"meditations" poems
My couch,
Is death,
And avoidance is a second language,
Ask me do I speak it?
Conjoined twins,
Of misery and manipulation,
No calls,
Only cushions and customer's custom complaints,
From tomorrow,
The phone wont ring,
So I'll stay down this road,
Listening to headlines and headlights
Sing,
Moody music dwelling,
Where the lies and shame met in between,
Cut the cue, end the scene
The stage has been rebuilt,
We talked like teenagers,
And you told me that I've changed,
But the same,
Still that same number,
No more gap,
But your smile still kills,
Pain with palendromes,
We were here before,
And so again we,
Our fighting saying goodnight,
Street lamps in different cities,
Static.
I'm just fine,
Playing my part,
My mainstream maybe different,
But
Obsession has been overcame,
By the rising tide of a smile,
If the teleprompting signs shine through,
Meanwhiles and meditations
What can I do,
Except hope I'm reading,
The
Right
Script,
The couch,
It asks,
Where have you been?
I set down another,
chip.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
The Second Joyful Mystery:
The Visitation: Elizabeth greets Mary: ‘Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb!’
Mary travels miles to see her best friend, and cousin, Elizabeth who was also with child to share with her this great news! When Mary gets to her cousin’s house the two women great each other and Elizabeth’s baby leaps inside her womb in response to being in the presence of the Lord Jesus. Elizabeth is very happy and says to Mary “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” Elizabeth recognizes that Mary is truly blessed to conceive Jesus while still a ****** by the working of the Holy Spirit. Mary also recognizes she is truly blessed to bear the Christ child inside of her. She alone was chosen among women to house the savior and redeemer of the world. What amazing gifts God has given Mary! We pray to God May we, like Mary be blessed. Help us to receive you all the time and, like Elizabeth and her baby, may we give all praise and glory to you now and forever. May we leap for joy whenever we are near to you. Help us also to feel your presence daily. Amen
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary
*This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.*
Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!
Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device
Beamed back and forth to The Cloud, you see
With mega-mega gigs of memory
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary is just the thing!
The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!
Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue
A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks
The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style
The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air
Designed in Germany, made in China
High-definition beads; there’s nothing finer
Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
And we’ll send you a second all for free
Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary – O make it sing!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
In the parched path
I have seen the good lizard
(one drop of crocodile)
meditating.
With his green frock-coat
of an abbot of the devil,
his correct bearing
and his stiff collar,
he has the sad air
of an old professor.
Those faded eyes
of a broken artist,
how they watch the afternoon
in dismay!
Is this, my friend,
your twilight constitutional?
Please use your cane,
you are very old, Mr. Lizard,
and the children of the village
may startle you.
What are you seeking in the path,
my near-sighted philosopher,
if the wavering phantasm
of the parched afternoon
has broken the horizon?
Are you seeking the blue alms
of the moribund heaven?
A penny of a star?
Or perhaps
you've been reading a volume
of Lamartine, and you relish
the plasteresque trills
of the birds?
(You watch the setting sun,
and your eyes shine,
oh, dragon of the frogs,
with a human radiance.
Ideas, gondolas without oars,
cross the shadowy
waters of your
burnt-out eyes.)
Have you come looking
for that lovely lady lizard,
green as the wheatfields
of May,
as the long locks
of sleeping pools,
who scorned you, and then
left you in your field?
Oh, sweet idyll, broken
among the sweet sedges!
But, live! What the devil!
I like you.
The motto 'I oppose
the serpent' triumphs
in that grand double chin
of a Christian archbishop.
Now the sun has dissolved
in the cup of the mountains,
and the flocks
cloud the roadway.
It is the hour to depart:
leave the dry path
and your meditations.
You will have time
to look at the stars
when the worms are eating you
at their leisure.
Go home to your house
by the village, of the crickets!
Good night, my friend
Mr. Lizard!
Now the field is empty,
the mountains dim,
the roadway deserted.
Only, now and again,
a cuckoo sings in the darkness
of the poplar trees.
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The First Joyful Mystery:
The Annunciation: The angel Gabriel appears to Mary, announcing she is to be the Mother of God
Mary is represented by the church. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit may be compared to an orange in that they are three parts, but the same fruit or nature. Peel, pulp/meat, and seeds. Jesus is the seeds that God put in Mary, the church and later Mary gives birth to Jesus. The angel Gabriel appears to Mary and tells her she is the Mother of God. Mary follows God’s will at all times like the church listens to God. Mary is very afraid, but trusts God and goes out to share the good news with her best friend, and cousin, Elizabeth. We pray Hail Mary full of grace, blessed are you indeed in many ways. Your immaculate conception, your carrying of Jesus in your womb, your being chosen to bear our savior. Oh holy Mother of God, pray for us sinners from our first cry to our final breath. Amen
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Meditations and French Fries
I sit watching you nibble on some Mickey D's fries,
And taking sips of your milkshake,
Your two hands grasping the cup as if to make sure
Nobody could take it while kicking your feet,
That barely touch the floor, and humming.
This makes me love you more than I already do.
Your eyes move up and stare at me and I look at you,
Searchingly, but you cross them,
Making those crazy eyes that make me smile
And then you let your lips curl into a smile matching mine
And show the small fragments of your teeth and you are beautiful.
You are so content with sitting here, with oily salty potato slivers,
With impersonations of milkshakes, and more importantly with me.
I love you, and your tiny teeth, your short legs, your belly.
Everyone says you resemble me, all your ticks, your mood swings
Your ****** expressions, your desire to learn, your sweet tooth.
You are a copy of me, a miniature me, but you are not really me.
You are my brother, my blood but not my copy.
I see the differences between us, the different upbringing, you know what
A childhood means, you know fatherly love, and for this I am thankful,.
I wish you more than me, more knowledge, love, confidence than me.
I wish Mickey D's is better too, and that the economy doesn't go bust
And that you could afford some fries and a milkshake for less than 10 bucks.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
When the universe is carefree
And there’s happiness in the chaos
Wild and wide, cannot be tamed
Many worlds coexist throughout
Here we are on this celestial body
Trying to find answers to our origins
Many questions and confabulations
Our daily meditations yield no path
We are caught in the web of time
Going back and forth with our life
One form to another, inexplicable cycle
We can be carefree as the universe
Maybe the answers are hidden within
The path we have taken is flailing
Our unsure steps swerving us away
Time has come to be carefree
Join the chaos and find meaning
Align with the universe’s nonchalance
The answers will appear before us
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
I'm made of cobwebs, shaded grays,
echos faded by the murky streetlight;
Festive blobs signal the holidays -
and ricochet off me into the night.
.
A thick, dull fog 'tween me and them,
a brick wall no one can see;
seamless weights in my hem,
and dust inside what used to be me.
.
And then there's you, a year away,
wasted tears, and prayers null;
an end thought for each void day,
a whisper-scratch in my old hull.
.
The words avoid me, skittish things,
like birds that flutter fragile wings;
the right ones are only fledglings,
too young for new beginnings.
.
And I wish that I could care for cold,
worn out flat 'tween mortar and pestle,
a forlorn growth ring in a tree of old,
trapped inside a rotting vessel.
.
.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 12:54 PM UTC
When summer ends and it’s fall time,
they'll be no floating with my wine.
No more upon the float I'll lie
amused by moon-lit clouds up high.
No more the current of the pool
adrift around the bank so cool.
No meditations in the night.
No solace, cloaked in inky sight.
And yet, t'is but a price I'll pay
to see an end to summer's sway.
My nightly swims, I gladly cease
to gain the autumn's cool release.
So, for the ***** I nightly glide.
But, friends in thee, I must confide...
I wait with glee for leaves to turn
and for wood smoke, begin to yearn.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
It is necessary to know how to tame her,
Shy, careful, secret and reserved,
Not very comfortable in a crowd.
She possesses this discreet charm,
You cannot forget as a viral load.
Natural, simple, reliable in her feelings,
She needs proofs to be reassured.
Her attitude is sensible and direct,
An inner life is rich of her life's striking,
Where her intellectual sphere takes it,
By the elegance of her sparkling creativity,
Under the power of her own meditations.
She is so rational, ironic and critical,
By her genuine metaphysical reflections.
She is constantly building on her intuition,
In the area of integrating life's solutions.
She thinks of being late, but just accurate,
Worried in pleasing and in being loved,
But just forgets she is part of human being.
You can trust her blindly,
Because in spite of her side to part,
So different and so warm,
That can perturb you,
And walk away from both of you.
She remains your half for all eternity,
Even if today this Love has dried up,
Keep her sharing gift to love yourself,
To be yourself, and nothing else !
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Hardly thought of yet fondly remembered
moments redacted from memory
adoration and anguish become friendship and folly
A shameless return to missed opportunity
words welling up
the grave of guilt
Torn out but never removed
the heart’s debt to doubt
no pang more painful
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because
the extraneous did not interest him; nevertheless
when he grew old it was found
he understood them anyway, having
listened well, and as it is said, 'prayed
with the bench and the floor.' He used
what was at hand--as did
Angel Jones of Mold, whose meditations
were sewn into coats and britches.
Well, I would like to make,
thinking some line still taut between me and them,
poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.
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His mouth puckers to the side,
his brow furrows when aware
an assumption crawls around
in the wormwood of his mind.
Every misconception,
unrecognized at first
swells within, until
his error bolts forth
like lighting on the prairie
breaks the swelter of
a summer day.
Meditations sooth his disquiet ,
perplexed by her perfection
he searches for scars in blossoms,
and defects in tree leaves. His mouth
grows dry as he mumbles
"there is no perfection."
If he finds a flaw
upon her cheek,
or a birthmark
on her shoulder
will his love fade?
Eyes staring ahead,
his mind in a trance,
he ruminates phrases
" stay open," "remain tolerant"
wait for flowers to bloom,
rains to come and
her to remain
incomprehensible.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Reaching out for what delivers its existence
The thirsty tree extends its limbs further to the sun
An encounter craved, but still valuing its bestowment
Forever longing anxiously for that connection
The summer winds carrying this hopeful firefly
Emitting the lonely light that calls out for another
Releasing these signals in hopes of discovering you
Again a flicker and finally the mate is matched
Sprinting to the sea, the relentless river runs
Passionately carving its way through the slighted landscape
Obviously enraptured by its desirous charge
Awaiting the second its frenzied rush reaches home
Like the sun now churning our eager energy
Overthrowing senses with this rampantly raging need
Overwhelming magnetism lures us toward temptation
Inescapably mesmerized by this sensation
Profound in nature, driven by this timeless dance
Sophisticatedly conjoining into fulfillment
A base for these unbridled electrical impulses
The quintessence of our fusion now realized
We are the union of two wandering forces
Ignition progresses affectionate meditations
Quietly absorbing the synthesizing of segments
Once unrelated, now entangled eternally
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
*“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour.”
(Marcus Aurelius; Meditations)*
As many of you may already know by now, the above quote by Marcus Aurelius has been my motto in life. But today I raise a question for all of us to think about! What happens when one day someone comes exploding into your life and already knows that you're an emerald? You have spent your life keeping your color; despite the fears, betrayals, disappointments and hurts, then what if one day somebody falls down from the assembly of the gods and simply knows you through and through? Your color, your worth... the fact that you are emerald! The question is: how do you stop "keeping" color, when all you have left to do is simply to "be" emerald? No more fear. How does one begin to cope with the sudden loss of fear? Certainly it is the very best thing that can happen to an individual on earth, but I am startled by the realization that letting go of the battle against life and simply being alive, might actually require courage, in itself! It takes courage not only to fight; it also takes courage to believe that good things can happen. It takes courage to simply have grace, to breathe. There comes a time when you no longer need to protect yourself, and that is just as honourable, and perhaps even more honourable, than all the battles you stood up to fight!
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
Tingly under the daisies;
Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
Westernizing—
Romanizing—
Constitutionalizing—
Institutionalizing—
Perpetually searching
And dying
And living,
Watching Death survive
And scythe the frolickers,
The prancers,
The rompers,
The merrymakers.
A rose clamped between his
Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
And he dances so joyously.
“Yes!” say the naysayers,
Confused are the soothsayers,
Lost are the cartographers.
Oh, Utopia!
The monks are extravagant;
The meditations are a farce!
The preachers are beggars
And swindlers and chargers,
And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
Ritualistically sacrificed,
And their blood is spilled, drunk,
Slathered over the ***** man.
The evangelists scream and lie:
“You are all predestined to die!”
Oh, hail Utopia!
Wedded are the girls to the girls;
Wedded are the boys to the boys;
Wedded is Death to Death,
Life to Life,
And Life to Death.
Wedded are the living to the existent.
And the milking babes are slaughtered
Ceremoniously,
Surreptitiously,
Ostentatiously.
Oh, hail great Utopia!
We are all dead and unintelligent:
Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
Stupidity.
Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
Your retardation.
Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
Aesop was drunk,
Aristotle was delusional,
Michelangelo was blind,
Beethoven could hear,
Poe was sane.
And I can't read.
They ramble,
I watch.
They sleep,
I watch.
They dream,
I watch.
They sleep-talk,
I watch.
They scream,
I watch.
They choke,
I watch.
They suffocate,
I watch.
Stone-faced, I stare;
Raspingly, I breathe;
Uncontrollably, I twitch;
Inwardly, I rage.
I hope you die, I hope you die.
I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
I want you begging and crying,
I want you blubbering at my feet,
I want you gnashing at my ankles,
I want you writhing in pain,
I want your arm twisted off,
Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:47 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
Can't stop thinking about the things that i miss about you..
Can't understand the idea of us not being together anymore..
Can't tell what if what i miss is real or is it only because i'm a mess..
Then i asked myself million times, what do i really miss?
Is it your Smile?, Is it your Eyes?, Is it your Existence?, Is it your Vibes?, Is it your Kiss?, Is it your Touch?, Is it your Lips?, Is it your Voice?, Is it your Laugh?, Is it your Jokes?, Is it your Humor?, Is it your Anxiety?, Is it your weird Faces?, Is it your gen gen gen?, Is it your Teasing?, Is it your Music?, Is it your Singings?, Is it your Notes?, Is it your Cuddling?, Is your thoughts?, Is your ideas?, is your Thinking?, Is it your Poems?, Is it your Philosophy?, Is it your Calls?, is it your Hiiiii?, Is it your stories?, Is it your caring?, Is it your iced coffee with milk?, Is it Cigarettes?, Is it your Dancing?, Is it your Korean food?, Is it you sitting in my car?, Is it your Anxious?, Is it your Cough?, Is it your Knowledge?, Is it your Photography?, Is it your Outfit?, Is it your Beauty?, Is it your look?, Is it your Dreams?, Is it your talks?, is it your Skin?, iIs it your Meditations?, Is it your tears on my chest?, Is it your face?, Is it your nails?, Is it your selfies with me?, Is it your Smell?, is it your Perfume?, Is it your Breath?, Is it your Drawings?, Is it your Rap?, Is it your salmon?, Is it your Takies?, Is it your Korean music?, Is it your Emojies?, Is it your Voice notes?, is it your Smile?, is it your Hair?, is it you 11:11 moment?, or is it your love?..
I know it's too late already, but i just want to let it out of my mind..
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
Enamoured by sightly existence
clinging to every glimpse
though nearly impossible to track
she was lost amongst a crowd of infinity
So captivated my mind races to the future flow of the current of bodies to where one would be in step and time to pace rhythm and flow and know ones whereabouts in premonition
Where my meditations meet reality I've dreamt love into existence even if only one sided her smile made me think otherwise
Who's to say that the love I found within just a momentary lapse in endlessness isn't an energy that persist through the age of ages
and feel as if they were made for you and you in turn for their moment of hope and possibly
one could find the cure to all sickness experienced
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 12:05 AM UTC
Walking, always walking,
Puzzled youth being funneled like cattle,
Seek shelter from the sun,
Jeer and poke at each other,
All from the safety of their cell phones.
Constantly seeking that one undesired retention
Of jukebox explosion catapults.
Thrusting us deeper into the mind/brain paradox
What is this?
What are these strange mutterings in the dark?
Babysitting wasp nests by electro shock railroads,
Disgust in the face of the many.
Where is this golden eclipse we’re all waiting for?
How can I not see the spiders on my windowsill?
Are these anguished, infantile youth truly desired?
Aggravated Neanderthal men
Try to impress pulsating goddesses of Light,
All to no prevail.
Sickening feeling in the gut,
Why aren’t you here?
Well I suppose,
Things have changed.
The Empress of the tunnel
Seeks out the empire halls
Of the tunnel-bound angst,
Musicians in the hall strumming
There thoughtless musings,
While the the debutantes watch and listen.
The intensity is unbearable to them,
They must seek shelter in their ipods.
Milk, must have it.
Watching them creep through the cafe,
May they one day find what they’re seeking.
Where are they?
Sitting here by myself,
Look at them jeering at each other
In their own jargons.
Have they seeked out the pleasure of life?
Dream-like meditations,
Well-rounded views of life,
Happiness within.
Dumbly smile at each other,
Seeking closeness,
Mind/body consciousness
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
*With our searching
searching the world
for the new
new opportunities
new relationships
new meditations
new spiritual paths..
These bring rewards
temporary with
unhappiness and
new searching..
The wise have
counseled that
we are what
we are seeking..
So our searching
seems as simple
stimulation for
locating our Self...!*
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:53 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
my ribs were pierced and the last
vestige of life kept pouring out.
and when the last word was said,
my body was lain among the mute.
I was a carpenter once, yet I will
Soon be carved from wood
To sit in silence like furniture,
all dressed up and well kept
with expressions on my face:
Of pain, of hope, of kindness.
But let us keep our eyes
on what cannot be seen.
What is visible is seldom what it shows.
A man I once knew kept with him a jar of seawater
He reasons that when he wakes up
He is reminded by the vastness of the sea.
And he embraces its fragrance:
Salt and water.
Can not a jar claim a portion of the sea as his?
Or to put it in perspective is it not the sea that embraces us?
Our mouths and minds are still, left open and dull in silence
Waiting perhaps in solitary meditations
or in many tongues we will talk.
and the crowd will call us drunk.
I and my other self are one.
But soon, after I have gone another will take my place,
he will embrace us like the sea
Even in places where no sea is in sight.
One thing is certain: salt.
The tasteless air will ink new births of sea.
Today let us clothe ourselves in the nakedness
of our adopted innocence. We will walk with the many
and again converse in the greater garden.
- 5 September 2018
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
Most mornings are not clear.
Most mornings are not the type with a
ten-state view from the top of
Clingman's Dome, and two very expensive
tanks of gasoline. You're welcome.
No, most mornings are battered
by some kind of weather condition -
rains and drizzles and nebulous fogs,
unhappy bedmates, a productive cough -
or else the sun just remits,
stays dozing until it has slept enough.
Then you get that gray sky-
chalkboard, the punitive slap of
humid cold on your early walks, your
coffee rendezvous. Then you have
too many garments at 3 because you put
on extra at 8. Morning, in short,
wishes you ill.
Be aware that if you were born
this century, you lurched into no
midwife's hands, full of love and wet, but
a surgeon's, gloved and powdery,
who spanked you firmly, knocked you
down with a commanding stare, and gave you
the first of many cuts you were to receive.
But for having woken up, let's say,
on the wrong side of the bed (if
even there's a right one), I would
like to think we've done alright,
are not too warm or upset at midday,
not too disappointed in ourselves, our moments
of astounding social gracelessness
that we leave like bits of sneaker in our wake.
Still, though, a question:
where grows happiness? Where sprouts
the silver trunk, the cypress or birch? Or
ficus or orange or ginkgo biloba? Tell me.
I would tap that tree 'til it withers, and die
under its trunk, and the two very expensive
tanks of gasoline it took
to get me where I am.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC