1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and
vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always ***,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of
life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
tread,
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is
ahead?

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old
and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my
feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and
poke-****.

6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know
it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and
am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of
the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

10
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game,
Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my
side.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from
the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride
by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her
feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and
weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d
feet,
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

11
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending
arch,
They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

12
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in
the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

13
The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and
tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over
his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of
his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop
there,
I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as
forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and
day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i

To serve as a sub title I would call this antidote presented in a flowered bouquet first of flowers then
Thoughts that are found in such gifts of treasured beauty an antidote in the central theme of my life

Trying to give any and all relief from pain and suffering if nothing else it will serve as a brief distraction
As you read unfortunately we can only win small victories but anything to help just possibly it will make
A crack that will lead to understanding and more winning can occur

The gold bejeweled lives I have known they the towers the earth’s perennial flowers they were the all
Consuming hours of my life others view life conceptually one part is a stone wall that grows the figwort

With the other English Ivy Hedera the first has the notation of growing in old ruins here
Is the represented tendrils of the heart ever growing ever showing a map of feelings ether joyful or

Tragic within their sinew your strengths and weakness are displayed yes they are hidden to the natural
Eye but in quiet conversation they reveal themselves in the loveliest ways they are rhythmic waves that

Flow over those that we love instilling in them our secret otherwise unknown selves then now I would
Like to present the main body of this piece what are the first words women say when they receive

Flowers how lovely is their words for this to happen their heavenly Father stood before this blue globe
And spoke to the wayward wind my desire is to make an unquestionable quality that will be the very

Essence from where its fragrance is derived he told the wind go and do my bidding instantly the wind
Split into four parts from that time till now it is called and said gather from the four winds in obedience

To the master one part rushed down and felt the tearing of mountain peaks it screamed with delight
And pain it soothed itself by quietly passing over knolls that stood on lonely hill tops then through vales

And valleys it made progress looked across the great span of earth to see what its kindred brothers and
Sisters were finding in its drift and wonderings it noticed one was awaking the wild African world then it

Turned and whirled as it picked up the scent of Africa’s coffee fields instinctively it knew where it must
Go next to the southern tobacco fields it delighted in the pungent promise where in parlors ever so

Humble the tiny pleasurable string like smoke would lay on the air and from a great distance far from
This domestic scene it could see its fellow kiss and roll across the earth’s great rivers the Nile and its

Rectangular pyramids the burial enclosures of the pharos with reverence they silently passed to deepen
This they drove onward until they felt the sacred Ganges below they drank of the sighs of millions of

India’s people refreshed by this dearness to link themselves to the one true God they set a course that
Would take them to where in future days a Union Jack would have the notoriety that the sun never set

In far off lands without its shadow proudly waving it pointed glory folds back to the Thymes where the
British crown would nobly reign and one of its greatest achievements would be the land of free men

That it spawned so out to sea it turned to visit this kingdom not of royal crowns but the garland of
Freedom that rested on every man woman and child it was home for many waters the Mongolia the

Ohio north lay the Great lakes in its center the old Mississippi it followed it down and made its turn west
To rivers called Rio Grande the Red Brazos on to the Colorado the snake and if they could be heard

Speaking they be saying Chisim Platt fairest blue bells I know your home in these familiar dales and pick
Up the from the arid desert from dry river beds biting sand go to its roots and you would know long

Ago waters that held brimming life over the gold fields it continues and dips into the blue pacific
Washing sand an grit its next stop was turquoise waters rainbows and waterfalls it fell into the swaying

Palms coconut papaya pineapple layered it with richness it would create the fabled trade winds it turned
To view it exact opposite its brother wind that came down from the pole it knew Russia’s Siberia Alaskan

Tundra at this point it heard the Father state you have done well he drew a great breath that captured
All that was gathered in the heart of the wind then he turned to carpeted fields that stood incomplete

Flowers were as a sea but they were empty petals they were the reproductive part of flowers but they
Were barren of vividness and true deep colors but worst of all they were odorless and then God

Breathed upon them the secrets that the wind had stored from the four corners of the earth in that
Moment flowers became the true marvel and were forever established as the hallmark of romantic

Expression first picturesque layered with gratitude stillness the chill from the pole that reached down
Through the Canucks of Canada there is the splash of **** frost felt if not known the enticement of the

Soul of cool contrasted with the deserts heat cacti drenched in sunlight never to be complete always in
Rays that makes it beholden in glimmers it shimmers it touts a glory born from harshness it lingers as

Indescribable beauty burnished sands its court this is also found in the allure of flowers hidden within
Is weariness but it is the refined kind it speaks to you not of tiredness but of rest of shade and shadow

A quest is announced do you not feel a sweet breeze how else does its fragrance come within reach
You’re carried back to mountain meadows meows from baby mountain lion kittens are laced within

The story flowers release through their fragrance and truly this just one of Gods many gifts to man
And the greatest Rose of all is His Son the Rose of Sharon

Priceless Times


To serve as a sub title I would call this antidote presented in a flowered bouquet first of flowers then
Thoughts that are found in such gifts of treasured beauty an antidote in the central theme of my life

Trying to give any and all relief from pain and suffering if nothing else it will serve as a brief distraction
As you read unfortunately we can only win small victories but anything to help just possibly it will make
A crack that will lead to understanding and more winning can occur

