"meditated" poems
I have been chasing
Conteplating
What is truly evil
Is positivity meditated
Or is it truly real
It is a dream sequel
A fight for whats equal
The negative mind
Only thinks of the lethal
What is right may be wrong
What is wrong may be right
Some say that God is black
And the devil is white
God can be anything
He is a mind's creation
An imagination
To keep the positive vibration
Across the land
From sea to shining sea
He is the birds
Hes is the bees
He could even be a She
Who knows not I
I am the one with the eyes
Call it sight
Call it vision
I look up to the skies
I smile
Hapiness will follow
I feel the light from the God of Sun
Call him Apollo
Keep your ears open
Laugh at the unaware
Smile at your peers
Remind the unprepared
Together we can make this world a better place
We can change
Erase sin for dear grace
Always remain happy
Bond as one
Stay strong
Forget the ignorant
Forget what is wrong
Focus on the plus sign
A positive design
I am there on cloud nine
I already found mine
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 9:23 AM UTC
तत् त्वम् असि
*for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons,
washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo*
(*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by
any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*)
Swami and Guru-ji went to the river
to wash their souls in the ***** water
filled brass pots while they were at it, singing:
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions
twisted minds and limbs in knots
sold each other secret mantras
to erase akashic records when the body rots
Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples
how to fast and hum and chant;
bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana
purged their guts, then farted light
launched their chakras into oneness
in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight
Swami and Guru-ji built a temple
around a monstrous calf of gold
bowed before the six-armed idols chanting
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments
by the dim light of a feeble ray
railed and wailed at the sinful heathen
in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day
Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions
offered incense and holy foods
ate their share and smoked the profit, humming
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions
entwined their members with the temple belles;
stuck their yonis up their lingams
in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells.
Swami and Guru-ji offered puja
wrote it all off as a karmic debt –
forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji meditated:
pure omniscience in eternal now –
drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder
for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow.
Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman –
then went home to the wife and kids.
Told the servants to polish statues, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
THE MORAL:
(slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp)
Aaron’s calf is ground to powder,
cast upon the Ganges’ tide.
Every tribe shall taste its poison.
“This is God –worship Him, worship Him –
this is God – let us worship Him now…”
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
Bodhidharma, the first Zen patriarch,
told Emperor Wu that merit
meant nothing;
but great emptiness
revealed by sitting facing a wall
had great merit.
Wu was perplexed.
Patriarch number two, Hui-k’o,
faced a granite wall in a forest for seven years;
it became his beloved.
Seng-Tsan, the third Zen patriarch wrote poems
and his legendary Hsinhsinming verse
transcended all the unnecessary duality
in the mind’s mire.
Tao-Hsin, patriarch number four,
said don’t’ stare at a wall,
just do the laundry
and watch the clear water
turn brown
then pour it onto the vegetables in the garden
when you’re done.
Patriarch five, Hung-Jen
meditated from age six staring at the horizon
and said if you find the line between sky and land and sea
you slip into infinity
with no sky, land and sea
just one place for the mind to finally rest.
Hui-Neng came next;
no wall
no laundry water
no heavenly horizon
just fascinating monkey mind
sometimes full, sometimes empty
running whichever way, whenever,
and that was all good.
The 300-year Tang dynasty
had three wild man patriarchs-
Ma-Tzu shouted constantly;
Pai-Ching did laundry,
and Huang-Po told everyone
they were already enlightened
and should not bother with Zen at all.
Lin-Chi was the Jesus of Zen
who loved everybody everyday.
He taught the heart’s clear natural action,
compassion, not walls and laundry and trying not to think.
His love was wiser than his mind.
The patriarchs of zen
taught more than a thousand years
before I grew up an American idiot
in a materialistic world
populated by narcissistic borderline freaks
thumbing smartphones in leather car seats
never doing laundry
afraid to face the walls
built of brick made
mortared tight together
with the fear
of their own compassionlessness.
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
"Dreams" he said, "I want you to write about your dreams"
I watched his expression full face, talk with his usual infectious vibrancy...
candle flickering, between belly laughs, raw unscripted stories, uncensored truth and the feeling of complete freedom to be human, his pouring over the brim life experiences..dripped from his fingertips as he spoke with his hands.
I'm Lucky. I thought. As I sat there, sinking into his words and gentle loving soul.
Just to simply know him, to hear of his adventures, heartbreaks, falls and climb to the top of life's list of goals and successes.
So I meditated on this writing assignment...for weeks.
I've written of Love, Loss, Heartache and Regrets.
But Dreams...I've yet to fall into ink drenching grains of paper and be completely free of the ever ticking time...to do just that... Dream.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
This current resistance
in our duel circuit is
measured in ohmmms
of my meditated solace,
Mediated by the breaker
of a once-broken man
wary of a blown fuse
too burnt to salvage, a
lost cause to discard,
Replace & repeat with
each carless disregard of
the whattage we're wired
to handle, may a switch
on to off when overblown
prevent the spark that
burns down a home.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
your touch,
deafening noise
chaotic choruses;
clouding my mind
agitating hourglasses,
showing me that time exists.
but, why do you do this to me?
after claiming connection..
–
meditated movements
in the moment,
is what i crave;
in my tension
setting intention.
opening
and activating the root
of my sacral desires.
–
do you not have it in you?
bass dissolving;
enough to take the beat away
into your fingertips?
with half of your heart
touching me;
calculated caresses,
preplanned movements..
haven't you ever
let yourself lose control?
haven't you ever
closed your eyes
and seen into my soul?
yes?
no?
maybe?
lost eyes tell me otherwise.
–
do not touch me,
unless you mean it..
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
1)
I have long wondered
of the tri- in trickery
(those of you privy
to the arcane secrets of etymology
will know
tri- is three, as in trinity
and triple and trivium)
and so I have many aeons meditated
on the 3 in trickery
2)
and recently
on a trip (what’s the 3 in trip?)
to the *University
of Matters Ancient and Abstruse*
I uncovered this manuscript
that reveals all the 3 in Trickery:
*“It behooves him who will master Trickery
to attach himself to a Teacher
so he may be Trained
(which is the first of the 3)
And so he may be Trimmed in thought
to focus on the act entirely
(thus the second of the 3)
And last comes the Treat
wherein the thief Treats himself
to the victim’s property;
and thus in these 3 stages
do the cunning ever shift
into their own pockets
that which belongs to the unwary”*
3)
And thus, dear readers, was the mystery
of the 3 in trickery
resolved for me
as I hope it is for you;
but you might now want to see
if the money is still in your digital wallet
for - keeping you distracted,
and unknown to you -
I have just practiced all 3 in Trickery
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
The tree’s don’t sleep at night
they photosynthesize , by moonlight.
Leaves drink in the cool wise light
And give off dreams of softly fading starlight
Whispers of secrets , monthly unfurl
A single blossom falls at new moon
Hurtling to the ground, awake before noon
Ever noticed? The very word has the circle
Curled up in the centre , twice to make sure we remember , two full cups , not one.
Geko’s slip off old skins
And the croaking frog adds to the din
As thunder rolls in
Triggering the dogs bark
Guardian of the stark naked couple
Asleep in their parallel worlds
Together under the umbrella of ambient lighting
Not the natural kind either
But a shameless copy of pure sunlight
That emenates when their bodies collide
On the material plane.
Astral visions lead the way to headquarters
The address? Fax? Phone number?
I’m afraid you’ll have to dial again ,
Unless you’ve meditated on the vibration of emancipation
Then you would already know, you are already there
Doors are open , for those who care to try
No lock on this baby ,
Ain’t no safe to play safe
We bask in our humble glory
Under the shores on undulating tides
Rhythmic pulsations
no where to hide
The emanations come from within,
Without , a shadow of a doubt
There is a war coming , infact we’ve already been fighting for decades
Just like the change of winds, nature knows her stuff
Tip the seeds too soon and you’ll end up with a field full of fluff
But just in time and a harvest with enough to reduce every super market shelf to dust
Even though they already stock that kinda stuff
Clean up on Aisle 4, Aisle 3 , Aisle 2 , Aisle 1
Return the purchase , we’ve discovered the ****
In the cake
And we found the frog in the salad,
At least their habitat is intact
Or did you think I was still talking about the shops?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 7:05 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
India women dip white
linen cloths into vats of
the most beautiful colors,
Yogis meditate.
Dodoitsu 7,7,7,5 Japanese style of poetry. Circa 1600s. Often concerning love or work, and usually comical. In my case I was trying to show an analogy between dipping into meditation and the dipping of cloth in a vat of dye. But I also found it humorous that the men meditated, while the women worked.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
The things Ive seen have brought about the things I aspire to be. Yes she inspires me to be all I can be. Tho, my actions are unpleasant today. I hope she understands tomorrow. I hope she comprehends my actions and statements like the lady that's long left this nation. She knew me better than me now no one can see this pain that afflicts me. The voices that drive my mental, insanity, is the answer to the question they haven't asked. Long ago in past I meditated on my sanity in hopes the facued of being normal would last. Self medication takes place when the ice hits the glass and the taste of ***** and codiene numbs me face. Tho now when I see her face feelings of love take place. I love this girl tho it hurts me. I see the anguish in her face sadly I have placed it deep inside of her heart. Though one day like alchemy I'll make love from the pain. I wish to extend my days with her, because I can't explain the extent of my happiness when I'm with her. Tho she's yet to truly know me the different personalities within me. The dreadful things I've seen, the caged beast that lives in my words, the worries of life, the twist and turns of my brain, the differences in each name. Mentally my brain is split in three, tho, physically there's only me. So she cannot see; that the poet brings peace to me, Jay is a few pieces of me the good the bad and the ugly that's what most people see, Jaykhuan is at the root of me the grimey, the dreams of people shooting at me, worse than the ***** I'm expected to be, and still smarter than the ****** trying to flex on me. So you see Jpoetry mends these words of pain sewing them on a string to stitch beauty in my brain. Jay always escapes but I hate for Jaykhuan to get out his cage. The criminal who hides the pain. Tho at night she soothes me happily. I've finally found what happiness can be her life and family bring happiness to me. So motions of devotion grow strong in my heart, but my heart hurts because I've caused pain to her. Tho willingly I'll endure to ensure that our lives will be drawn out successfully. I'll endure her pain the silent tears in her name, and hope the grand scheme of things won't turn her away. The drugs in my vains take away my pain, but can't numb the disappointment in her face. So I hope, pray, and believe that she'll learn me so she can see, can understand the actions that overtake me are not just for me but for us. It breaks me when her anger makes her cuss. Tho for us I'll remain tough so down the line this love will bring love to both of us
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
*I trekked across the icy shores of Alaska and survived with Gary Paulsen and his dogs
I went on many cross-country road trips, hitchhiking, train riding, and drinking with Jack Kerouac
I shot up ****** and did some time in Interzone with William S Burroughs
I dropped acid and read poetry with Jim Morrison
I murdered a girl and committed suicide with J.R. Hayes
I insulted everyone I knew with Jay Randall and laughed about it afterwards
I meditated high up in the mountaintops with Gary Snyder
I suffered New Orleans police brutality and withdrawal with Mike Williams
I drank, worked, gambled, ****** myself with Charles Bukowski
I admired the beauty of nature and God as self with Walt Whitman
I admired the beauty and balance of nature and city life with Henry David Thoreau
I wandered the desert landscape and sabotaged those that would harm the Earth with Edward Abbey
I painted a world of pictures out of words with e.e. cummings
I loved like no one has ever been loved in this wretched world with Pablo Neruda
I outlived macabre and twisted tales from the mind of Edgar Allan Poe
I spent a few months in France with the cryptic mind of Charles Baudelaire
I drank and wrote nature literature from animal perspectives with Jack London
I lived the songs that Tom Waits wrote
I went insane with Sparrow in New York
I found myself traveling on a Tour Of Homes, reciting ‘Talk Music’ with Dan Smith
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness” with Allen Ginsberg*
When all was said and done and every word wrote three times or more
I disappeared into the oncoming onslaught of midnight's dreary dreams
Like so many forgotten poets, writers, and orators
Who’s words have faded with the oblivion of time
Only to be remembered by a select few from here and there
That have chosen to remember, to write, to read, to never forget
Which are you and where do you come from?
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
You see what glitters
can’t keep your hands off it
feels so soft
tastes so good
By the time you’re in high school
it’s already too late
to get enough of it
but you try anyway
like a responsible adult
despite marital ennui
despite collapsing financial machines
despite leveled forests
despite legal hypocrisy
so reality conflicts
with your childhood dreams
and you go numb
despite the glitter
you’ve piled up
in your desperate garage
then as a senior citizen
you grow scared of ending
you pretend all the craving and striving
meant something
even though you never believed in God
never prayed or meditated
never read sacred literature
and insisted
who needs the Bhagavad Gita
when you have a portfolio
who needs the Maharishi
when you have CNN
eventually age wins
you ache
you get wider
you are too tired
you stop counting
what’s in the garage
doesn’t matter now
all you need is room
for one more thing
about the size of a camp stove
it all stops
when you carry the generator upstairs
close the windows
put towels under the door
and pull the starter cable
the literature says
“Quiet….. runs all night.”
which comforts you
like the glittery things of your youth
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
I've come to the outer limits
Where the stars bleed away
Melting into obscurity
Fading into the deepest back
An all consuming darkness
I've meditated and pondered
How I might move forward
In the absence of light
Without path or guide
Into the infinite void ahead
I sought to touch it
To feel the inky black darkness
Wash over my fingers
I imagined it thick like paint
Or perhaps far stranger
Yet when I reached out to it
I was blinded by light
Scarcely could I adjust my eyes
But when I did I saw the nature
The true nature of that void
And it was only a thin veil
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
I need balance
I’m too extreme like my beliefs
Far too sorry to apologize
Forgiveness would be a lie I couldn’t live with
Balancing under pressure became a crushing defeat
Misfires and misdirection can land the highest man beneath
Untreated wounds breed infection
The lessons learned are easy to remember
Dismembered and off-kilter
Unbalanced drunkards lay wasted like death
Effigies of what used to be
**** it¨ attitudes
Added to the frustration
Of falling and failing, my fault
I brought shook hands
Like an addict
Moderation is balance
My mode is moody
****** off and impatient
I meditated to medicate anger
¨Endangered species fighting for survival!¨
Was the greatest lie I ever told
I fought a war for peace
More violent than buddha’s
And I won
I won a deadly victory
Balance was not built for chaos
I’m a riot, raunchy
What I want no longer haunts me
I’m not a victim of crime
Im the victor
Missteps led me away from destruction
My mistakes were made
To save me
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
So this morning
I was tired
and passing out
on the chair
so I decided
as a good Buddhist
to wake up
and defeat sleepiness
so I went
out to the patio
where it was cool
and meditated
dropping off occasionally
until at last
after much trying
I defeated sleep
and woke up
and Buddha has said
that sleep is the closest thing
to death.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
Benadryl and chill.
Anti hystamine dreaming.
Pre meditated drug dealing.
Over inflateted egos.
Boys with Legos
for brains.
Hussling at gas station.
Sending little paper parcels
to wide doe eyes.
Getting high is more fun, anyways.
Most days,
I'd rather play pretend.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
Sweetly, swooning, he laid me down, adored my being into morning
Baptised in his sighs I bloomed under soft caresses
Sacred bird song echoed round the clock face and stars gazed upon us, smoldering
Lustrous shine glared white
there was a stirring in my spine
tender kisses within, without, our gods meditated on pleasure
Tears rolled lash to dimple in hushed prayer and with quiet thanks he received my offering
Our words too human, our bodies left behind
I was delivered
Eyes closed and breath steady goosebumps flowed over flesh, we consecrated this place
The rosette center of my labyrinth unfolded and thus I saw, he had been sleeping sound in my petals
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
*There’s hidden
A precious pearl
Eons have passed
Mentioned in
Various folklores
Hushed tones
Described the
Unknown beauty
Eyes have
Not truly feasted
On it yet
Pearl of Wisdom
Between the
Hidden chambers
Core of the
Universe held secrets
About the origin
Many seers
Have meditated
For time immemorial
The secret of beauty
Love and wisdom
Soul’s eternity
Thus birthed the
Universe from this
Hidden beauty
Many seers will
Meditate eternally
At the confluence of time
In deep trance
Shall try to delve
Deeper into the core
And be one with
The Universe*
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Today, I was musing over an idea
Whom I would have liked
As a companion to talk to, you know,
This and that, share some thoughts
Of importance,
That I‘ve meditated for years,
Discuss urgent matters –
Third World War, or
Sixth Extinction, or
Seventh Decade –
So, I started to mentally review
All the acquaintances, relatives, friends,
Wife, children...
No-one was found.
Lastly, I went to a shop and bought me
A bottle of Chardonnay.
Listen, Chardonnay, --
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Under the open sky's benevolent eyes,
when everyone in the caravan
was in deep slumber,
his lonely heart was on fire,
when he felt, someone touching his forehead.
The past he could tell, was catching up with him,
a venerable monk, a divine presence
with his white, long flowing beard
stood leaning on his long, strong, staff
peering at his face, those eyes, the light of grace,
"Make peace with your past,
make the bats hanging upside down, vanish,
with deep repentance, cleanse your turgid soul,
its in your hands, then see what happens"
rang the Guru's words in his ears.
He rocked all his dark loves to sleep and bid
good bye for ever to his weeping wounds,
Eyes raised skywards, he sought forgiveness
to everyone he did wrong, in silence.
He heard the guru's words repeatedly booming in the wind
"Repent, it would absolve you for ever"
He meditated, till his cloak from black to white transformed.
At the day break, he woke up to a new life,
the ground, was deserted, silence reigned, expectently
No trace of any caravan, did they vanish in to thin air?
The rhythmic pounding of the staff, of the monk,
was it just an illusion of mind, a visitor
at moments of darkness and doubt, bringing light?
To some questions, we don't really expect answers,
the very questions are the answers we look for.
The valley was full of flowers, and sky
was crowded with robust white clouds, portentous!
**As he was walking down the rocky path,
a woman looked at his face and asked:
"Monk, where did you come from?
aren't you the one they told, would come, no doubt!"
He smiled.Understood.**
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 2:41 PM UTC
woe is you,
twisted legs that taste like high school,
swallowing sticks of ink
til it seeps out your fingernails.
chicken scratch beads of blood
speak words on your rails of thighs.
woe is you, woe is you,
thunder is your presence
but gentle mewing is your soul.
let’s throw a big ******* after party
for your big ******* three-ring affair.
my fake little darling, your eyes:
shrink-wrapped in disguise,
pre-meditated, post-medicated,
meandering rings of trees
whisper ugly stories of your intentions.
my translucent lovely, your heart
sputters steam from mechanical parts.
it chugs right along, still
you question the last time it felt pure.
woe is you, woe is you
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 4:37 AM UTC
I have the willpower of a torrential flood
I have a tongue like a bolt of lightning
The drive of an ardent wildfire
With the serenity and Zen of a lake’s mirroring surface,
When the sun is just shy enough to hide away from the world five minutes before dawn.
I have traversed the Atlas and soul-searched in temples and nightclubs alike
As I navigated skyscrapers and mountains of mass media with a wrought-iron compass
I meditated and prostrated and repeated my Ex Corde mantra,
“Om mani padme hum, our Father in heaven,
I pledge allegiance to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth will set us free.”
These old words resound in the Information Age with feigned harmlessness,
Amplified with the subwoofers of today’s youth, screaming, “The only true victory is peace”,
Screaming, “Rise up, daughters and sons of Forever”,
Screaming, “Next stop, the Greater Good!”
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC