F l o w e r s   a r e   t h e   m o s t   B e a u t i f u l
I n  f o r m s,  c o l o u r s  and   E s s e n c e s
Galaxies Even rarer
         In
Fleur of cosmic Space
Threads of our  dreamy  dust
    Embraced in  no time  we drift
      E         n           d           l          e           s           s            l                y
                  Intimate       ­     Polarities             Sacred             Pollienation
          
                                        W o m e n    are   Rare  Flowers
                                  ­                M e n   Create~d:   for *Us

A fued between parallel polarities
Inner connections, of unwavering complexity
Veiled by the naked, winds of sincerity
I can change faces swifter than a Pharisee.

Hate, cannot be measured by scopes
The devil himself was failing to cope,
With the loss of his honor and the loss of his hope
God placed his neck into the hang man's rope.

A covenant that he broke, fought hard and he choked
Existence was a hoax, he traded virtue for jokes
And in the sanctum that withers, hides at night and then slithers
The black holes draw hither, when bliss becomes shivers.

I'll place my fate, into the hands of the Seraphim
His breath stops and still I can't carry him
Eyes that bear the sorrow of a paladin,
Repressed thoughts return and they devour him.

It's all another means of control
Man's wickedness, has long since taken its toll
We observe the illusion as our essence grows cold
Loss of passion is the loss of one's soul.

Between being and nothing, I cannot distinguish
Innovative thoughts, rise up and diminish
The pride resolves, until at last we are finished
We cannot reconcile with loss of innocence.

Minds trapped in pathological discourses
Ideology imposed by the ruling forces,
Too blind to seek truth at the heart of the sources
Dissent is drowned out in a fusion of voices.

They say death is the cousin of sleep
Perhaps that's preferable to these lives that we keep
We draw blood for the profits we reap
I see all around me red, white, and blue sheep.

Do you hate the way
     that our magnetized times
turn us all to metal shavings--
     push and pull--charged each
day to fill up negative space
with negative attraction?
Were you repulsed when polarities
                                          changed?

Or­ was that me?
     Flipping switches
                     switching sides
                                      siding
with pivot points showing, caught
with pants down?
"Be a man now!"
          While the female end
          of the port calls out,
          "Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
               All men down!"

Count me out at minus 4
     it leaves a balance: minus 3
At minus 10, our blood could freeze
and fall back earthward; blood red snow.
Caught on the tongue it tastes like pennies.
          Tastes just like
          the metal shavings
          we become
          in magnetized times.
               Polarized
and "Family Sized." Underpaid
Overfed. Neutralized America.

Greatest country in the ******* world.

                    Right?

9/23/21

Polarities
Possessing the mind
Stealing possibilities
If I am This
Then there is bound to be That

A perfectionist
Will find their enemy
In one who makes mountains
Out of molehills
And therefore renders themselves
Incapable

A person bound to their suffering
Suffers further
When they see others in their joy

A dislike of one thing
Pulls toward it one
Who likes that same thing
Ātman
Feeds on opposition

To free oneself
Starts from within
Diving into the divine
That which is limitless

Freedom is here
Connection
Is always an option
So long as one recognizes
Their own mortal, mental positions
And instead lends their mind
To curiosity

Here,
Love triumphs
And we all ascend.

On February 5th :
I am learning
how to drive
in between
metamorphoses
of snowy colors.

On February 5th :
If you look closely
you can see my
mother with her
legs firmly planted
onto the passenger
seat; she is silent
until we pass
a collection of deer.

We pass a collection
of deer and my mother’s
arms look the same
as mine do when I
am angry. Her face
is the Atlantic, full
of irritable little wrinkles.
(My mother’s face is always
the Atlantic, full of irritable
little wrinkles.)

When I was younger
her wrinkles screamed
at me with over-used lungs
until my body grew limp
like radish roots -- it’s just that

when I was younger
I had trouble seeing
the large gap between
snow and static no matter
how many times my mother
would try to emphasize
their differences.

But both dripped onto my
prickly face like newborn wine
onto sidewalks; both looked
just like my mother’s old wedding dress.

Hidden coves of love disguised by cold eyes
Chances not yet given.
Angry tones escape tooth filled holes
Drilling dissent through another's soul.
Selfish is the only answer,
yet not an excuse.
Forgive the fool.
He is you
She is I
We are one.
Negative polarities combusting innocent eyes.
Lost in the essence of the moment.
This is an apology for the mournful cries.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
distinct beings intertwined amongst the influx
passengers and neighbors, reactive tension
impulses of separation.
pause for a moment. breath together.
similar beings galvanized by difference
nutrition for acceptance.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.

Polarities
Determine our identity
In each simple moment..
I am a polarity..is where we start..
The inners and outers
Of our self and world..
Polarities abound..and any set
Of opposites convinces as
Our personal view..until
We discover these are merely
Actors appearing on our
Stage of Light...