The gold bejeweled lives I have known they the towers the earth’s perennial flowers they were the all
Consuming hours of my life others view life conceptually one part is a stone wall that grows the figwort

With the other English Ivy Hedera the first has the notation of growing in old ruins here
Is the represented tendrils of the heart ever growing ever showing a map of feelings ether joyful or

Tragic within their sinew your strengths and weakness are displayed yes they are hidden to the natural
Eye but in quiet conversation they reveal themselves in the loveliest ways they are rhythmic waves that

Flow over those that we love instilling in them our secret otherwise unknown selves then now I would
Like to present the main body of this piece what are the first words women say when they receive

Flowers how lovely is their words for this to happen their heavenly Father stood before this blue globe
And spoke to the wayward wind my desire is to make an unquestionable quality that will be the very

Essence from where its fragrance is derived he told the wind go and do my bidding instantly the wind
Split into four parts from that time till now it is called and said gather from the four winds in obedience

To the master one part rushed down and felt the tearing of mountain peaks it screamed with delight
And pain it soothed itself by quietly passing over knolls that stood on lonely hill tops then through vales

And valleys it made progress looked across the great span of earth to see what its kindred brothers and
Sisters were finding in its drift and wonderings it noticed one was awaking the wild African world then it

Turned and whirled as it picked up the scent of Africa’s coffee fields instinctively it knew where it must
Go next to the southern tobacco fields it delighted in the pungent promise where in parlors ever so

Humble the tiny pleasurable string like smoke would lay on the air and from a great distance far from
This domestic scene it could see its fellow kiss and roll across the earth’s great rivers the Nile and its

Rectangular pyramids the burial enclosures of the pharos with reverence they silently passed to deepen
This they drove onward until they felt the sacred Ganges below they drank of the sighs of millions of

India’s people refreshed by this dearness to link themselves to the one true God they set a course that
Would take them to where in future days a Union Jack would have the notoriety that the sun never set

In far off lands without its shadow proudly waving it pointed glory folds back to the Thymes where the
British crown would nobly reign and one of its greatest achievements would be the land of free men

That it spawned so out to sea it turned to visit this kingdom not of royal crowns but the garland of
Freedom that rested on every man woman and child it was home for many waters the Mongolia the

Ohio north lay the Great lakes in its center the old Mississippi it followed it down and made its turn west
To rivers called Rio Grande the Red Brazos on to the Colorado the snake and if they could be heard

Speaking they be saying Chisim Platt fairest blue bells I know your home in these familiar dales and pick
Up the from the arid desert from dry river beds biting sand go to its roots and you would know long

Ago waters that held brimming life over the gold fields it continues and dips into the blue pacific
Washing sand an grit its next stop was turquoise waters rainbows and waterfalls it fell into the swaying

Palms coconut papaya pineapple layered it with richness it would create the fabled trade winds it turned
To view it exact opposite its brother wind that came down from the pole it knew Russia’s Siberia Alaskan

Tundra at this point it heard the Father state you have done well he drew a great breath that captured
All that was gathered in the heart of the wind then he turned to carpeted fields that stood incomplete

Flowers were as a sea but they were empty petals they were the reproductive part of flowers but they
Were barren of vividness and true deep colors but worst of all they were odorless and then God

Breathed upon them the secrets that the wind had stored from the four corners of the earth in that
Moment flowers became the true marvel and were forever established as the hallmark of romantic

Expression first picturesque layered with gratitude stillness the chill from the pole that reached down
Through the Canucks of Canada there is the splash of **** frost felt if not known the enticement of the

Soul of cool contrasted with the deserts heat cacti drenched in sunlight never to be complete always in
Rays that makes it beholden in glimmers it shimmers it touts a glory born from harshness it lingers as

Indescribable beauty burnished sands its court this is also found in the allure of flowers hidden within
Is weariness but it is the refined kind it speaks to you not of tiredness but of rest of shade and shadow

A quest is announced do you not feel a sweet breeze how else does its fragrance come within reach
You’re carried back to mountain meadows meows from baby mountain lion kittens are laced within

The story flowers release through their fragrance and truly this just one of Gods many gifts to man
And the greatest Rose of all is His Son the Rose of Sharon

A brief statement about certain controversial questions and issues relating to some core religious topics such as:
What is God?
Where is God?
Who Is God?
and a new or old philosophy and perspective (depending on the readers views) offering an explanation to these age old questions.

Prelude:
The proof of That which is not restricted to any construct of the human mind and is beyond imagination is Divine. This is sometimes revealed to a select few in the form of a revelation or philosophy from time to time and is what history calls religion and is also uplifting and blissful.
The ordinary human mind and intellect cannot comprehend or fathom that which is beyond it but only staggers at the attempt, bewildering as it is to the ego which is the seat of the mind and limited individual personality. (See Note #1)

Standpoint 1
It is generally stated that neither the existence nor the non-existence of God can be proven. But if there is absolutely nothing or everything is somehow taken away, then whatever is left or there is that remains can only be the place, source or state from which everything is brought into existence and sustained for a while within its own infinite being and by its own infinite or unlimited latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation.

Standpoint 2
The state of absolute nothing (colorless, formless, odorless, indivisible, unfathomable), if there ever was such a state, would then be the complete and infinite unmanifest state or prior condition of this Boundless and Eternal Being or God from where all the universe, as we have come to know and see to date, has come and in which it still must exist without any exception regardless of what there appears now to be.

