~ Ommm ~

I'm attempting to find inner peace on the top floor
of a down town community hall.

                   ~ Ommm ~

I can hear the anxious siren of an ambulance;
its tone stretched out by the sound waves
that fail to keep up.

                  ~ Ommm
       Focus on your breathing... ~

For an apparently relaxation endorsing pose
right now I feel very uncomfortable.

                  ~ Ommm
       Look towards your inner eye.
       See the beam of bright, white light shine
       From your third eye.
        See the bright light...  ~

I can't see it, are there special opticians
For people who can't see through their third eye.
Maybe I don't have a third eye...
Oh no, I don't think I have a third eye!

                  ~ Ommm
         Focus of your breathing...
         Focus on the bright light
        radiating from your inner eye... ~

Okay I think I've found it, is that it?!

          ~  You should follow along
               towards the golden temple,
               Step forward.
              And with each step
              focus on the feeling
              of the fresh, green grass
              beneath your feet. ~

My right foot has serious pins and needles!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!

        ~ Your left foot is your Karma,
           Your right foot, your Dharma
           With each step focus on the feeling
           of the fresh, green grass beneath your feet... ~

My Dharma has serious pins a needles!
Ouch, ouch, ouch!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
                              
                            ~ Ommm ~

I need to move but I don't wanna disrupt my zone of inner peace.
Ouch, ouch, ouch!

                      ~ Step into the pool
              and feel yourself melt within it.
         And lose the sense of having ****** form
                 Float into the nothingness.

                   Drift off into the water...  ~

I wonder if there are inner eye lifeguards
For the little imagination people who can't swim.

              ~  Focus on your breathing ~

Pins and needles!
Ouch ouch ouch!
Maybe if I wiggle my toes a bit...

       ~ Gradually come back to the sense of having a body.
                 Feel yourself being bought back to life.
                                  You are re-born. ~

Re-born?! Well, if you say so but
My right foot is proper dead right now.

                             ~ Ommm
                   Keep gently breathing... ~

And now I better brace myself for
the many uncomfortable, complicated poses
that we will manipulate our bodies into...

                             ~ Ommm ~

That distract us temporarily from the manic metropolis chaos
that's buzzing right outside the windows.

                               ~ Ommm
          Stretch out and breathe in that beautiful prana ~

The dusty air, choked with car fumes
and the diesel engine hum of the noisy dockyard nearby.

                                 ~ Ommm ~

the intent, by accident,
a message in madness,
anger alone has no value and
uses energy in negative valence
to manifest,

that can't happen on accident,
only on purpose, okeh.

You gotta tip the balance
for anger to be used abs-

like,
totally un-fair abs,
such a gift, who gives…?  I meand abused, I'm confused…

absolute tip the balance to use anger,
never an accident, the intent

that's the message. All I got.
Now what?

Merry Christmas.

This is like VHS homemoviepoet try as he may he can't get away

Tinker-toys, oh Boy, a richochet peeiiing Mattel Itswell 30-30! WOW,

the kid across the street that got hit by a car last Christmas,
he got a go cart this year.

Everything is relative. me, as my old man, said to me.
Back then, late fifties, little desert town, middle'o'righthere
at the time.
My old man at Alamogordo, wit' Ferme 'n'them…

It's not history, I imagine it could be.

That kid did get a go-cart, it didn't help very long.

It's a thought. A message, I think, I thought it and now
you did, too. Sorta.

Cool, like olde times. Never real, always imaginable,
any way ya' wa'ah-ahn-em,
ya gotta ownownownem ommm

My God, it's Christmas time again, I can't remember
when it felt this way.

Did it? Ever? Frank Kapra, in the dark.
We held hands. You remember. Black and white. Right.

then, this is now, and much more joyous in a worldly joy
intended, I'm sure,
from the first

vibration of the chord twixt you and me,
we wish you amerry Chritmas, in deed.

Oh money been their home
Yes money been their home
You see poor people suffer
And for some of them
Their only shelter is the money you give
Yeah it could be $20 or $30
Or maybe a bit more
Oh money been their home
Yes money been their home
You see there are people suffering they want a gift
And it is Buddha’s birthday
Why doesn’t Buddha give them a gift
He wants to but it is hard
When their only home is
The money in their pocket
Oh money been their home
Yes money been their home
You see it is great to see people giving
What a great Buddha birthday it is today
We walk up and down the footpath and see Buddhist monks who are doing it tough
You see sometimes it is hard
To see this problem we have
But money will safely be their home
Oh money been their home
Yes money been their home
You see world leaders are you going to celebrate Buddha day with us
You see we lay candles and statues around the place
Making people aware of the importance of this day
Oh money been their home
Yes money been their home
And candles and bells yes
That is cool
Please give to the poor Buddhist monks who are doing it tough
Money been their home
Now and forever ommm
Happy Buddha day

This is a tree
In the backyard of an apartment
In Jamestown, New York
In which an eleven year old boy sits
Silently considering
The sounds of the cars driving past
A man yelling for his dog
The ommm of a distant lawnmower
The smell and smooth feeling of damp tree bark
How his thoughts and feelings
have become unspoken sentences
How the images of the past have lost detail
How his anger tightens the skin of his face
How the blood hums in his ears
How his toes push against the end of his tennis shoes
How it might feel to fall face first from the tree
Or fly away over the house
And the people hidden inside
Higher and higher
Until everything had grown small with distance
And so much quieter
Until even the words in his head would be silent
Then he would let go
Then he would fall