No-thing appears as polarities..

Appearances are invitations

To play..allowing the polarities to

Dance..and carry on in  freedom

In any way they wish..this gift of

Nothing..is the breaking of the

Links by which polarities have

Never been chained...

forever coded diaries since I found trust lost on her and him. I hate that the only people willing to listen to me are getting paid for it or beside me in purgatory. don't assume I'm being over-dramatic; I'm not saying my wounds hurt the most, but understand me: deal with half the **** I have & then walk a straight line again.

I am the one who dies a little every time I wake up & realize I'm exactly where I laid myself down. I am the one who breathes corrosion, feeds distortion, bathes in corruption. I straddle fences & hem and haw, biting nails & wraps arms around legs to hold self together. I am the one who cares so much I cannot care. I am the one that uses each breath to fuel my obsession with asphyxiation. I am the borders of the spectrum I see the symmetry in opposites, I pause on polarities. the Yes! Sure. Why Not? I am the moment & I wish that I wouldn't have to live in it. I am the lifter, the sorter & sifter of things my parents over looked or over turned.

The  Kristeille  Bra :
And Other Pathways To   -  ( Disaster ! )

Polarities :    so smartly empowdered
And,  petitely enslaved -
Potentialities ?
- In extremis, I'm afraid.

But if thus were so, then ...
(Even thinly veilled) ;

Let us duly consider :
Are our appetites (fe\male)
In actuality and fact umm,
Needlessly Manichean;
The torments of
noisy Siblings ?

Why, after all I ask,
only two -
Don't
You ?


Alas,
To the Medici
Roundly go the
Battle and the day !
       (And sublimity)
(Or so the legend
goes ...... )

For those who favour
such Palantines,
(and gravity)
a throne.



For  :
Pure symetry confounds my interest -
hnn.us/articles/7202.html


James R. Morse NYC  2012.
All Rights Reserved.

You love hearing.
You love seeing.
You love smelling.
You love feeling.
You even love the taste of life,
Bold statements arise: pentagon built pyramids; hexagram built light…

I’m speaking subtlety’s; the space between five and six,
Like that star David from CSI;
Eleven mirror, twelve depicts,

If they’re in prison, it was because of common sense,
If you’re successful, universe says you were dependent on the sixth…

We’ll acknowledge foundations as Gravity, Although they reflect;
Time as tragedy,
Too low to connect;
Space to one; a division within;
I’m thinking maybe this trinity could project a web,

Gravity is the outcome of manifestations existing;
Creativity transmuting energy that’s coexisting in a space in which polarities consisting,
Space is the frame that’s assisting;
A geometrical web full of light that infinitely splits simultaneously while it’s energy is shifting,
Time is the perception of distance between manifestations, it’s the same as predicting,
It doesn’t exist until it exists,
That’s a matter of apathetic wishing,

“He’s an oxymoron…”

We fear the unusual,
But we can’t possibly be normal,
That’s actually abnormal,
When we conform to others idealism, our realities become harmful,

Earlier I advocated that space is full,
If you’re pushing space in your own gravity, displacement will leave your mind full; time-poor,

Love yourself, because you love your five senses,
No need for senseless for it is why we sense-less before more,
That doesn’t mean closed door,
It means your time is poor;
How can you be of wealth if you’re missing idealism,
In such a situation you’re obligated to war;
Be informed, be young, belong life,
Disconform, keep ***** on your side,
Obliterate, reiterate, polarize,

You must know thyself before you know the sky.

I asked her, why?

Why she couldn't hold my gaze
Despite the indescribable connection we feel for one another.

And she told me
That we were like two sides of the moon
Always longing, but never meant to even see each other.

And nothing good would come from the fight to understand
The fight to see one another.

The fight to stay alive as two halves of each other.

For we do not complete us
We love so deeply we swallow ourselves whole
Trying so desperately to have more of what we cannot have.

We are two polarities
And we cannot co-exist together
Not like this.

I bid her farewell
Leaving her only in my thoughts and in the sky
That I often see her in.

The moon never seemed so dark as it rushed  to four quarters
Of what it used to be.

-Kore

"I like my fire white hot
and my skin ice cold."
She talked at me crookedly
as she red-marked the rim
of the scotch glass.
The smokey haze almost masked
what she didn't want hidden.
"I like extremes, polarities, you know...
moving towards them,
pushing too far in a direction
to remove the possibility of return."
Clink-to-coaster.
*** oozed out in crescent-circles,
"I like you."

Her eyes were bloodshot brown,
all that caramel whiskey sweetness.
She had it in her:
all that passion, that lust,
that cruelty to never call again.
Her marked stiletto against my thigh
under that lonely spilled table
spoke volumes more
than her sideways looks.