Standpoint 3
All the planets, moons, suns, stars, galaxies, nebulae and whatever else there may be are nothing other than, relatively speaking, like the atoms, molecules, compounds, cells etc that go to make up the body of a living physical entity, and in this specific and particular case, the manifest cosmic being known as or called the universe, and the so called black holes would then be found to be the arterial pathways of the energy or substance known as dark energy and matter which is of a non atomic nature (See Note #2). It should also be noted that the simplest and first atom or atomic substance or element is hydrogen, which is made up of just an electron and a proton, and is the most abundant atomic substance in the universe. In other words from the one formless substance of dark energy and matter come hydrogen, helium, lithium, etc (in the order of the atomic scale), from the simplest and lightest to the most complicated, densest and heaviest.

Standpoint 4
This then is the reason why we should consider the infinitely large of the outer universe with all the cosmic forces and objects known and unknown on the one hand, while its opposite, the infinitely small, being that of the inner universe, in the form of man’s mind and emotions together with the sub and atomic forces on the other, both co-existing at the same time without an apparent beginning or end, that make up the whole visible and invisible creation which is seemingly expanding, until the endless end, in something greater than itself, for how else could this ever be? (See Note #4)

Standpoint 5
The preceeding points help to validate the statements in the scriptures which say “as above so below” and that “we are made in the image and likeness of God” (ie: our soul or spirit within), and an aspect of Einstein’s theory of Relativity that mentions or postulates of ‘the curvature of space’ and certain aspects of Quantum Physics. The preceeding points also bring together both views of the so called ‘Big Bang’ and ‘Steady State’ theories that have gained popularity in modern times and where the former seems to be the more widely accepted view.

Standpoint 6
The five so called elements of Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Ether mentioned in certain philosophical texts and which correlate to the five lower energy centers (or Chakras) of the human body are complemented by two higher ones being those of Light and Sound of the two higher centers. This also explains the scripture where it is written “in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” and where “God said let there be light and there was light” (See Note #3) which indicates that from the ‘Word of God’ or primeval sound came light, then ether, air, fire, water and earth in a descending order. The last five mentioned elements deal specifically with life and conditions on our own world and also other worlds where one, some or all of the seven kingdoms of evolution are to be found in various stages of development. (See Note #5)

Standpoint 7
If man is made in the image and likeness of God then whatever can be seen outside can also be seen inside in the sense that there is nothing but God that really exists and that the essence of God is in man's soul and spirit. An analogy of this would be to look at a drop of an infinite ocean (without boundaries or divsions) and to recognize or realise that the drop of the ocean is nothing other than the ocean itself which may apparently seem to be separate or limited due to a bubble of ignorance and limited perception (the effect of duality or God's Cosmic Illusion or Maya). The illusion of duality becomes less apparent and is indeed negligible to the point of non existence as man evolves spiritually and realises his oneness with the essence or real part of his inner being which is non other than a drop in (not separate from) this indivisible infinite ocean of God. When this 'essence' is made the focus of an individual's consciousness and is continually invoked upon by various means it then becomes activated or awakened, so to speak, from a dormant latent state, to one of a highly charged and source seeking intelligent energy that is returning back to its real home or state from the lowest center of consciousness (gross, dense and material) in the human body to the highest centers being those in the higher parts of the body which are of a much finer or subtle consciousness and associated with light and sound (i.e. the primeval sound and light of creation) which come from God or the state of infinite consciousness.  This is also the state of Absolute Nothing mentioned in Standpoint 2 above from where Absolutely Everything has come from or manifested within its own Being and the Infinite Existence (all that exists does so within God) due to the infinite latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation (Standpoint 1).  
-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------
Notes:
(#1) See also my other prose titled "God is the Highest Good".
(#2) The universe is the infinite creature or creation of God. It resembles more or less the atomic structure of a living infinite organic entity and is the physical manifestation of an Eternal Un-manifest and Unfathomable Divine  Existence or Boundless Being which is the Only Reality or God.
(#3) See The Old and New Testaments of The Holy Bible.
(#4) We use a telescope to see into the body of the universe being incredibly large and use a microscope to see things or signs of life that are incredibly small.
(#5) The Seven kingdoms Of Evolution are: 1. Gaseous forms including stars, suns, planets etc, stone and metal. 2. Vegetable forms 3. Worm forms including all insects and reptiles 4. Fish forms 5. Bird Forms 6. Animal forms 7. Human forms.
________________

Their utopia is ignorant bliss

Emotionless society,

emotionless existence

the'll be no need, or wanting  variety

Ticking down time, till our slow demise

Give us a dose of reality

with a dose of nonsense

spiraling out into insanity

An odorless place of nothingness

Apathy is so extremely easy

Beauty surrounding everything filthy

Perfection is just an opinion

Contradiction or nonfiction

Fictional characters with friction addiction

Pain's constant. constant constriction

life-style sharpies are good
to go. looks pretty thick to
me.

comes in black and
cloud

they will draw for you
in exchange of eyes

consume me!,
they reek an
odorless nostril

invisible and
trustworthy

“To us, white girls are exotic,”
says my Arab American boyfriend.
At that moment, my brain ceases
to make sense of those words
in that order.
Exotic? White? Girl?
Me? Me. He means... me.
So this is what I say
to my Arab American boyfriend
who has
more culture in his pinky
than all of white America combined.
From what I can tell,
to be white in America is
boring static,
AM radio on a Sunday morning
with a broken dial
on a back road in the boonies.
It is the culture born by everything borrowed but wrongfully claimed
as its own invention.
To be white, in America, tastes like
cream of wheat
with no hope of brown sugar.
It is a tumbleweed-kind-of-rootless
and just as desert dry.
It is colorless, odorless, tasteless—
and will choke you slowly
if you don’t build up a tolerance.
But
if you’re lucky enough
to be white in America,
for about a hundred bucks
and a swab of the cheek,
the Internet can tell you
where you came from.
Even if that makes you feel cultured,
tomorrow you will wake up
and still be
white in America.
To be white in America, I thought,
was as far from exotic
as the self-loathing, middle aged guy
behind the counter
at your local DMV.
But white girls, he says, are exotic.
Perhaps it’s because pumpkin spice
oozes from my pasty pores,
or that “there ain’t no laws
when you’re drinkin’ the Claws.”
Maybe he couldn’t resist the fact
that the Starbucks barista
knows my order
better than my name,
or that my hair blowdries pin straight—
no matter the time of year.
I wonder if it’s the combo of
black leggings, messy buns,
and work out tanks—
or the fact that I think I’m saving the whole ******* sea turtle population
with my stainless steel straw.
Exotic?
Maybe it’s my compulsive nature
to buy in bulk, to pet every dog I see,
and to cry over Queer Eye episodes.
It couldn’t possibly be
the steady diet of rom coms,
my collection of Birkenstocks,
or the apple cinnamon candle
burning on my windowsill
that reminds me of “fall y’all,”
but then again, who knows?
To me, my whiteness is a privilege
that will forever be misinterpreted
as entitlement by every person
who checks that “white” box
on the form
without checking themselves too.

“To us, white girls are exotic,” he says.

White girl is just happy
he likes her in spite of it.

The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.

But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.

Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.

I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.

The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious


Just calm down.

Relax your self.

It will all be over soon.

LAYOVER

Denied:  my only boon.

It could be a good use to open up
and strike the hello to familiar faces
in which in a run off seems so awkward and need of avoidance when
crossed upon
maybe just then i would feel less guilty of being myself..
the deep inertia of what makes this woman a man
I long for deep conversations with human kind but I even questioned whether IF such conversations are better than with talking to The God of the universe...
stupid and low thought
but i think i am in this paradigm in which as dumb as i think i may sound speaking  ENGLISH AND LACKING  UNDERSTANDING OF THE USE OF LANGUAGE
i still have needs...that need to be met.

Imagination runs so limited
in what growth is there of it if I constantly believe that I AM THE ONLY ONE who feels and knows..

Their utopia is ignorant bliss
Emotionless society,
emotionless existence
the'll be no need, or wanting variety
Ticking down time, till our slow demise
Give us a dose of reality
with a dose of nonsense
spiraling out into insanity
An odorless place of nothingness
Apathy is so extremely easy
Beauty surrounding everything filthy
Perfection is just an opinion
Contradiction or nonfiction
Fictional characters with friction addiction
Pain's constant. constant constriction

I think that I might've been wrong this whole time
and that all my life's been an endless road of false imagery
about myself and the ones surrounding me.

Everyone's sayin' these days:
"just do your thing!"
"be more egotistic!"
"risk it!"
"live a little!"
"give less ***** about what others think!"
"you're on your own!"
"don't get involved in other's lives, as they don't get involved in yours"
and I seem more and more confused,
not getting any of the words they're sayin';
feeling silly all of a sudden...
like I imagine some people in those pictures
or videos where they put a black box over someone's eyes.

I feel like I've been livin' as a small,
odorless flower in a big garden,
all a long waiting for the right gardener
to thin out the seedlings around me and now
I've ended up alone in the most beautiful vase,
in the house of the most gifted perfume creator,
that normally feels every bird ****,
but now feels nothing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zGRQsYZE7U

empty kisses
and pointless hugs
had been the symbol
of a dead love

his lips had been
the gun;
his words
were the bullets

it all made sense now
i had been enticed by
his sweet kisses
just like carbon monoxide

sweet but yet odorless.
deadly.

he filled my lungs
with hope,
longing
and belonging

i had been poisoned by deceit.
jealousy.
denial.
lies.

every kiss
was meaningful
as he loved me
except he had a gun
behind his back

everytime he touched me
it was like an ignited flame
except he had
a gasoline tank hidden in the woods

finally it had been his time
to do what he does best,
**** my loving heart.

(b.d.s.)

The flower is
Wrinkled,
Somewhat bleeding,
Odorless,
Bowed stem crippled,
Arthritic,
Greeting me a
Tremulous
"Good evening."

Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney.
Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks.
Our *****—the archetypal genital signal—
Are hidden from sight, &
****** wagging
Will get you arrested.
Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer.

Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio:
(As read by Don Pardo, postmortem).
“Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.”

Blessed are the
Underarm Sweat Removers,
A Labor cohort
Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . .
Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ...
https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter.
Ka-Ching.
Ka-Ching.

And Andy Stern’s suggestion,
Probably the best for anyone
Searching for a new mate, or
Wanting to move up,
Move up to a new relationship plateau,
Move up to a higher class of ******?
Open your nostrils.
Take a deep breath.

Bio continues:
“Dr. Winifred Cutler
Founded the Athena Institute in 1986,
Selected that name
Signifying the mission;
Helping women increase
Wisdom and skill,
Relative to
Their Bodies,
Their Health,
Their Wellbeing.”

Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler?
Testimony follows:
“Pheromones magnify my mojo.
I wear the love potion that makes
The most gorgeous gal in the bar--
That kind of gorgeous gal,
Usually out of my league—
Makes her look my way.
Welcome, my fingers
Touch her siren shoulder.
She turns,
‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly.
‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage.
She grins, looks me
Up and down—
Mostly down—
And says, “Not really.”

The verdict?
Apparently, the scent of pheromones is
Still overpowered by nerves.
Let’s face it:
Women can smell fear.

Daylight in the castle,
there is the king and the queen.

She is of Europe, floats like a bee
upon clouds, these saltwater beacons
drenching for her hair to dampen black.

And he thinks she seems angelic,
each morning, opening umbrella limbs
stars & stripes he gave her last night.

Shine and prim kiss-kneads,
nobody can tell that he loves me.

The pond across the way,  I drown
in the flesh-earth, memory of our space
just ruffles swaddling where he tastes.

I am his handmaid as I am queen,
when light surfaces on my snowbank
ever ghosting the skin of knobby-knees.

Daylight in the castle,
beams for more than just a queen –
clumsy, odorless of the love she’s seen.

Today I felt my skin turn to bark as I leaned against a tree. I felt a warmth spread through me as I reveled in joy of hidden things. I watched people pass me by, had a conversation with a few people perceptive enough to notice my fringes.
    They said hello. You are difficult to notice.
    I nodded silent thanks.
    Why don't you speak?
    This is how I thought. You're asking a man nearly imperceptible why he stands so still.
    At times the bark or grass fell from me replaced with concrete or off-white plaster or the likeness of another. I stood and watched as I smiled, talked, acted, convinced, spoke from the heart, and not a souls suspects.
    When I feel like hiding, this is what happens: I become everyone. I become no one. I am tasteless, odorless, bland. I become no one, but not the kind of no one that gets noticed. I see that the truly homogeneous hide twofold, sixfold, eightfold. I hide that I am hiding that I am hiding that –
    Continuum. I become a vacuum of character, perfectly unremarkable.
    This is whenever I feel like it.
    Whenever I want it, my outline becomes harsh, sharply black against white against black leading to my deadened surface made vibrant by desire, by necessity, by conscious appraisal of the path of least resistance. Feeling clashes with wanting, the cacophony is maddening where such fragile melodies had once been harmonic. All of a sudden it is clear that I am hiding. I can no longer conceal the bare bones sprouting from my shoulders, clumsily fashioned into bare outlines of wings. All of a sudden I am laid bare, and the unfinished construct is revealed. Everything looked wonderful, immaculate, meticulously attended, even upon close inspection, until the keystone shook loose. Can't find adhesive that lasts more than a few months these days. My fragile creation appearing bold and strong, emanating vitality such that it can be gleaned with proximity, fell.
    All I can see are my feet or darkness.
    I cannot produce sound more substantial than murmurs.
    I cannot clothe myself but with scraps of cloth that fall with the most gentle breath of wind, but still I toil.
    The spectacle as it has become is made piteous by the clarity with which I am seen. My futile attempts to recover myself incite anger and pity. They fade, and sadness remains. I am in plain sight, as if illuminated by some unseen light, and I am understood. It is understood that I will continue affixing the fragile scraps to me until they stay. It is seen that I am undaunted by such a seemingly insurmountable task. After eons of exposure to the eyes of all, a scrap grafts itself again to my bare flesh. My lips spread slowly into a wicked grin – for it is known. It is known that those witnessing this disgusting degree of satisfaction at my own partial concealment will soon forget the fissured and sickly creature they now behold. They will soon forget what stood in the place of the great statue now erected around me.
    Inside, I stand in fear of the day when again I must build myself anew.
    Like a bird constructing its fragile nest, I take everything I can use. My toil is patient...careful. I refine tirelessly. The light turns hard and flat, but still I am great and formidable in my fragile, meticulous, manufactured splendor.
    One who remembers sees this, and knows that this is my true love.
    One among them all remembers.
    He is the closest thing I have to a friend.

My love;
Do I dare drop another shrouded truth upon your eardrum...?
I left another footprint today, you know
...but those granules of concrete are still hollow,
still quiet;

I've hidden behind your golden dreadlocks too often,
and heard your contemptuous laughter echo,
the crooked whistle of another gunshot
piercing the silence, and a silhouette
-of course

....yet I can't let go.

You're so young, I tell myself;
Your bedsheets are still crisp, still odorless;
...this sleep does not trouble you, does it?
-with her kissing nightmares.

And I dread my toes slipping-into that cadencing abyss,
...the scattered doom of my growing death wish;
there's no one to hold me,
but you.

The pillowcases still hiss...
their fingers clench my hair, often;
and threads tie me to a new paranoia
every night.

And I know
these windows aren't clean
...they disgust me;
yet they're my only source of light,
and I choose to compromise;

It's left me with nothing,
but your rusted blood on my tongue
and these shadows formed on the wall,
by your electric blue flesh...

