"meditates" poems
I planted a mango seed,
Hoping?
Not sure what...
But the mango grew
Out of its context,
Poked shiny green leaves
Looking for sun and surf,
But found itself awakened
In a land of snow and cold.
Seven leaves into its
Exponential Mango growth,
The newest leaf
Yellowed...
Shriveled...
Died.
The Minnesota Mango
Meditates now...
Watered, but waiting....
Slumbering?
Planning a spring break?
Meditating?
Waiting for summer sun?
Perhaps....
Today
I heard about
A neighbor boy
Who smuggled in
A baby alligator
From the Bayou,
South and warm.
At least my Mango
Stays inside its
Crockery planter,
And an alligator jail break
Will leave him
Freezing in his tracks...
We'll see what happens
In the summer.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things
A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings
I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,
At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'
A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of their wings flapping in my subconscious.
Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light, I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.
A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Hush!
the mushroom
an ascetic
gives no room
for the thoughts
to mushroom.
Quiet!
it meditates
alone
intensely
under it's
umbrella's shade
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
Green eyes
hypnotize
deep blue
deep into you
Rayleigh scattering
yellow turns to red
blue goes away
I fade away
meditates
elevates
******
He ********** in a rainbow against the rising sun.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
Maverick Don’t Panic
A Bad Boy,
with a good Heart,
at the tail end,
of a head start,
“Oh he’s prolific,
he’s profanic,
he’s depressed,
he’s manic,
he’s processed,
he’s organic,
he meditates and sits,
when he just can’t stand it,
and remember this is just a test so for the love of God please don’t panic,
or take anything for granted,
**** it,
I’m a good kid,
but got some bad habits,
got a good plan too,
just have to enact it,
bad,
but not the baddest,
and if they want it,
they can have it,
the map is,
my plan and,
in other words,
the Atlas is how I Nav this,
a Maverick,
like Cuban,
not Gooding no Sir.,
no Jr. a señor,
well not in age but in position,
in other words they’re minor leagues and we’re major,
a Maverick,
like Cuban,
not Gooding no Sir,
no Jr., a señor,
like Mark,
Zuckenberg,
a stark,
contrast between Comcast,
in other words,
Light & Dark are different castes,
in communications at least,
ComCast Communications Caste,
same waves just different frequencies,
in the sea,
the internet catches,
big fish and small fry,
Dark Shadows and Bright Lights,
right?…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
When the moth no longer meditates on the cloth
When the fish fails to flit when it’s caught
When the calling crickets lose the will to whip up noise
When the eagle’s eagerness is evaporated along with poise
When all of nature neglects itself, adrift on its track
You’ll know for sure those feelings aren’t coming back
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
five pm, mid-winter
i thank Sky for taking sweet time.
Sky sets her thumb on the light-switch of the land.
she stands still, she waits.
for the hour, she meditates
on her day.
Sky hopes her skin
becomes verdigris the next day, not grey, but
verdigris to clothe **** trees. Or perhaps she will
hurt soon— Sky scars in
rainbows. Her change of thought: the small folks who have traveled
through her this day. She wonders where
they all
go.
Open your eyes,
do you hear Sky’s mute call?
in her meditation, hour of magic, all
wakes.
on the earth, photographers peer from their windows,
then rush through their doors to catch Sky’s dancing gleams,
beams flash through the tip-top’s of the Sugar Maple family,
their shadows splatter onto pot-hole streets.
Sky brushes her grass and her roads with paint of a gold hue,
fresh Rorschach tests while her thoughts try to rest.
i spot a leaf sleeping in the street, deep wine and apricot,
twisted from months away from its Mother
the wind levitates the leaf—lightly—and the sun
creates a squirrel of it, he climbs the tree, and scrambles over
to me. in short squeaks, he explains his political theory,
“why do you let your peep el let a few rich folks control
all others? why don’t you follow me
into the woods?”
he grabs my skirt with his sweet little paws
but i look up and notice the darkness,
i look down and see only a leaf again.
Sky’s savasana has ended,
candles ignite in the houses, Sky and Sun crawl into bed.
i’ll wait now for the selenian Sun, but i can’t rest my eyes. soon
i will escape with my new friend.
bittersweet magic: “the moment” lost in the sock drawer.
five pm, midwinter
the afternoon is reaching an end,
Lady Sky decides when she wants to change for us.
as the sun sets, she meditates.
some call it the “magic hour”
but how can you truly tell magic from reality?
go outside and see.
radiant beams do the tango on the trees
(a leaf in the street becomes a squirrel as my eye blinks)
a squirrel who runs straight up to me.
“get outta the system while you can!”
he squeaks, then nods at me to follow his path, another blink
the sky darkens, the squirrel disappears.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
This is a Mindalithian
Mindalithians live in marvelous mansions
with mischievous children in Minnesota
Midalithians eat mounds of mac-n-cheese,
meaty meatballs, and magicians
Mindalithians like metallic mushroom
and mega marshmallows
Mindalithians make magnificent magic, meditates mellowly
and marches with mops
this Mindalithian taught me magical meditations
and made me march as a mop
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
my conscious,
a spec on the corner of the Polaroid lens,
a heart lost in the reeds of dampened circumstance,
a hydrangea blooming in an untended field,
meditates upon itself
like a child lost
in a superstore.
--
an ocean wave mimics its predecessor
only to fall victim to aspiration.
what will crush upon my tired bones
as they chase sunsets
in a similar search
for meaning
?
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
Kina poetry på gjesthuset en kveld i regn (Norwegian)
Korean poetry about a guesthouse one evening of rain.
Høstregn senker seg over gjestehuset
kaldt utafor, rolig natt med lampe
trist inni meg, sorgfull i rom
i hjertet en munk som mediterer.
Autumn rain sinks over the guesthouse
it's cold outside, night is calm with a lamp
of sadness inside me, a room of mourning
in my heart a monk who meditates.
Ch 'oe Ch'iwon. Korea
also by him with my attempts at translation:
Høstvind bare sang bittert
knapt en venn kjenner min lyd
regnet siler ute i mørket
fra lampen min går hugen langt.
Autumn's wind sings bitterly
hardly a friend knows my voice
rain pours down out in the dark
from my lamp memory travels far
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
The salty wind twirls its fingers around the waves of my hair
and the sand sleeps draped in moonlight under my feet
The ocean meditates
and the sky wears a veil of midnight moss
Your hands drip down my back like warm honey
My skins licks the sweetness from your palms
I drink you down like sun rays and pink lemonade
Your sugar dives deep into my cherry veins
Your heat makes all my questions evaporate
My eyes are full moons glowing on your face
Your lips throw mine up against a wall
and explore
And a breath escapes me like wild hummingbirds
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
~
**Crickets, cicadas
orchestra meditates me. . .
I hear the bird's song.**
~
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
Every hair defined
Every pore pointed out
The pigmentation- uneven
dotted with freckles of time
Peeling nose
Two tired eyes
A chin as big as sin
and yet
Every hair defined
Every pore pointed out
This is a face that has seen time
roll by gently, like a friend
with her joys and surprises
and stored behind that visage
is a mind that meditates upon these things
unhindered by a mere reflection
that captures only what the eye can behold
and not the stores of imagination
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
I live alone
in a room
my only friend
a rock plant.
*
A vase made of sighs,
converts **** non-audible AIs
to an unknown hymn,
replaces a half broken arm.
or was that a dream
during a harvest time?
or was that a gift
from a dear one?
*
I live alone
beside a window under skies
in a vase
made of colorful spots
my only friend
a girl
meditates in the room somewhere.
*
She, my sole flower
is a shape of a pink heart.
Her subtle transparent edge
glows my petal of gleam,
filters a beam,
and makes a rainbow kite.
*
My leaves, center her single dream,
carry a code of a parabolic green.
*
At dawn, she sings a love song,
invites all the blues of skies.
At dusk, she migrates them towards tones of nights.
A dot sinks within the brightests of stars
and finally
into my heart of hearts.
*
She collects then pure droplets
from a precipitating river - crossing unknown realms
in which of each
every season
a silver moon blossoms
to reflect a blue-green star,
she ultimately waits for:
‘That one!’ she shouts
deepening her pinks,
beating rapidly,
shaking my photosynthetic organs
‘There... we come from!
from the dancing, shapeshifter one!’
She, my only friend is a dreamer for none.
A dream of dreams about an unknown realm.
A girl with big words,
‘Someday’ she says ‘Someday,
when we be one as a timeless time but
I hold a key of Now from you for now
as much as I am of you,
Love will be a technology then for all - as is
then we be of love and One’.
‘but for now’ I say ‘for now’
‘at least, be my only one’
and I dream…
dream about a shape of the moment of that very someday
when she finally understands
and ‘yes that blessed someday’ I say,
and as usual nod and tune my stem.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
I hate the winter
Dreary skies against dreary skylines
Cold winds over cold streets
Puddles pooling with pollution
A sick city, runny with pain
I love the winter
Dark skies against dark trees
Winds dance in frosted branches
Snow falls in a white hush
The forest meditates on fury
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
in density of silence
brims profound meanings
that would never be spoken
in keeping with ancient forebodings,
silence is pregnant
with myriad possibilities
between two words
of a poem's progression,
I imagine, silence that contain,
emotions of generations.
silence is the seed, boundless surge
and confluence that meditates,
eternal presence
beyond time and space.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 8:06 AM UTC
I just figured out why
Kids
Go to high school!
•
BAD KARMA !!
••••
I dreamed that I was in the gulag
Not remembering
If I was the prisoner being tortured
Or
The guard doing the torturing!
But then I woke up and I was just in high school
••
I read that
Dante's INFERNO
Was just about one day in high school
••
If a kid sits down and meditates
He need not go to high school any more
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
Chanan closes his book.
His companion
has gone sightseeing.
The coffee is drunk.
The day is fine, the sky
a watery blue,
pale clouds drift.
He sits and meditates
on another coffee,
another cigarette,
watching passing crowds,
visitors and natives
of Dubrovnik.
He raises a finger,
a waiter nods,
goes off.
Chanan notices
across the way,
at another table,
a woman sitting,
hat red
at an angle,
slim fingers holding
a holder with cigarette,
the red lips,
the blue dress,
cleavage,
crossed legs,
red shoes.
He studies her,
takes in the hand
on knee, the hand
with holder,
the fine way
of inhaling
and exhaling,
the smoke drifting.
She leans back,
sky gazing,
in between drags
she sips her wine.
He takes in
the fine figure,
the turn of head,
the shoes of red.
He imagines her
(while his companion
is out seeking the sights)
coming to his room
at the hotel,
soft music playing,
lights down low,
wine bottle and glasses,
the usual patter,
the romantic air,
the twin bed waiting.
His coffee comes,
the waiter departs,
the woman stands
as a man approaches,
dark haired,
slim figured,
trimmed beard,
well dressed,
an air of affluence.
They go off
arm in arm,
she wiggling
her hot behind,
her red shoes,
tap-tapping.
Chanan stumps out
his cigarettes,
sips his coffee,
nothing ends
like it seems,
he is left
with an empty evening
and a lonely dream.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
Acrobatics of mating bats,
gaping hopelessness,
of half eaten fruits,
restlessness of chirping
birds of different feathers,
ants; red, black, brown
countless of them
in a state of perpetual motion,
apparently for no reason,
up and down, and
on to the branches, leaves;
squirrels, like ringing bells
complaining about
the dominance of the birds-
occupying the branches,
a golden serpent, slithering
through the scaly dark trunk
to steal eggs kept hidden
in the motherly warmth of nests,
huge green cover of leaves,
thinking itself as an umbrella,
shielding, the sky's eyes
and rain's intrusive wishes,
*but
the tree,
a universe, where
desires, wishes and frustrations
act out their own plays,
is oblivious
of everything,
and meditates
on the sun.*
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
Vast approaching, carnivorous clouds
set to surround her
Choking her with their black ****
pregnant with both child and fear
she is unable to protect what she holds deep within her
Evil screams at her every turn she is lost
and she has nowhere to run
His putrid stench has returned
It resides within him
Redolent of whiskey
Nicotine stained
And she wants to retch
He has invaded her
****** her sanity
He can barely walk
He is disgusting
She fights with reality, desperate to disappear
Meditates to another land
Where her body is vacant and alone
To be pregnant with evil
Is to be punished
She can not be loved
His veins reach out and engulf her with such venom
That her throat is choked with
his sticky sour blood
Dying is her only chance
But her life is cruel
She must endure his foul, stinking breath
His beatings
His abuse
Desperately hoping, praying
That someone would **** him...
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 4:47 AM UTC
quiet chaos
resting silently inside a soul
longly lost by the spirit
that meditates calmly now
inside the dome filled by dark emptiness
it's cold, a freezing gloom
but the breeze is pleasant
it awakens my whole being
making me realise
what a fulfilled emptiness I am living
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 6:43 AM UTC
There is a calm center within me;
It flows from deep rivers of breath,
Spiraling up and out in every direction.
There is a calm center within me;
Grounding me with sturdy roots,
Soaking up the sweet soul beneath
My rocky hard surface
Through twisting tunnels, tumble torrents.
There is a calm center within me;
Laying soft and still under rushing currents,
Reflecting patience, serenity, consistency
To my mistaken misplaced preconceived perceptions,
Oh they appear to be everchanging,
While the truth is they're stuck going round and round and round
Over the same cyclical trap, making me dizzy.
There is a calm center within me;
It is my mountaintop of mercy,
Where my mind meditates and marvels
At the we of conscious connection,
Spreading from me, reaching out to other frequencies
Emanating from peaks which surround me,
Where the dichotomous
You-Me, ***** Us-They;
Melt into a spectrum of WE --
And oh, I am just beginning to see.
There is a calm center within me;
There is a calm center;
There is calm.....
There is a calm center within me,
Let it flow out.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
The teenagers smile through their misery
as they learn to love the taste of beer.
I learned from then on that no actions of ease
are ever sincere; that we all struggle to keep pace
with all that is expected - a grade-mark percentage,
an overtime enthusiast; a steady-state consumer
who is always bright, bright, bright and on time;
who is never bleak and twisted, or overcast and out of mind.
I see the couple's silent feud
as they hold hands across the road;
I see the womanizer pop a zit in a wing mirror
on his way to the latest ***** call.
The sales assistant yawns through the breathing spaces
of professional enthusiasm, scouring the pages
of the company magazine, whilst the radio sweats
in the corner of the room. Last night's words
are on her mind as she signs the papers
with today's date; today's place in time
amongst all of the others that dominate her life,
whilst leaving scars and no memories,
punching the clock and throwing the fight.
I see the hang-man wince in empathy
after his dog had died last week;
I see the expert in the hotel mirror,
feeling sorry about his ****
The Beautiful People are walking the ugly track
back home, amongst the rubble of Snapchats
and bad scratch-cards; the cardiac nurse
meditates in the restaurant corridor
before going to meet a woman.
I learned from my lofted position
on top of all the walls I have built,
that no matter how vivid the flower in sunlight,
in the darkness, it will always come to wilt.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
at the junction
of your vermillion adorned forehead
where the rivers of
ida, pingala and sushumna meet,
lies the point of singularity
from where
our cosmos exploded
into this unwieldy clutter
with it
an unseen fifth dimension....
a spider like web of illusion
deluding all humanity
into incessant action
where
only karmas multiply
oh maya!
i implore you
to end
this vicious cycle
reveal
that white lotus with a thousand petals
sitting in your cerebrum,
where the love of your life
sporting that chiseled crescent
meditates
in contemplative silence
© 2021
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 11:49 AM UTC