Although I said nothing,
I had it in me too.
We'd connected.
I liked that
she lived
like that.

I will wait here.

I will wait precisely in this cabinet,
Until you prise it open
In that delicate curiosity
That is lost in ‘today’.

My words are more patient than myself.
I know that now,
I think I always did.
It is why I love and

Why I love so patiently.

I will wait so gladly in my place,
Until poetry is fashion once more.
It is a sure case
In a sorry state.

Hearts that beat too fast
And breaths that are too frequently
Forsaken for a foolish enterprise
Of some invested individual

Sat watching behind a blast screen.

I will wait here and think back.
To remember the fuzzy nothing
Of my childhood mind. I recall little
But the polarities. The spaces of life

That intercede mere existence.
I bask in these doctored images of a past
That I never quite had. A fatherless summer
Forgotten instantly in garage top vigils,

Kicked footballs and years that were endless.

I wonder if my words will last longer
Than the etchings of your gravestone.
I wonder more so whether you would
Approve of them and how much I would

Have cared if you did not. A father is lost
And is abstract for me. Like God,
An ever-present utterance of nothing at all
Or perhaps everything that I am

Or could possibly ever be.

I wonder whether my love of words
Is nothing but a longing for permanence
In a world that has forever shown me
Futility. I have read of it in your name

Again and again through till now,
And thenceforth years to come. Your name,
How it needs to mean something,
Your voice, your ‘I’ through the ages,

For it envelops me within it - we are the same Mr.

It is within your void that I search for a father.
An ancestor to tell me who I am
And from where I have come. The plight of the
Ape-men that have been, their legacies

Wrought in blood-stained gold
But also in each yellowing poem
And from the hand prints on cave walls.
These are the will of my fathers,

The trinkets on my mantelpiece.

It is within you all that my words
Remain patient. It is within you all
That my will remains clear. For I know now
(Or perhaps I always did)
That there is a voice amongst us.

It may sleep through the noise of today,
All-talk and no communication. It may sleep
Right on through until we awake. Our eyes
Will burn for staring at the screens,

But our hearts will sing for their reprieve.

The doctor rubbed my sore shoulder
spraying copious amounts of analgesic compound
to freeze the area
from the side of my eye I caught the
silver glint of a 6 inch needle poised
to penetrate my quivering shoulder
with cortisone
intense pain exploded through my consciousness
as the syringe fracked into the deeper regions of
my shoulder

Afterwards, while reflecting on this incident
I thought about polarities and Newton’s Law:
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”
The pain I had just experienced did not occur in a vacuum
Somewhere along the time continuum I’d set up that opposite
swing of the pendulum

I recollected all the intense moments of extreme and dizzying
sense enjoyment, lust and gratification
my mind has sought and indulged in with rabid satisfaction
always wanting more, restless, never content or at peace

When we examine this world, and its quintessential duality
we are confronted with extremes at every angle
Hot, cold, up, down, win, lose
We can’t have birth without death and so on
hmm…. I thought as the enlightenment bulb
went off in my head
This is why many great sages and saints
fostered a way of life that
transcended duality

Lord Buddha extolled the “Middle Path”
He described the middle way as moderation
between the excesses of carnal indulgence
and self mortification

Aristotle gave us the “Golden Mean”
“every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.”

Sathya Sai Baba states:
“The object of meditation is equanimity,
the object of equanimity is samadhi (enlightenment or self realization)"

This beautiful quote by Bhagavan Baba is redolent with wisdom
and sublime beauty:

“Surrender to God and to life means the absence of duality
and being of the same nature as God.
But such a state is beyond man’s will.
Surrender is when doer, deed and object are all God.
It comes naturally to a heart filled with love for God.
God is as a spring of fresh and sweet water in the heart.
The best tool to dig a well to that inexhaustible source and
savor its sweetness, is Japa (Chanting God’s Name)

And I love your Saturn hands
the knotted slim fingers
fixed in your fawn fine hair
long 'round your fine mirror accented face
crystal blue eyes that might otherwise send someone into 10 story ocean waves
should I come too close, I'm sure I'd have more than myself to save
Your dry weathered thumb brush my flustered lips
It looks like we're now apart of the papacy
creating an obvious contrast of our opposing polarities
Something in the way that winter craves to reach this upcoming spring
Hard tailored to the rules of some domestic order
the rigidness in your loving touch
leaves the eyes of my heart wide
Can you walk into me, several times more
It wont break the ties that bind our instincts
but It'll give me tastes of what free people enjoy
Kiss me, with more than what it normally takes
we're both starving to breathe
into another
into another
Just as it rains do we lose your leather jacket
that identity we cant force ourselves to leave
Rain to our face
wettness between our smother
lavish expressons of what we hope our wild selves to explore
water to this drought
for which we suffer and for what reasons no-one spoken truely
can they say

Uneventful brain canvass leaves much to be desired.
Ancient wisdoms, science laws I've struggled to acquire
From the corner of my eye they sink into the mire
that stagnant swamp that's left behind when big souls lose their fire.

All the restaurants are closed and empty after dark.
All the boulevards abandoned, all the kiddie parks.
In the ****** city, it is fair to feel alone
In a cage of concrete, every heart will turn to stone.

Once a day I sit and pray that higher thought will come my way
That the waste of yesterday will in the long run be okay
For this life of sin I live, the piper gathers up his pay
Body, mind, and soul in kind submit to systemized decay.

Years of roaming aimlessly are shed within a tear
When the force of love transforms a creature made of fear
Oh, the dance of living, with its stark polarities
So much opposition in our false reality.

Can not distinguish my breaths
Why I take in these threats
That takes grasp
Of my fair air
That clears my internal affairs

And though it seems my anguish
Is lost to the polished scheme
I have ingrained within my eyes
I am reminded again and again

In abstract I contract a line
That fools the absolute
To the Fin
Only finding the rules dilute
To a drinker of truth
Facing the sky

With the clouded justification
To find association
In the tone
Of the polarities
Sincerities
To merge into
Middle linear ties

Overtaken by java sages
Virally programmed by ages
Of systematic impulses,
All false
The need, strength, and balance
Is a mediator
That is an open instigator

Over and moved closer
Holding on
I might lose her
Not in my own right,
Of emotional plight
But a fight fought long
Within each song
Fused for this muse
Doing wrong to my mind
All along, is this poet wrong?

Have I exposed it all?
That there is nothing left
To transpose to proses
Or is this a step
I have yet to step on to

These words these mere
Entendres in parallel to
My daily tears for fears
Vice viscerally seared

Repeatedly, incessantly
To attempt to understand
That Socratic it is, to withstand
The frantic resolve, to accept
That there is something
In nothing

A world of starss between them
their hearts reached out for eachother at the end of each passing revelation
revolving in the same matter
as if the distance could be mitigated somehow,
by touching the same space only worlds apart
he traced their names in the stars and she traced out thier hearts intertwined
alas, the end was ne’er in sight
the mysteries of why were too mystical to ponder
and creation filled the void with challenges, love and light.
thinking back to when they were new
they had shone brightly with innocence
the span of things was endless, but had allowed limited exploration
the One had called them unawares
and rushing back like obedient children
with great anticipation of what grand joy was at hand
immersed in the mysteries revealed
it was then they lost eachother
caught in different planes by a different set of stars
beyond the eye of the black hole created by the break in his heart
and the shattering of hers.
Searching in opposite polarities aeons apart the matter ever expanded
passing eachother withn a blink of an eye
but without words a universe was said;
Iris to Iris, soul to soul,
touching the same matter as eachother
only, aeons apart...

I grew up chaotically
in dichotomy, my hands
in between the walls carrying bi-polarities
“cradles! babies that squeal
for fear of strangers,
mothers, where are the mothers,
where is the family, have you disappeared
in McDonalds and KFC’s?”

Flashing Christmas lights throbbing
in my left eye, so colourful I don’t know
directionality, temporality burning me up
losing me up, inside these sights I feel a, a
maze in again, and up again…like
a ****** on a horse-
“there are aliens outside!!”
though, on the other side
just
air
in my right eye. I see air, extending.
all the gentle blue hum of the air.
it goes, breathes, in and out.

Lalala,
mmmmmmmm
It's so satisfying man.
Tell everyone about it.

While everyone sleeps,
I creep into the boardrooms,
where they hold their secret meetings.

There are certain syndicates in charge
of things like this; devising plans,
scratching heads, drawing charts,
painting on brains,
with paint by numbers.  

But go on, (shuffle awkwardly),
for i am no emasculated lion
courageous in defeat,
i am merely a rose,
left lying on city streets.

it'll settle down before long.
in the left half-plane our
distorted polarities glisten and,
naturally,
all mechanisms leak:
the house gets colder,
the radio becomes static,
we
consistently feel different.

how'd daylight get so aphasic?
where were we when words
struck gold, moved out,
found a better life?

and all the while
the transfer function of our insides
slunk so out of sync;
i guess i'm kind of sorry.
'cause
the last transient to fade
would be you,
but,
you know
how unsigned possibilities,
cupped in our palms,
seep out, like

i leave the windows open
all night long.

'the truth is that I,
objects within none and yet,
reaches indoors to all there is,
Humanity...
heartfelt redemption is unsettling 'performances' for 'many',
liberation for 'some' it seems,
while 'few' are awake in the sleep of 'their' deeds.'