I'm tired, dearest
...your fumbling silence hurts me-
maybe another drop of ******,
will bring you back to life.

You
Brought me
In blood and tears
You yourself but a child-
Into this world.
From a distance
You watched
As I grew.
First a whelp,
Now a wolf.
You
**** yourself
With every inhale
Of that odorless
Drug
And here I am
Helpless
Watching you die....
Just as
You watched me grow
Not long ago....

It's late autumn but the colors
simply aren't there for me. Leaves, trees,
the sky, my face, my hair, my mood,
everything has become pall and gray.
Everywhere that color should abound
there is only lack of color. This canvas
remains indifferent to me - staring
blankly at me. My brushes sit unused
and rotting in solvent, the colors grimy
and dry on my palette, a spider has pulled
its hairy carcass through black oil and
then white and died gray upon the
edge of my painting table - its web strung
at the bottom of my easel. I feel no more,
paint no more, sell no more, I'm used up.
"Colorless, odorless" reads this can of
brush solvent - it's what I've become!
I have become nothing, even without odor.
I'm completely gray, insensitive, consumed.
Looking into the broken studio mirror,
I confront the artist I used to be. My image
grows diffuse, without form, then dissipates.

--

Water is a transparent fluid from which the world streams, lakes, oceans, and rain and is the major constituent of the fluids of living things
Water gives our lungs the moisture we need to breathe.
Water, therefore, is breath to life.
You cannot have too much of it.
Drinking too much water too quickly can lead to water intoxication water intoxication occurs when water dilutes the sodium level in the bloodstream and causes and an imbalance of water in the brain.
Although, you need it to survive.
People can survive no longer than 8 to 10 days without water
When our cells are starved for water, they become parched, dry and more vulnerable to attack by viruses.
Water is colorless, odorless, tasteless, and kills uncounted thousands of people every year.
Water constitutes, regulates, flows through, cleanses and helps nourish every single part of your body. But the wrong kind of water -- with inorganic minerals, chemicals and other contaminants -- can pollute, clog up and turn to stone in every part of your body.
3.4 million people die each year from water related disease
That is equivalent to almost the entire city of Los Angeles.
I think water is all around us in metaphoric ways
For instance, water damage to a cell phone, computer, a book, or an entire city.
Water creeps into places where it is not supposed to be, where it is not meant to be and destroys things.
Suddenly, your screen goes white, words are smudged, people's belongings and treasures are ruined.
Water breaks things.
Water is a lot like pain.
It creeps into our life like a serpent in tall grass and fractures things that were once in perfect condition.
But the miraculous thing about it, although it is a demon, we need it to live.
Without pain we would not know pure joy.
How can you appreciate stepping to the sunlight if you have never experienced the shade.
Water is a lot like people.
70% is a person is water.
31% of our bones are made up of water.
Only 1% of the world's water is drinkable.
Some contain toxins that can be fatal to the human body.
Not every person may be able to quench your thirst.
When they leave they many leave you dehydrated and dizzy.
Not every person is drinkable.
Some people carry demons that they will introduce you to and you cannot rip them off.
These demons are not in relativity to the band-aids in your childhood.
People can cause damage like no other.
Some say that loneliness is killer.
Isn’t funny to think that the one thing you need most can leave you with more scars than you had in the first place.
Water is a lot like love.
Something we crave when the exhaustion from all of our day's work gets too heavy.
Without love we feel empty
When the body gets dehydrated it has already lost over 1% of its water
When we thirst for attention it's as if we lose an inch of security
Love is unlocking the door and flooding
Love causes destruction
But love is at the absolute brink of all things desired
Love is different temperatures
Love can boil, love can freeze, love can be just right
Love can be the one thing at the end of the day that refreshes the mind
Water is used frequently by firefighters to extinguish fires helicopters sometimes drop large amounts of water on wildfires or bushfires to stop the fire from spreading and limit the damage that it can cause
Love is the antidote to pain and the virus itself
Love is limiting damage
Love can calm the wildest fire set in someone's soul using only words
Water is such a generic liquid
Water is the only thing that hold each of us together
So when you reach the end of your journey
Remember water and all of its different forms
Remember the invigorating taste
Remember the abuse
Remember the revival
Remember it all
Because it is all there
**We simply do not look close enough

Silent carriage with no sounds,
Is it real?

I can see it, touch it, but still can't hear.
An empty voice directs my journey and affirms my belief,
no soul,
no thoughts,
it isn't real.

No shoes on the sleeping man,
with strangely odorless feet.
Nobody smells here, it's disturbing.

Bright, buzzing, neon-fluorescent lights of gold or yellow.
Burning my eyes.
Now i am blind.

This senseless, lifeless bubble is my ticket home.
$6.20 should get you more of an experience.

Not long now and my vision will return.

Hearing and smell too..

Breathless little pod, enclose me with your
Wooden floors. Let the rain outside play as
Pianoforte as it can. Enough
Thought to sink a ship and all I can say
Is “The horses. Oh my God, the horses.”
What about the horses? In a tasteless,
Odorless, frictionless universe sleeps
The hammer of the clouds who eats our hours
And flips to more interesting channels.

Take a minute for yourself, this is just
An experiment, and run up those stairs.
Be sure to stop when you hear the lightning
Then nip back down like thunder so you can
Tell me the result. Breathe in, count to ten.
Breathe out, breathe in and try to remember
The middle of “Rondo Alla Turca.”
Take your time, it won’t be nice outside for
A while. Enjoy the breathless little room.

The diagnosis said
mad
and the tombstone
said that too.

Carbon monoxide is
colorless
odorless
and tasteless.
It goes completely
unnoticed
until it's too late.

"She was so pretty"
they said.
"We all loved her.
What was her name again?"

While searching for Sougandhikam,
Four viruses barred Bheema’s way

He got flustered, unable to chase them
Using his mace and strong muscles

Sougandhikam was mis-spelt many times

Eyes got tired visiting all sites about flowers galore

Mukkutti.com, bougainvillea.com,
Orchid, leuca indica,
The thottavadi.com which shrank on contact with the mouse

Journey without fear of thorns
Flowers bloomed in the water springs of the rock-hard body

Muttered “flower”, “flower” frequently

Dot coms where fleshy blooms flourish
Time and again, forgot the wife who was insulted?

While sitting in amazement in front of a site about wrestlers,
A message
Subject hint about Sougandhikam

In the inbox, ‘black moon’ with the sings(symptoms) of Sougandhikam

He liked the fragrance-less flower from Latin America

Not a step more in this jungle,
He decided in his mind
And downloaded black moon

Morphed it, made slight changes
Then a color print

Panchali, who was bored stiff though she was the wife of five, jumped in glee

Took four Photostat copies of Sougandhikam and went to apply for a doctorate

An odorless lie bloomed in history.

What happened to those luscious locks?
I don't even know where to begin
Your teeth are decaying from your mouth
Your cheeks are sinking in
Your once smooth skin's now dry and itchy
Lumps and bumps everywhere
Paranoid and hallucinating
Brittle and wispy hair

Why do you do this to yourself?
You're just a snort, a *****, an inhale away
This bitter and odorless powder can take you off this earth today
Was taking it that one time at the party worth all this hell?
Did putting that ice up your nose suit you well?
Can you even remember who I am?
Why are you always trying to fight?
Shhh, calm down.
Everything's alright

You're delusional and moody
But I still love you so
No matter how much you isolate
I'll never let you go

I'll be here when you're loosing weight
And when your behavior seems schizophrenic
I'll be here when your kidneys fail
I'll be here to call the medic
I'll hold your hand through the depression
I'll stay by your side throughout the stroke
I'll be here to watch as you put yourself in the ground
And on my tears I'll choke

And when you have those cravings
For the powder you hold so dear
When you're restless and confused, darling
**I'll be here.

War is the King of All,
as Heraclitus puts it.
No Life without Strife!

What wondrous distress!
This eternal suffering,
This eternal bliss

I am the ground
I am the ground from which
hatred and love emerge
neck and neck
symbiosis

I am abstracted from these
and yet intertwined, consistent
and unyielding in my birth and rebirth

I am the perennial,
the detritivore

The soil,
the mycelium,
the forest,
the fire

born from a single point,
growing and consuming
that which is colder than I —
until all fuel is exhausted
until I am exhausted

I am the Ugly Lie, the Corrupt
I am the Beautiful Truth, the Just
I am the Bad, the Good
I am the Formless
The Form

colorless, odorless, tasteless
unreachable, untouchable

receive me and
I am no longer myself
a distraction from the truth

I am entertainment
Will you entertain me?

one match.
kindled
one infatuation

this lit match
was contained
in a jar
in the innermost parts
of my heart

i protected it with
all i had
i trusted you

which was quite sad.

one day
you broke
this fragile jar

that's when it began.

hot sizzling ambers
glow red
as the morning sun

burning intensely
giving off an odorless smoke

see,
my heart
has been now set ablaze for you

its veins produce
a scorching red
liquid
that burns at the thought of you

it does not
only hold liquids
but it holds angst

angst
since you left me
in this fiery blaze

amidst the bright flames
at the bottom
lies coal

coal.
this black ashy substance
fueling the ****** agony

coal.
from the time
you betrayed me.
when deceit seemed
to only be on your tongue of fire
coal.
when you said
our love was like an everlasting cigarette
but instead you gently blew out the light
what a lie.

the blaze rages on
destroying the memories
of what used to be

it regains strength
it heals the soil
gives light to the new

it releases
exorbitant amounts
of catharsis
i feel it

the fire
will never die
with the unfortunate truth
that you were never mine

but the only thing that will be remembered
is how much i had tried

(b.d.s.)

They say death has a smell.

If it did it would be an odorless smell, like hit you in the eyes and begins to choke you smell. You can't breath but you can't gasp either, it holds you like anger but has a linger of hope or joy, one can't really tell maybe its different for some people. When you do smell death it hits and sticks. Its the sort of smell that needs a shower to get off.

Death has a different meaning for everyone. Death is…change.

into the elbows
of bamboo shoots,
slithering up them. I reach
fourteen purple spotted, green orchids
-- one reached her pink purse to me
and kissed me.  I peeled at her specs
like gumdrops on my tongue and tasted
like laughing amythesyst.  Laughing like toddlers
do.  "And how do toddlers laugh?"
like they know they are dying.
"I didn't know rocks could laugh,"
she said.  Well they do.  And praise them.
They are dying longer than us.
The orchid gasped, her golden tongue,
pink tipped dipped into the slippery mud
below us: loose cement.  She buried her tongue
and dropped, from her nest, two pearl seeds
embedded into the soil imprinted with my feet --
are my feet *****?  "I think I might die too."
What a shame -- She outstretched her petals
they dried, brown, odorless, deceased
whispering this and sweet nothings to me.
She cradled and cuddled me
to her dust.  What a shame
she only thought
and never knew.

We're passing
Passing through the long narrow roads
Together
Like a skirt with odorless tulips
On a bike
You are pedaling
My chin closed to your shoulders
I want to yell in your ear
I don't like my childhood
But you
The marry go round 's still
rounding in your eyes
Like the memory of the grilled maize
Hot and sweet
I turn
my back leaning on yours
Looking at the sky
The sun loosing its light on each tree one by one
And I ask :
The grandma hasn't told any
stories for a long time, has she ?
-no answer heard-
And you keep on pedaling
And I
Always suffering from the pain of ******
Send my regards to the crows
and tell them that the scarecrows
are not alone they just play roles
My doll has been sleeping since
the last time I heard my voice
-Lullabies matched with her dancing-
Say more
I'm happy
cos I put my head on the pillow
smelling my odor at night
-I'm happy-



می گذریم
با هم می گذریم
از جاده هایی باریک و بلند
چون دامنی که نقش لاله های بی عطر و بو را دارد
بر چرخی نشسته ایم
تو پا می زدی
چانه ام به شانه هایت نزدیک است
می خواهم در گوشت فریاد بزنم
کودکی هایم را دوست ندارم
ولی تو
هنوز در چشمانت
چرخ و فلک می چرخد
چون خاطره ی بلال ها
...داغ و شیرین
برمی گردم
در حالی که پشتم به تو تکیه داده است
به آسمان نگاه می کنم
خورشید
تک به تک
از درختان جا می افتد
)) : و سؤال می کنم
مدتیست که دیگر مادربزرگ قصه نمی گوید !!؟
هان !؟
-پاسخی نشنیدم-
تو به راهت ادامه می دهی و
من
همیشه از درد پریود رنج می بردم
از قول من
به کلاغان سلام برسان
و به آن ها بگو
مترسک ها تنها نیستند
خوب نقش بازی می کنند
از آخرین باری که صدایم را شنیدم
عروسکم به خواب می رفت
-لالایی هایی که با رقصیدنش کوک شده بود-
و باز هم بگو
خوشحالم
وقتی شب ها موقع خواب
سرم را روی بالشتی می گذارم
که بوی مرا می دهد
-خوشحالم-

The air outside is a reason to be mad , mad to live mad to be .

The sun leaves the sky yet again and a cloud of now comes near town

where our hearts beat and the moon keeps

the love webbing through the night

“and im floating in the most peculiar way”

where the inspiration comes its hard to let go

like magnets across the room ,

eyes across a room ,

hearts across the room

its hard to believe i don’t know you yet

your the most beautiful stranger in my eyes

not sure

if its lust alone .. for i barley know your name

but ill come see you again, my heart is shaken

just by the look your giving. but who knows

i might not see you again , and it will be perfectly okay

For the atmosphere is all i need, the intense beat of our hearts where for ever compassion lays the all knowing eye

the love in my heart

the sun in my sky

the moon to my night , ]

REMEMBER GOD REMEMBER GOD

REMEMBER GOD

is all i need and maybe a little stephen  stills to remember

life

”Don’t be angry - don’t be sad
Don’t sit crying over good times you’ve had”

and finding myself surrounded by

full of in the moment seekers

I have become undeniably mad for this world, for life its the taste of air

just like whitman
“The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me.”

I am a circumstance
     — noun
1. a condition, detail, part, or attribute, with respect to time, place, manner,agent, etc., that accompanies, determines, or modifies a fact or event; a modifying or influencing factor

I am a lever*
     —noun
1. Mechanics. a rigid bar that pivots about one point and that is used to move an object at a second point by a force applied at a third.

I am water
     -noun      
1. a transparent, odorless, tasteless liquid, a compound of hydrogen and oxygen, H 2 O, freezing at 32°F or 0°C and boiling at 212°F or 100°C, that in a more or less impure state constitutes rain, oceans, lakes, rivers, etc.: it contains 11.188 percent hydrogen and 88.812 percent oxygen, by weight.

I am you
      — pronoun, possessive your or yours, objective you, plural you.
1. the pronoun of the second person singular or plural, used of the person or persons being addressed, in the nominative or objective case

I am all of these things and nothing at all.

*I am.

Where is the color?
    Red , blues & orange hues.
Where is the sound?
    Singing Birds, overplayed love songs on repeat.
Where is the smell?
    Cheap coffee blends on your breath.
Where is the touch?
    Rough, gentle, callused hands.

Drifting in an endless tide of nothingness,
    Dark, silent, odorless nights.
         "I love you" loses its luster,
            "Forever" loses it shine
                 Bliss becomes sorrow,
                     Tears become strength,
                        Ashes becomes flame,
                            Red knees of prayer become sore feet,
                               I look in the mirror and find peace. . .
I learned to love again,
      not for you,
            but for me,
                 I learned to say "I love you" to the man in the mirror,
                    Accept, learn and stand once more.
                        Its easy being with you, but hard being alone.
                            Thank you my old beloved.