
Be heedful as I may harm your hands
Hold me considerately and carry me with you
The beloved of the bride
The chivalrous choice for the lover
Remember me when I am gone
You will see me again
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
In my own constructed expression, I am creating gratifying planetary conditions; meanwhile, heedful of my own intuition
Building a body of affection; reflection on deep connections breeding value to human imperfection
Treasuring scars as reservoirs; turning the key inside, cultivating patience - the mark of the sanctified
Crossing the bridge with lessons I have learned; revitalized and returned to the roots of my being; lit up interior lanterns and visualized the revival of archetypal patterns
Aligning the internal compass toward the wondrous oneness right now in this world of physical matter; as a result, heading north toward metaphysical glamour.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
I am to discern a thought
Of how a wisp would give life.
On how Pleiades’ flume gnash;
From where Orion got it’s sash.
You held on word, You were heedful of man,
Speckle of dirt washed out of pride.
Declared independence whence wrought forth Adam,
The seed of death lingered on heart contrite.
You sought to convey sentence on sin,
Yet naught would keep You away adoring such being.
Lone sacrifice You offered as salvation.
Your beloved Son, draped divinely on the cross.
Lies – I deemed were my redemption,
Elegance of thus, created my disgrace.
When shall I flee from this foolish perception?
In spite Truth facing me, offering its grace.
How is it that I fall off grace?
Grasping nowhere into an empty space;
Blank it gets my eyes forlorn,
Came a Seeker whose rest is home.
Breaking mine through the gaps,
My life was over abashed.
Faults that I hold back
Ever tainted my freed soul black.
How much do You charge me of my offense?
And fall to my knees off my bitter end.
Still…Oh, You saw me from afar
Upon that cross you bore my scar.
Knees fell still on earthy ground,
Yoke of man whose faults lay abound.
Hands pricked open, a wound of disgrace;
Fulfill thy glory – Oh Holy, in this dreadful place.
Glorious are all Your works,
From the heavens to the fertile earth.
Magnificent is the deliverance You put through,
Glad is my heart, praising a Creator like You.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
Your stare pierced my eyes and penetrated my soul
I stood there, helpless, powerless, and weak, in front of you
Naked, like the day before Eve got a taste of the forbidden fruit
For you were the snake that whispered the only truth into my ear
You slithered gently on my denuded skin
And alluringly wrapped your body into mine
I suddenly felt a jolt, almost agonizing
Somehow the scales that had fallen onto my eyes were removed
I could see for the first time
Terror devoured me but I had never been so eager
To just let go of all that I thought I knew
For there was a grace in my destruction
I took my last breath, breathing in the last of the false air
And my heedful consciousness was finally born
I was alive for the first time
The overwhelming bliss became to abundant
You took my hand and led the way into our light
We walked away from the pearly gates and found the remarkable flock
Awaiting the arrival of their enlightened peers
A place to call home where we were loved and celebrated
For us animals are an infinitesimal breed
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
Another day has come, another life granted to me, but ohh what have I done with my previous life and what have I dragged in my new life?
Today I met skeletons from my old life. They stared straight into my eyes, I tried to hold the stare but I couldn’t. They were too real and their presence was overwhelming. I could feel it, I could see it but they could see through me, straight into my inner colors, gawking at my dark secrets and my veiled inner reptiles.
*** What have I done? Where is my poker face?"
Clearly my chameleons are losing their camouflage. They are raging with fear, heedful of any attacks that may be thrown their way. It’s tiring, so I understand why they have grown impatient and want to flash their hidden colors. I can hear them screaming in my head - they are restless, they keep wrestling my skin, itching like lice, turning red at every minor vibration extended their way.
I'm trying hard to keep my composure, keep my eyelids from moving , from shaking, from swimming in a sea of tears cause I need to stay strong, to be an adult, to grow a tail and horns, to show my canines so I could feel invincible, seem firm and unshaken so no one could wake my sleeping secrets, my dark mambas. But in my eyes, yes in the windows of our souls, if you look closely you will see them. You will see them crawling under my skin, asking to be let out so they could shake hands with their cousins, brothers and sisters in the reflections in the mirrors, the horizons of their independence...
“The hard way is not working, let’s mess with her head”.
So they tell tales, write songs, recite poems that I want to rhyme with but NO, I won’t let them over come my calmness cause I have scales on the outsides, cause I am a knight in cold blood serenity armor, cause even if hell boils over, God-willing the outside will never see the smoke of flames from my inner chambers, from the caves and dark corners filled with hot magma.
No, red is not a color. It will not overcome patience, the color I have painted serenity, the façade I put on every day but blood runs in my veins, and blood is the color of my raging chameleons.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Is your grief as sullen to be pitched into the dark where mourners lay their thoughts
the warmth of a cup of black coffee drawn from a heedful call that stands to reason with your voice
and the day turns away in a callous hunger desiring to be measured in spiteful calories
your lipstick has stained your teeth in vainglory
will you run from the hunt or has the open switchblade knife followed your wrist to the faintest lines
has his forceful blows moved you to tears and he knows how not to love you in centimeters
in the rose gold of your naked body I have surfaced
to find the rounded edges that make you complete
Jun 2, 2022
Jun 2, 2022 at 6:55 PM UTC