"mandalas" poems
when you asked me about certainty
and if my mind was a tree
rooted in cement and truth
i was on my unaccustomed knees
blinking into a sunbeam's architecture when
the brilliant wind brought you to me
to cure me with the miracle touch
i was alone by a window dreaming through glass
you bent toward me in a mile wide sky
a butterfly with a skinny voice
or an adorable tomato in a retail uniform
before that i only knew the clouds
as bears wrapped in pastel baby-blankets
before i first kissed you in the street
i knew the sunset as a drop of fire
in a barrel of whiskey and
suddenly your eyes like a deep pool in a forest
seeking out my past with the molecular traces
of your fingers across my abdomen
mandalas blooming out of our palms
only touching at the fingers
as flames from mosquito torches filled
the round coral faces of my gauges
with apricot light
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped
as above so below
the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
*** hole below ...flesh woven
does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******
clergy
then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
voluptuous
smoldering
fecundations
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children
i build temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****
do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes
the catechism
of the solar ****
to know
to adore
to prostrate
to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth
to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries
those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives*
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Health department signs litter the grass areas,
"Do not make contact with the water;
Swimming forbidden".
Less than twenty years ago I learnt to swim here
And fish too, once i even drowned!
Sometimes my friends and I would
Catch Eels then sell them
To the local Chinese restaurant.
I treasure those memories of my childhood.
This fresh water lake surrounded
By trees taller than buildings
My beautiful haven from the city, hidden
Between main roads and highways
that only the locals know.
Sitting on sandstone rocks
I see my reflection amongst the lily pads.
Beyond the depths an entanglement of
Roots, seaweed and *******
Natural mandalas made by tadpoles
Ripple across the murky brown surface
Whilst a rather large water dragon
Sun bakes on the riverbank
And ducks glide by reminding me
Of the canoes we used to capsize
And I appreciate how simple life
Used to be.
ELEETE J MUIR
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 7:56 AM UTC
Spotlights on us
seemingly illuminating
and otherwise blinding
can't see the audience
can't tell the difference
between time and space
different manifestations
of each other creating
infinite mandalas
poured into rivers
tones rising out
of and falling into
silence
I trip over words and pick the sounds out of the scrapes in my palms
I make motions to pick up the gravity but my actions are glitchy, disconnected
an abstracted cadence
remote inflection
radio nuance
rhythm break
modal static living in stasis
ants on a screen as grains of rice
with bubbles in a glass of beer
merging like two tones
harmonizing on a
secondary tonal plane
move me like a modulation
end me like an infinite crescendo
I am suspended
over several tones
just let it go
and I am resolved
follow where the voices lead
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
Ingredients:
suitcases
photo albums
quick wit
a new space that is comfortable to breathe in, raise other beings in, and nurture pets and your spirit in.
Sprinklings of humor to shake on it all when it gets to be too much. Mason jars of self-appreciation and worth to open in an emergency, if these qualities are forgotten and old patterns resurrected.
Preparation:
First, sit quietly with yourself.
Breathe deeply, as many times as you need.
Fill as many soul cups as you can with confidence,
and pour them on yourself, until they sink into the
soapstone of your pores.
If needed, tip back your head and open your mouth,
in order to have a more direct inflow.
After that, take just as many cups of calm
and pour them in, slowly and with generosity.
It is okay if you overflow; you may need extra serenity
later, when you are in the midst of action.
Let the two ingredients mix, slowly, until colors as yet unnamed
are formed in your solar plexus, spilling
throughout the entirety
of your body.
Take a break and blow bubbles, for lightness.
Yes, you may laugh like a loon.
Marinade:
After the laughter has subsided, take a big dose of self- love and rub it all over yourself, drizzled like fine coconut-scented oil. Do not miss a spot, even on the parts that you have a problem with. In fact, give those extra love.
And now, for the rub: This has been simmering for a while. It is time to push it all into the oven and bake it. The heat is rising, so be quick.
Take all precious memories and sew them into the pockets of your coat. The ugly ones, burn, quickly and thoroughly. Scatter the ashes into the wind.
Hang new pictures on the wall. Splashes of nature you have photographed. Mandalas created by a precious daughter. A platypus wishing you goodnight by your little flower imp. A cheeky photo of your boy, to remind you of inner sauciness.
All of these strengthen with love.
Finally, rest your head upon the new pillow and inhale the scent of freshly laundered springtime. For now, the ordeal of your winter has ended.
Time for a long, languid, luxurious dessert.
A new life!
Bon appetite!
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
before it's gone
Hold on to the love you feel.
Darkness is coming around the bend
The plagues are moving in on the winds
The wars are raging in retaliation’s name
The sun is burning,
shooting solar flares our way.
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the wisdom of your mind
Life is precious
Comes and goes
Time is an illusion
That we all know
Lovers, they also come and go
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
The mandalas in the faces of the flowers
call your name.
Against all odds
Against the deranged machinations at the hands of the gods
We’re mere humans
Standing at the rim of the stars
Staring out into space
In this brief
Time and place
Throwing sand at the waves
To protect the
Sand castle walls we built,
As children at the ocean.
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
Childhood joy and wonder
Before it to comes and is gone.
I weep these tears
For the innocent sorrow of all mankind
Who has always been so sick inside
And never remembered to hold on
Hold on
Hold on
To the momentary flickers of all those lights inside
Hold on
Hold on
We all know what’s coming
Darkness to each and every one.
Let’s make this pact
In this room
We’ll hold on to the light inside
Until the last candle is done
And the last breath blows out the light
And whispers lovingly
“Good night.”
Hold on
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
kaleidoscopic geometry
and shapes made from sound
human reality
is an experiment
say hello to the machine elves
who reside inside mandalas
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
Jar lids pop
snow sheets slide
pitch pockets snap
water kettle groans
First light exposes
crystalline canvases
against frozen glass
the stove’s heat
melts them away
like ice Mandalas
All that is beautiful
is impermanent.
All that is unique
lives only once.
Jan 27, 2024
Jan 27, 2024 at 2:15 PM UTC
My archetypal anima
Could dream a billion dreams
Yet none elucidate my psyche’s
Shadow self-esteem
It yearns to be made whole again
Detaching from the soma
Yet cannot mend the mandalas
That fracture its persona
From the superego servant
Of unconsciousness collective
To the individuation
Silent tyrant introspective
Still projecting as the pedagogue
The hero and the saint
But the mystic rebel overlord’s
This portrait that I paint
For I’m an evil genius author
Penning nurseries of rhymes
I am the psychopath symbology
Just read between the lines
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
When I wake up
the house is singing an aria.
The heirloom waterstains bloom
with each crescendo.
At the closing of a door,
my families roots are pushing
through floorboards. Marshlands
fill the empty highway.
You stand in corners, faceless girl
on your arm. Your name rolls around
her mouth like a cat's eye.
My friends are on the roof,
sipping champagne from open palms.
In the earthquake
I only can save myself.
I look for safety
in a school desk.
Then the world is rivers
of orange-creamicle fabric,
prayer mandalas turning
in song, in song, in song.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
there’s a safe space with birds peeking through mandalas and trees erupting from skies next to a fireplace that reeks of cigarettes and gasoline, it rattles like hearts do when they realize just how much they miss home, with two thrones behind tapestries that hide malarkey while sunlight sits in the driver’s seat as we track miles like tally marks with bleeding ears
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
The
faces of flowers
speak
to me
through perfect
mandalas.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
*
*Flame tongues ravages wood,
licking till its black splints
A mug of cocoa caresses my palms
and my lap became a coaster
Every sip leaves me feeling toasty
My forehead rests upon the glass
console by Frost's lips
Jack's designs were of floral mandalas
Soft as clouds, gentle flakes
Each made with love for no design ever the same
I admire as they rain,
I imagine that they whisper secrets as they fall
Giggling so softly yet as pure as a baby's laugh
Coating all that is viridian in a shawl of white
Untouched
Unmarred
Cool yet so crisp
Beckoning for all to come out in a rush
For snowmen to be built, for snowballs to take flight
We would never feel your cold touch because
the warmth you give keeps us as one
Seeping down to our laughs,
You keep us close to our inner child
Nostalgia rests upon my lips
And greater still
Are these tender moments of unity
Upon my window sill*
*
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
sand mandalas tall as waterfalls
as golden rainbows pour
from the faucet in the sky
like these mighty images
wisdom bridges the gaps
and fills the holes in our imagination
i can’t wait to get this on the page
written in stone, reflecting thrones
made from the bones of pharaohs
for consciousness narrows
the moment you approach it
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
She sat contained in the all-encompassing embrace
His arms a welcome warmth
as they sat under the smoldering fires of dead days past
They drank and spoke wildly as sanguine freely flowed forth from the glass
As it swirled upon the inside of their mouths
Puckering stained puce lips and drawing mandalas in the clouds
Rich with color and endless ingenuity as the tall grass softly swayed
Carrying music to their ears
From time to time exchanging glances
Witnessing the last salvos burst in the dusk
Heralding daybreak
She knew there with the breath of dawn caressing her face laying against the heaving of his heart that she would never see him again
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:15 AM UTC
Things Fall Apart
As All Things Do
This universe holds the thread
and we are spinning too
Through gravity ,
magnetism is key
particularly
mandalas woven
liquid glass
her folded
phalanges
Amen,
for Food to digest
but still met with ill repute and Infinite Jest
8 is great!
but 9 is lucky and 10’s the best
Work with
what I have
Wait, and watch my
will I have
tricks in my vest
Not to mention a footprint proof chest
No ego
for eyes times 2 kNOw rest
Elastic limbs twined by my cleaver clasp
It will be fine this too shall pass
But Mourning desires birth hungers
and how much longer this must last?
Awoken in my web whilst the wind whispers late
be it a lost locust or flies in my plate?
be it a dream, or not what it seems?
should I snooze sleep to continue my dream?...
NO
I cannot delay
Hustle and Flow
Or destiny may get away
Eve in the hungry owl
rests none day
or night
but between
sustenance
and
affirmation
has become to Its diet
So man waits perched in the thick of it
may not thi s tillness be in vain
May not my Solitude leave me slain
I meditate on the overcoming Victory
in-spite of my plight
Aim my arrow high ahead
though my target out of sight
May my idioms take flight
May they reach destined site
I've laced Arrows of many colors
for Hearts and Minds
Blood and Tears
Hit or Miss
my fingers still tremble under tension and Fears
But the only way to fly is to let it go
Things Fall Apart
but you've got to let it go.
Now Let IT Go!
My life is justice thread
posted in a Spider's web
only God knows Just us
4
Tray bombs or Buzz cuts
I'm just
to bee or not too Be-long
wrapped in cocoon
or
a silky pill to feed
A Spider's Will
Indeed
On pace we all finish this race
ToGetHer
Too
“buy”
into
Becoming the blood of a different Race
That spins in Its bit’s web
by a single Thread
Holding onto
Nothing
As All Things Do
Like thoughts in my mind...
As The Universe Grew
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
Stitched on a sequined black velvet
Cerulean pearl swirls on the skirt
Of a whirling dervish
He dances between Venus and Mars
Creating mandalas of exquisite
Enlongated ~ enlightened ~ energy
Encircling ~ embryonic ~ eccentric
Eclectic ~ elliptical
Entropy? Eulogy?
Earth.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
From the skies they come,
Devout birds swirling in briars,
. . Blackberry mandalas.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
These small mandalas
of intricate shapes
and colours
that wind
and twirl,
and bind
my scattered
and easily flustered
mind
into focus-
And into a calmer state,
settling my soul
just enough,
just for tonight,
just to get through
another day
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Outside is temple—
Soft chanting snow fall, pure white,
Crystal mandalas.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
worlds within
and without are all waning
insatiable
chaos
vacuum
the void
which sat between heavens
heavens splitting the waters
the waters, the weeds
create living geometries
etch-a-sketch drawings
of silent mandalas
now the dreamweaver
lotus
now the lucid unwaking ones
who appear at your bedside
disdaining your closet
while you lie
awake
sleeping
hypnogogically paralyzed
their eyes burning green
freeze your skies
red
as
Christ
comes
you
trapped in misogamy
you
flying through tattered air
you
****** off this oxygen
burned by the stare
of a mirror
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
Luminescent skin, spiralling layers pressed
From inside the curling dagger pollen;
Violin strings draw forth the butterflies
Towards their fate, cerberus lips clasp
Wings of dafodil— spotty mossy green
Outcrosses the budded red drooping dead;
Akashic run, like that of a waterfall
Whence rippling pendulums row,caught infinitely.
Glowing stem— seperating to laughing claws
and mandalas paused along fully harmonious crease;
All falls back to fungal soil underground
For which all life is magnetically supported:
Prestine exoskeleton, flaming bones
that weavith skyward with ancestral ghost
softly chasing, having foundated their creator.
Blonde hair binding split petals via waves
Of furious vibrations, snapped calm and quiet.
Mature flesh and bone, whom let the pencil
Move over pale canvas—
'I picture a clock that's arms spin fire
Outward. '
Poor woman, legless two years
Prior to her deathday— wonderous harbinger
Who once, overwhelmed by the menial day to day,
let pencil fall,skim and form
and reform
Beautifying the world -- lonely, bold and brave
Her mind image caught, fished through the haze
And etched for the rest of time to forget.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
I am settled in the arugula palace
Everybody in the same scattered image
Seeking reconstruction or construction of the mind
I write this for myself to be unwinded & unrolled
He's a shifting plane of bisecting geometries
Now a thin woman shuttling kids in a minivan
Smoking newport cigarettes & feeling mucous gather in the sore spot in her throat. Her husband who is overworked & penniless--a clown frozen in a shipping container underneath a hi-low. He is fetching up the scraps of industry from inside a concrete bottle. He is messing with the intersecting circles coming off the streetlights. He is stacking up assumptions, wishing to be freed. Wishing he could reach that frightened child-monkey loser in the parking lot. He is clawing @ sensations he will never be able to name. He is secretly wishing for a vision. Secretly wishing to be known. He is tied & tethered to the clean-up crew. They are silent pretenders nodding at the recycling bins--never emptied. There he is formatted. There his eyes go staring out. There a picture--but what's a picture now that it's all beyond control, no longer static, no longer a container or reminder but rather a cloud passing, a moment's pause, a temporary fascination? A posing, a posturing, a big a-Ha!--fuck you! Stranger. You are not a part of me. The danger is madness. The danger is control. There are no static images. No peaches. No penumbras. No mandalas, maps, organizations or rebuttals. There is only standing water in the basement. There is only diet pepsi car keys hanging on the edge of a golden cloudburst.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC