"mastership" poems
walked across the dunes
to the light house to
clear my thoughts.
the windsailors were
riding the sky,
my son calls them the teabag people.
but to me they are like those seed pods that coast upon the
wind in search of something
beyond.
the grass soughs and if you sit
quietly enough,
you can hear the hungry cry of
the little tern chicks.
hidden in the dunes nearby.
the sand trickles through twining, grasping, tenuous grass roots,
single grains multi-hued,
flow like minature snowboarders down the dunes,
steep slippery slide.
little metallic black ants have the herculean task,
of working this slope for
seeds and other oddments of food.
i watch one stumble,stomp past, sherpa-like, precariously balancing a potato crisp's crumb.
while scaling the acute angle of sliding sand.
the pittering of the sandy ground indicates the presence
of giant skinks, sleek glassine skinned lizards that are at home in the area.
their track patterns, remind me of those old teach yourself
to dance charts seen in black and white films,
you would now find them mostly in antique stores.
the tide is in recess
and the terns are hunting,
mottled little sand *****
in some killer, crazy
game of tig or redrover.
where to lose is to looose!
the windsailor above is surpassed by
the big old seahawk
as he stretches his wings.
it is a comparison of true mastership,
over a poor and gaudy parody.
the hawk with practised disdain, dives,
through the breakers emerging,
with his fish dinner.
as i turn toward home.
i wonder,
was it the fandango the lizards, were trying to master?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
It was kind of like
Walking in to a movie
Three generations were present
The father of the family
Age 78 or so sat by the table
He spoke his truth
To the pagan witch
And us, we just listened.
Your house spoke of love
It spoke of a tribe and a home
It said "ownership
Is for those who claim it"
For better or for worse
In awe I watched the result
Of your undying love
To your laid wife.
With all my power I drew
Calligraphies of your walls
Set a field of whatever it is
That souls set fields of.
I whispered words of comfort
In to it's foundation
And secrets of love and hope
In to this air.
I learned deeper compassion
And Tao Mastership
But you, you may have taught me
Something money can't buy:
Your unyielding devotion.
By your window sat two girls
Marveling at what has come to pass
In your lineage and how peaceful you made it.
We never knew it really existed.
But then I suppose that
That which we believe to be true
Will come to manifest in it's own time.
Your unyielding faith has come to prevail.
There's a smile and a warmth
As I hold this esoteric present in my palms.
All you need to do, is believe it.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
This is not some old tradition;
This is the way of truth.
Years of instruction without reception
Making "yes men" out of our youth.
The truths that we've heard, shall we not own?
What equips us to disagree?
Each person thinks they can judge alone,
But God's Word stands from eternity.
Another friend has fallen aside,
A child of the church, a brother.
Drawn by enticements only the world can provide,
To follow the mastership of another.
Oh, friend! Entrench your roots in the truth of God's Word,
So that none can pull you away!
Saturate your mind, let your prayers be heard,
At stake is your eternal stay.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
I need to break out of the wide-open cell I have locked myself in.
I can spot the thieves, the robbers, the vagrants,
all shifting through the sticky tin and plastic
of my life's wasted moments.
Every alternative reality mocks and condescends me,
highlighting every stutter and stumble
as I fall through life on this (temporal and fleeting) trapeze.
And clinging onto the hopes of a softer landing,
I know I will always fall into the safety of the net
so that I do not land deep in that shallow water
and drown in a six-inch pool.
I have been thinking of rope again.
The simplicity and mastership it would take
to efficiently break my neck so that the crack of bone would precede
the crack of thread.
I have been thinking of sleep again.
The simplicity and infallibility it contains.
Incorporating every aspect of being
and painting it in the only colours I can see.
And I see.
And I understand.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC