"mediation" poems
As she is Feeling worthy,
She takes the journey
With Eyes wide shut; in truth ever so blindly
Embracing her spirituality Divinely
She Rises As Peek of the Day At High Noon
She’s In tune
Like the Sun in rotation to the 28 phases of the moon
She’s in tune as summer in the month of June
Just as a flower in its fullest bloom
She’s in tune
As the skin embracing the molecules of perfume
She’s in tune
Just as a baby in the mother’s Womb
Just waiting to be born soon
She’s uses Art of Divination
Shes sees Life/God in all of Creation
She self heals through crystals, spiritual baths and mediation
Her Aura is that of roses, poetry, and galaxies
She pulls one in with her defiant rules of gravity
Draws one closer with her celestial cavity
She’s cosmic candy
Some may say They call her the Milky Way Because around her even the stars feel safe enough to come out and play
She’s a whole vibe, the rhythm of reggae
She’s life one breathes into their airway
She’s paradise’s secret highway
She’s Cosmic Candy
She’s As beautiful as watching the chaotic grace of a Star burst to me
Her spirit is wild and free as the unknown depths of the sea
Speaking aesthetically,
she is truth So heavenly
She is Cosmic Candy
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
Fibre optic cables,
clipped conversations,
partial strangers,
networked communications,
keyboard ambiance,
anxious remonstrations,
system failures,
nicotine meditations
smudging frames,
hierarchical mediation,
computerised bleeps,
opaque mechanisations,
brightening windows,
verbose inflections,
silks ties,
limited reverberations,
exaggerated flirtation,
bowel eliminations,
pointless days,
power imitations,
numeric values.
insurmountable situations,
digital bleeds
eventual discontinuation
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
our circles of right and wrong,
fractured in absence of fickle zen,
stand now across the sky
diagramed on clouds in venn
and smiling the grey
blobs block the meteors;
it’s love of life that may
chain our bodies in the center
of that shifty airy water space
where waffles are gentrification
and the hands we hold are separation
and its happening everyplace
we go. so to talk and act
separately, is to deny that cloudy venn;
to go where mind is scarcely fact
and establish a dangerous distance
cuz yesterday I meditated
but today I must’ve particulated
cuz I see we’re one big contradiction
inside love that’s bound to mediation.
friere would say this occupation
is precisely our ontological vocation,
but to subjectify ourselves at the very
center of the venn is to carry
a weight upon the column
of my spinal cord unknown
even to the days
of my very best posture.
yet, your resistance to the slump—
it guides me to listen for the thump
thump of distant drums:
a revolutionary battlecry
through which I extend my hand
to hold yours across the waffled
space which we’ve so ******
our heartbeat races through my mind.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Friends at war
Bonds are broken
precious words remain unspoken.
Get together
Sort it out
Kick and tussle, scream and shout.
Make it better
Let it lie
Say forgiveness, not goodbye.
Hold your hands
and not your tongues
get it sorted, get it done.
Admit your faults
Don't let this fester
You're his muse and he's your jester.
Please repair
this friendships tether
Before I bang your heads together!!
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
It’s a race to the bottom of the bottle
between sanity and sober realization
to every impaired negation and how to
alleviate and mediate the dependancy I
place on finding new routes to the
end of the flask. —
The hands of the bottle hold
dreaded burdens above my head,
bringing life to each morrowed breath,
and write hyms towards yearning
a long awaited wish for death,
sobriety weaves this addiction
of solitude through each thought of
halted life, and pushes it’s back
as it’s heels leave crevices to follow,
a view of darkness to come,
with turning back placing another knot
down a throat with attempt to swallow.
as each run of whiskey drips down the
walls of my throat the sinking ship within
my veins finds strength to stay afloat.
a Wiser whisper tickles at the anticipations
towards taking another sip,
the Hennessy tendencies stutter
a ****** equilibrium captivating
and inching my sanity towards
a shot of sequel librium. —
As ***** spews and consumes
the inhabited ground, a paroxysm
of unconsciousness feels
mentally sound,
blacked out with the following
morning full of acts to repent,
the monetary blackness
proves to be nothing but content,
recollection of priors
seem to fade with the desire of
sobriety and eliminating any hope
towards thoughtless propriety. —
Momentary happiness through
intoxication provides no mediation
between a sober fight for death
and a drunken one, the wish for
lifelessness is just subdued by
stumbling to bed and the inability
to steadily hold a gun to my head.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Caress the curvature,
and catacombs of your cranium.
As you sit back
and contemplate the complexities
of your mind.
Drift into a state of relaxation,
amongst the ebbing tides of a soft creation.
Below furrowed brows,
made famous by frustration,
into the depths of foggy thought,
I found my naval base.
An island,
transmitting infinite miscommunications.
Rhetorical bio-essence bounces off the constellations.
An angelic reverberation.
My mind begins to melt
Seeping into walls
Formed by divine hallucination
Exhausted by sheer elation.
Transfixed in a state of utter meditation
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.
A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.
Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.
Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.
Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
There was tension between the families from the start
My best friend's wedding was certainly one for the record books
I tried to bring sensible mediation to the dance floor
As his Grandpa Helmar raised his walking cane and struck the Brides Father in the neck
Each of the families allegiance spurned combative retribution and all Hell broke loose
I took one for the team with a sac of Jordan Almonds to the right eye
Then slipped on the wedding gift of excrement left by the ring bearer, the family poodle
I came to consciousness wet with champagne thrown in my face, I thanked my wife for caring.
Aunt Sarrah, in her drunken zeal, thought it wise to toss all her cookies in the Reverend's face
The Bride's mother slapped an unsuspecting cousin with her overly expensive oversized hat
And the Groom's sister's dress was ripped to shreds by the Bride's teenage niece
Yes. the same dress that my wife said was hideous and did nothing for her.
The two parties had not much to say to each other in the waiting room of the ER
bandages and gauze were passed around like Hors d'oeuvres, but not the Bayer Aspirin
We all watched in shameful disgust, the videographer's collection of memories
The next day as the Bride and Groom opened their gifts
And I, sporting a keen black patch, a pirate only his wife could love...
Reminded my dear friend of the possible outcome of having two reception menus
One honoring him and his family and one honoring his Bride and her family
Highlighted by Königsberger Klopse, and respectively, Gefilte Fish with carrots
Their love endures!
-----ChawzzyScript
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
Empathy goes a long way
with wusses, don't you think?
The tough ones don't have feelings
just razor-wire for guts and time-bombs for hearts
emotions replaced with Hulk smashes and knife gashes
she said
"Let's be friends" she said
"We can chase air and lick butterflies"
He said "Only if you die first"
he only had dead friends
they smell amazingly disgusting and have WORMS for EYES!
She cried.
He almost felt sad, he thought
but he realized it was just hunger
for scared screams and others' insecurities
impurites of rhythm and logic just soft chalk cells
washed away by ***** from an angry bladder
getting madder and madder
maybe, if feelings were so prevalent.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
Time is money
money is time
So when they say it takes money to make money
They mean it takes time.
We all get the same amount daily
Personality gives quality
Because no one can survive selling off white canvases
portraying the self
to receive currensy
Gotta keep ths bar raised
Above and beyond what we call minimum wage
You gotta sell yourself in order to receive a fat check on pay day
Meaning understanding that wealth
Pertains to ones health
Properly known that to diet right heightens stealth.
Mediation nourishes the soul
Hydrating, purifying the flow
Keeping busy to stimulate the brain
Always on top when ignorant folk do or say anything
Its plain to see
Finding yourself includes paying off a bunch of fees
Some say taxes but its really adversity
Cause nothing worth having in life ever comes easy
Best way to succeed is to merely just be me
I can only speak for myself, cause its my world, my industry
My mind cant escape to retrieve too much of another mans mysteries
Ill burst like a bubble
My mind is that fragile
But ill forever help those in need with any one of their battling struggles
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Slight intoxication cascading over my sensations
Feeling reverberations of your temptations
Medication creating complications
No need for mediation
Beautiful aeration
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
As the crow flies south from capital city
With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity
Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers
Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing
Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise
Starting with a quiet historic ruse
Contesting over which of the two
echo shadows for optical repeal
the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues
That keep a running legacy since time before our time
and / or
Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills
Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves
Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider...
the wind
to form a fair measure of mediation
From the human view
All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest
In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west
To approach from afar
The destination appears to be a resting
shape of an antiquated location
splashed with opaque aromas,
sensory weaving visuals,
and
Melodic tones of nostalgic definition
Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body
this multi-strip string of singular select shops
Is the alignment initiative in the countryside
forecasting a manifest
for the hazy occasion
Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland
That nearly only hope,
could create
Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat
Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west
And opening into the
Woodland Hills of Little Nashville
———-—————————————-——————————
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
Constant stars
shoot odd remarks
at innocent clouds
in daylight.
The sun
mediates and
sermons with
lazy drunkenness.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
just like the midnight lark I rise each midnightto listen in delight to the sound that I have grown to love.
for her words have grown on me intertwined inside my memories.
every night I need her voice to set the moment right.
just like the lark I am a servant of the sky bound toroam across my dreams.Her song intones me.
I am stronger than the leaves.
in a stiff summer breeze.
sweet harmony be my guide and lead me to the other side.my passage has been paid by the dreams before I’ve laid.but do not be affright, I dreamt of you tonight.
so sing me lullabies from you perch up in the skyand I’ll dream a dream so true, and I’ll only dream of you.that I’ll wake amidst the nightwondering why you’re not by my side.then I’ll heave a heavy sigh as my ears have been trained to find,your fervent song that forever keeps me hanging onto the last few precious moments, of a night that creeps along.so, sing me a song o’ black ruby of the night.draw your inspiration amongst the starlit night.for dreams do come true as dreamers often pray,but on an on another day. good bird I do praythat God will bless your wings, for without your holy sound my life would come unwound. o’ poet of the treesyour verse sedates my mind to a gentle ease.in mediation ‘tis true that all I hear is you.o’ poet of the skies and singer of lullabies,
I dream dreams so true of me and of you- . allow me to be frankof hiker of the leaves, and drifter of the trees,may you play for mea song so seldom sung to the silver sliver stuck above.I’ve fashioned a dream today of which I wish to playbut I have no melody to accompany my fantasy.so songbird of the night, sing me a song so rightand let your symphony surprise the stillness of the night. in these words I trust you’ll forever know my loveas strong as the rushing tide pulled from the silver disc above.black ruby of the night like a thief you stole my heart,ransom off my being but keep my soul intact, this is all I ask.first sound I fell in love with your evanescence glowthat radiates to me as roses attract bees.your bittersweet melody invigorates my being.wind comes to tear the leaves from ceiling treesbut the roots hold fast and the leaves survive and my soul has crossed the tide.to dream a dream so true as dreamers often liein bunks made of trees to slumber through the tide. in your song I am free to think,I am firm in my beliefs,I am stronger than the leaves.2005-
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 9:41 AM UTC
You look at me as if it's my job
To save you from what ensues
Well, I am no knight
Girl I've got my own issues
I am not who you think I am
You'll never understand
That I am part devil
See my red right hand?
You sit and deconstruct the words
I use to deconstruct
And ask me the questions you're
Too afraid to ask yourself
I've sentenced myself to solitude
But you won't let me be
Riding high on the coat tails of fame fame
Answering the same questions differently
I don't even know if my opinions are mine anymore
Is this an origonal thought or was the seed planted
A time ago by an impalpable bellwether?
I don't want your admiration
It's leads to my frustration
I know I'm no lodestar of creation
Your mind needs some mediation
I'm near my peak of exacerbation
Please leave to give me a moments relaxation
I just crave some alleviation
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
Her door was the sanctuary to inner peace; a sudden enlightenment
Engaging the candle of lit eyes.
Mindful to the calm hush; Disappearing in self.
Body, Mind, Soul.
Beside her door there was a lake wide awake with open ears.
I stood there Absorbing her wisdom.
A depth of kindness with each interchanging current.
I learned to speak without words. Connecting thine eyes with hers.
All else was swallowed; Exhaling, then breathing again.
Fingers extinguishing all else that threatened a light shone from her.
Her Eyes.
She'd shone me courage, grasping my hand. Entwining her path with mine.
I bowed to her and her alone in guided mediation.
At that moment there was no need for mirrors, realizing that she was my reflection.
My spirit animal, my refugee.
She taught me the language of her heart, being shown in silence.
I journeyed a place ears would have no use, my tongue becoming a stranger.
A total embodiment to the gift of her and her alone.
A beautiful lesson in poverty; Clinching my hands in prayer.
Blessed in her presence
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
Mediation is an art
Combining mind and heart
sitting still and saying om...
Dancing, biking, making love..OD-ing on adrenaline
Whatever clears your head of thought
And brings you to a centered spot
Which path to take is you decision
I can only offer words of wisdom
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC
we see angels in forklifts fixing our powerlines but we never see the snake in the river handing out our medication. it's mediation that keeps us mellow.
monday's blues.
tuesday's yellows.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
until dead end
i starred on one ad
in the subway
it speaks: „love is not a an accident“
it was partners-mediation project
printed on the huge red coloured desk
what is else is love if
not an accident?
either it cause lasting elation
or it inflict luv-syndrome-disease
love is her majesty accident!
how ever PR guys are always right
they rent spots on streets, subways and internet
not for fun!
much honester is just an ad of call girl
she at least doesnt make any brain wash,
but just sales her ***
I know it, since once I was one.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Everyone thinks they're trying their best
But they are blinded by the world's expectations
Desperately needing intense mediation
Preferably a staged and detailed intervention
Telling them observation is not a new invention
They need to let go of all of their rising tension
Kick back and listen to their record collection
Wave hello, call a lovely person, prepare a confession
Start a new life without their prized possessions
Quit their job and begin a laid back profession
You shouldn't have to choose between life and love - there should be a simple fusion
It's there, waiting for you to see it - the best and happiest solution
Stop the expectations, begin the realizations
Be happy being who you were always meant to be
A real, emotional, complex yet simple human being
Full of wants and dreams
You weren't born to be a machine
So...
stop acting like it.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Lost and Found
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:05 PM UTC
What was that, on your lips, just before you licked them wet?
Floating on their tips and not quite swallowed yet
Quick, do reveal what you mean to conceal, your very first instinct
That one there, within your glare, just before you blinked
It passed I see. As you glanced away, it fleeted from your face
Though it left, I must confess, not without a trace
Now out without stutter; no ifs or buts, don’t mutter
Excuses in mediation. I’m tired, expired
Enough with such trepidation
Again then,
This time please do mean it
Don’t hide inside, leaving me to glean
Oh dear, I’ve have already seen it
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Lost and Found
A labyrinth ever darkening passage man’s impossible journey and quest with the back drop of rich vibrancy of life being expended at
Every turn the steps consume time the natural life cycle is the goal live it up push the boundaries but never stop and really see where
The twist and turns are leading they lead you on but they are not delivering you only bound for the burning now lost yearning.
The soul the great empty store house neglected only holds cobwebs and loose memories this royal holy sacred place
There are drawers where just air exist these were made to hold garments made of spiritual golden thread derived of what he said
Glass cased cabinets were to hold awards and trophies never realized the soul held subject to the body grand deeds it misplaces
Scrolls gather dust just minor writings allowed poking out of a cubby hole the great treatise that marks and maps heaven are lost
Sundry bowls goblets dishes made for feasting on divine meats and delicacies still wrapped there delights never enjoyed
In them would be found nourishment the making of muscle vigorous activating power over powering mans outer appetite
He could store those weighty words that could sway hearts of others by the truth how greatly they should be employed
Only silence answers arguments reason divine instruction missed life’s activity saw no need for quiet mediation soulful empowerment
Slip among the vestiges of lost opportunity they stream out like empty gowns out ward winds only they do fill saddest waste
Contrary beliefs to what are plainly shown the entire fulfillment a wayward life craves to be entertained not instructed in what’s right
The truly dedicated have their soul’s store house abundantly crowded with spiritual food all cataloged ready for any and all taste
Subject to the demands of an orderly disciplined mind and heart you find richness in this walk and in forever’s sublime state
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC