"sages" poems
Our nation is a father
Who spends sons unwisely
Wasting their wonder
On warrior blunders
In nations swelling pride
We see our children
Committing suicide
Honor bound to pursue
Patriotic truths
If mothers ran the world
Would it all be better
Or would maternal malice
Malform modern intent
Blue eyes telling lies
Of war and all its’ glories
Grey hair sitting there
In old reclining lawn chairs
Celebrating fantastic stories
But I know the lives lost
Were not always spent wisely
Were not always sacrificed justly
Why does it feel like no one else sees
Have I become Don Quixote
Fatherland motherland
Better planned
Would be brotherhood
And sisterhood
All that love spent for the good
Like this poem
We have lost our way
Perhaps better stanza
Will return the wisdom
Of our better sages
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
sages and brethren
gather, and share
and slowly souls
are bared
their tempered voices
and quiet eyes
reserved of judgment
with passing smiles
moments blend
in current trends
opinions wide
and reflections deep
the concepts
and irregularities
once murky
now clear
they prioritize
and familiarize
that staunch resolution
of generation net
will remunerate
and illuminate
through the checkpoints
and formal reviews
through the purple curtains
and open stage
nothing tainted
or bitter
left for taste
cause its they
who’ll plant the seeds
the captains of commerce
healers and jugglers
the coaches and councilors
negotiators and compromisers
the kings and queens
hustlers and hellcats
(who've all found their way!)
let us tip our hats
and salute them*
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.
Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.
A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations
Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?
In Mexico city
they were preparing to take Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return
In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
If Success was Happiness
Then achievers would be glad
But look around and you will find
That many of them are sad
Of course, Achievement gives joy
And excitement, oh boy!
But when our need becomes our greed
To misery, this will lead
The whole world is chasing Success
Everyone wants achievement
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose
There is no Contentment
Why do people want to succeed?
Why is everyone in a race?
The Truth is that we want to win
So that there is a smile on our face
But though we win, we are not glad
We have money, why are we sad?
Happiness is not money, the sages said
It's sleeping soundly when you are in bed
We hear of suicides in the homes of the rich
If they were Happy, then why this glitch?
Although they are achievers, this fact we know
They are not Happy, their face has no glow
If successful, but unhappy, what is the use?
Winning or smiling, what would you choose?
The purpose of Success is for us to be glad
What is the use of winning, if it makes us sad?
Happiness is something different, we learn
Not just money that we earn and burn
Happiness is built on a foundation of peace
Then we are blissful like waves in the seas
Look around at the people who are glad
They live in the moment, they are never sad
They don't swing from the future to the past
They are the ones whose Happiness lasts
Happiness has no price tag, know this my friend
It's a state of mind where nothing can offend
It's being able to smile, and able to laugh
Not just trying to raise our Success graph
We can't measure joy in dollar and pound
Happy is he who peace has found
Though we may fly the world around
We may be miserable on the ground
Success is not Happiness, this Truth we must know
We may have everything, what's the use of this show?
The truly successful one is he
Who lives with smile, laughter, and glee
If one is Happy, then one has achieved all
One doesn't have to be rich and in fame be tall
One can have little, but if content is he
Then he can live joyously
Achievement gives Happiness, this fact we know
But with Fulfilment and Contentment, does Happiness grow
One who is Happy, doesn't need to win
He has Peace and Joy without committing sin
Joy doesn't need a foundation of cash
One doesn't have to be rich, to enjoy life's bash
Happiness is a simple state of the mind
It comes from being loving, it comes from being Kind
Happiness is Success. It is achieving life's goal
It is being Happy in the heart, Peaceful in the Soul
True Happiness is eternal, not just a moment of joy
It last's forever, it can’t be destroyed
Success is a journey of valleys and peaks
Life is a see-saw, there are laughs and squeaks
Success, unlike Happiness, doesn't last for long
But the truly Happy ones always sing a Happy song
So, Success is not Happiness, Happiness is Success
You may be an achiever, whose heart is not at rest
But though not successful, if Happy you are
Then you are an achiever, you are the very best
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC
Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.
Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.
To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.
Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.
Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.
Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).
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Passages on Fatherhood
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
He is my treasure,
and by his happiness I measure
my own worth.
Four years old,
with diamonds and gold
bejeweled in his soul.
His cherubic beauty
is felicity
to simplicity and passion—
for a baseball thrown
or an ice-cream cone
or eggshell-blue skies.
...
It’s hard to be “wise”
when the years
career through our lives
and bees in their hives
test faith
and belief
while Time, the great thief,
with each falling leaf
foreshadows grief.
The wisdom of the ages
and prophets and mages
and doddering sages
is useless
unless
it encompasses this:
his kiss.
Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
Far back in the ages,
The plough with wreaths was crowned;
The hands of kings and sages
Entwined the chaplet round;
Till men of spoil disdained the toil
By which the world was nourished,
And dews of blood enriched the soil
Where green their laurels flourished:
--Now the world her fault repairs--
The guilt that stains her story;
And weeps her crimes amid the cares
That formed her earliest glory.
The proud throne shall crumble,
The diadem shall wane,
The tribes of earth shall humble
The pride of those who reign;
And War shall lay his pomp away;--
The fame that heroes cherish,
The glory earned in deadly fray
Shall fade, decay, and perish.
Honour waits, o'er all the Earth,
Through endless generations,
The art that calls her harvests forth,
And feeds the expectant nations.
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bathed in the cool light of the moon,
my sweet puppyhead and me,
sit.
under the full soft light,
her ray’s illuminating the yard,
the woods.
footsteps crunch drying leaves,
fox, deer or foe?
waning canopy,
boughs lighter each day.
fall, majestic, peaceful
dying for another year.
plants and creatures,
taking refuge in the deep dark void
of mother earth,
of mother nature.
squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack,
coats blooming, thickening.
such delight,
each night,
sitting outside,
my puppyhead and me.
quiet and solitary,
no humans
annoying me.
silent and still
only nocturnal creatures
meandering about.
what magic,
what sacredness.
what mystical delight.
never apart,
only the ONE.
such silly confusion,
thinking a person,
separate and small,
quaking with fear.
the big deep dark mystery
laughing and jovial,
always here,
here for us all.
open your eyes,
feel your nature,
always here,
never apart.
fearing death
fearing life,
what a silly way to live this
life!
the moment you were born,
you began dying,
what a relief,
knowing the score!
relaxing into the madness,
laughing at it all,
pure and free,
forever more,
and not……
being,
not being,
eons of reflection,
sages and rishis
revealing the truth,
it can’t be done for you,
only you can become
that which you are….
that which you always were.
my sweet love, my sweet life,
my puppyhead and me,
sitting here in Fall.
~~~
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
In the dour ages
Of drafty cells and draftier castles,
Of dragons breathing without the frame of fables,
Saint and king unfisted obstruction's knuckles
By no miracle or majestic means,
But by such abuses
As smack of spite and the overscrupulous
Twisting of thumbscrews: one soul tied in sinews,
One white horse drowned, and all the unconquered pinnacles
Of God's city and Babylon's
Must wait, while here Suso's
Hand hones his tack and needles,
Scouraging to sores his own red sluices
For the relish of heaven, relentless, dousing with prickles
Of horsehair and lice his ***** *****
While there irate Cyrus
Squanders a summer and the brawn of his heroes
To rebuke the horse-swallowing River Gyndes:
He split it into three hundred and sixty trickles
A girl could wade without wetting her shins.
Still, latter-day sages,
Smiling at this behavior, subjugating their enemies
Neatly, nicely, by disbelief or bridges,
Never grip, as the grandsires did, that devil who chuckles
From grain of the marrow and the river-bed grains.
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The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
***** unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?
He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…
“Why have I been tormented so?”
“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”
“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”
“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?
“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”
“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”
“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”
“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”
“Not great at math, language or art.”
“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”
“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my ugly feet and sullen heart,”
“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”
“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”
“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”
“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”
“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”
“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”
“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”
“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”
“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”
“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”
“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”
“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”
“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”
“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”
“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”
“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”
“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!” *
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Do not glance at the answers of your classmates.
I do not mean this in a strictly literal sense.
Do not glance at the answers of your classmates.
This is a reflection of Ego, the morality of a copier:
Seeking the easy way out; without personal gain.
Self-defeating in the truest sense of the term.
Those who concern themselves with the affairs of others
shall forever condemn themselves to a sort of cognitive hell.
Do not concern thyself with the lives of others;
you have thy own path to walk.
Those who seek overtly to alter the affairs of others
usually presume or at least condescend
and in the process of doing so
allow themselves to go astray.
Do not glance at the tests on your classmates desk;
what is worse: to know you are wrong, or to deny to yourself your ignorance?
Do not look unto others for answers for your problems
for they cannot know what battles you fight each day.
Look inwards for deeper understanding
for it is thy prism that is responsible for thy spectrum
which in turn is responsible for your perceptible reality.
The truest of teachers do not claim to be so,
the truest of scholars do not simply attend formal classes
the trust of sages claim not their wisdom,
the truest of wisdom seems paradoxical.
Look not unto thy peers for the standards to which to hold thyself.
If this seems to be selfish or self serving,
I wish to remind
Illusion is begun with "I"
and "I" is a temporary vessel.
Thy body knows thy path;
It is thy vessel; it has a compass.
Follow your passions while you still can.
Begin thy Magnum Opus.
Nothing else matters.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
I believe in a universe where a sleepy eye opens existence...
a slowly drooping eyelid ushers it away.
I believe in a universe where Indra and the other Gods
churn the cosmic milk...
where Shiva does the eternal dance.
I believe in a universe where light is separate from darkness
and mankind is molded from a ball of divine ****
a breath, Be and it is.
I believe in a universe where Gaia watches as Cronus
devours her children until she gives him a stone...
and hides Zeus away.
I believe in a universe that expands
from a singularity of infinitely dense potentiality
less than a speck,
to our cosmos immeasurable in scale.
I believe in a universe where Lao Tuz hands a guard
a little book of wisdom
before disappearing into the mountains
where the sages go.
I believe in a universe where Siddhartha contemplates emptiness
and feels the winds of eternity
whistling through his soul.
I believe in a universe where E=Mc2.
I believe in a universe where an old man lights the first holy fire
and describes the war between light and goodness
vs darkness and evil.
I believe in a universe where the earth and moon,
and all the planets go round the sun...
in a galaxy carrying us
dancing a waltz
we can only catch glimpses of.
I believe in a universe where "Know Thyself"
is revered as a deep truth.
I believe in a universe where
an unexamined life is not worth living.
I believe in a universe where the words of a carpenter
are a true path.
I believe in a universe where an illiterate man is commanded
Read!... a burning coal upon the lips.
I believe in a universe where every God and Goddess
exist, each in their own heaven...
each in their own hell.
I believe in a universe where there are no gods or goddesses
only the relentless laws of matter, energy and gravity.
I believe in a universe where everything is mathematics.
I believe in a universe where everything is holy
I believe in a universe where everything in profane.
I believe in a universe where everything is a simulation.
I believe in a universe where everything is ****** in nature.
I believe in a universe where everything is stimulation.
I believe in a universe where the hoochie *******
is what its all about.
I believe in the universe.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
"pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
""I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
"Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.' 0084
4.5k
before that,
we sat pinned
and winded
on steel hands
and plated masks
near the crimson
jade pools
by the killing fields
of bordeaux
we did not look
we could not look
our eyes blinded
and seared
by the charred remains
and shallow graves
the battered birch
and caliginous path
drifters and vagabonds
and kings of kings
held witness
to the pounding
and overkill
the blades
cauldrons
and burning sweet-grass
all brought forth by healers
rammers, sages
and holy front men
glance behind
(watching them sort
through the rubble
and *****
the blood flow
spilling its warmth
throughout the
festering scene
they pulled the stops out
on this one ~
those sweated woodlands
and churned meadows
now framed
by a burned
and broken cross
autumn like winds
begin to chill
(casting spells over ground cover)
night lights flicker
beyond
the fallen trees
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams--
Some vague Utopia--and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many a time I think to seek
One or the other out and speak
Of that old Georgian mansion, mix
pictures of the mind, recall
That table and the talk of youth,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
Dear shadows, now you know it all,
All the folly of a fight
With a common wrong or right.
The innocent and the beautiful.
Have no enemy but time;
Arise and bid me strike a match
And strike another till time catch;
Should the conflagration climb,
Run till all the sages know.
We the great gazebo built,
They convicted us of guilt;
Bid me strike a match and blow.
4.3k
1.
Eyes, eager fish, in deep Himalayan blue, splash and swim
the ultramarine sky of the mind, gets color coordinated, in resonance
wind from across the ranges, incessantly chant guttural "Öm"
gently spreads waves, that on ears, vibrate as music,divine
our feet get liberated from mind's control, the trek becomes us.
2.
Eyes now, turn swifts, fly to the valley extending to horizon,
teeming with flowers of every hue, profusion of orchids,
rolling white clouds above,create *tantric patterns
of grace, swirls, swoops,scoops, somersaults,the trek goes on.
3.
Melting ice, fits well on the conical brown mountain tops,
a white bodice, perfect cover for her lovely peaks,
angular mounts gleam in the limitless avalanche
of light, an impulse for benediction is palpable.
4.
Simple folks of village, on the way side
in flowing colorful dresses ***** tall poles
festoons of bright colors, joyous prayer flags flutter in wind
proclaims festive spirit, they vigorously wave.
5.
Now heart overwhelms, sings the paeans of
a sky that changes it's face from blue to white
and sometimes, a hue so bleak, deep gloom,
on red brown earth, sun light prances around.
6.
The grass bed then transforms quick,
mind drinks the dense benediction peace brings
that coils inside the soft blue waves, beating within and out
7.
Himalayan blue has taken us in to it's embrace
bird songs ring along the path of ancient sages,
who went in to the forest abode to contemplate, never returned,
became one with the hum of cosmos, they walk within us.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Though life should come
With all its marshalled honours, trump and drum,
To proffer you the captaincy of some
Resounding exploit, that shall fill
Man’s pulses with commemorative thrill,
And be a banner to far battle days
For truths unrisen upon untrod ways,
What would your answer be,
O heart once brave?
Seek otherwhere; for me,
I watch beside a grave.
Though to some shining festival of thought
The sages call you from steep citadel
Of bastioned argument, whose rampart gained
Yields the pure vision passionately sought,
In dreams known well,
But never yet in wakefulness attained,
How should you answer to their summons, save:
I watch beside a grave?
Though Beauty, from her fane within the soul
Of fire-tongued seers descending,
Or from the dream-lit temples of the past
With feet immortal wending,
Illuminate grief’s antre swart and vast
With half-veiled face that promises the whole
To him who holds her fast,
What answer could you give?
Sight of one face I crave,
One only while I live;
Woo elsewhere; for I watch beside a grave.
Though love of the one heart that loves you best,
A storm-tossed messenger,
Should beat its wings for shelter in your breast,
Where clung its last year’s nest,
The nest you built together and made fast
Lest envious winds should stir,
And winged each delicate thought to minister
With sweetness far-amassed
To the young dreams within—
What answer could it win?
The nest was whelmed in sorrow’s rising wave,
Nor could I reach one drowning dream to save;
I watch beside a grave.
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I've watched too late; the morn is near;
One look at God's broad silent sky!
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die!
Even while your glow is on the cheek,
And scarce the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone.
See where upon the horizon's brim,
Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars;
The waning moon, all pale and dim,
Goes up amid the eternal stars.
Late, in a flood of tender light,
She floated through the ethereal blue,
A softer sun, that shone all night
Upon the gathering beads of dew.
And still thou wanest, pallid moon!
The encroaching shadow grows apace;
Heaven's everlasting watchers soon
Shall see thee blotted from thy place.
Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!
Well may thy sad, expiring ray
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions fade away.
Shine thou for forms that once were bright,
For sages in the mind's eclipse,
For those whose words were spells of might,
But falter now on stammering lips!
In thy decaying beam there lies
Full many a grave on hill and plain,
Of those who closed their dying eyes
In grief that they had lived in vain.
Another night, and thou among
The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine,
All rayless in the glittering throng
Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.
Yet soon a new and tender light
From out thy darkened orb shall beam,
And broaden till it shines all night
On glistening dew and glimmering stream.
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1485
Love is done when Love’s begun,
Sages say,
But have Sages known?
Truth adjourn your Boon
Without Day.
3.4k
You weave your stories like the night,
stringing the moon with the stars;
the finest of pristine pearls,
threaded by twilight.
Weaving the finest Varanasi silk
with life as your celestial loom;
laying down gold- and silver-threaded brocade,
dormant gardens burst in bloom.
Your pen is the philosopher’s stone
turning lead hearts into gold;
manipulating structure in stunning stanzas,
inscribing on hearts in italics and bold.
Nodding in acquiescence
the sages of the ages,
will then add your magnum opus
to their papyraceous pages.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
born underwater a ****** to the birth of creation
complacent verses bathing in lakes wasted her patience
ocean poems emotive prose the notions grow
breast strokes sowed in silly string civilized sovereignty
divinity’s reliance divided by Earth’s dire needs
fires breathe regardless of the rain she breeds
seeds beneath the sand hold no reason to lie in wake
so we speak in foreign tongues with dominance a mistake
to take her language for another world
visions died with imminence and grandiosity
a coliseum’s misconstruction catalyzed combustion’s coldest counterculture
living within the wind sinning stings it’s singularity
glaring stares impaired all sages of their clarity
careful conscious turned rotten swimming in the toxins
glossy water robs apostles of oxygen
filtered riddles fiddled this conviction’s symmetry
& now the god’s live in ignorance and misery
crimson skies abysmal cries they’re looking at the ground
astounded to the loud doubts that overpower clouds
powdered optometry devoured flowers of their solitude
another rotten petal for every sentiment left misunderstood
confused prisoners gifted with the write to think
proles sentenced to wonder why the caged bird sings
a paradox of broken thoughts to question it’s intentions
matter undermined the undefined enlightenment
spirals in the light comprise a present tense
evanescent destination sensei keep I humble
so many stripes up in my wavelengths
widowed endorphins scrape the pain away
balanced chemically an efficacy of electricity
many marvel but the master’s prophecy is destiny
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Sometimes gold clings to the bone
And that's where she comes from
On chariots driven by drunken sages
She'll glide gracefully into existence
and then fade right back out of it
Id like to think shes playing a game with her own shadow
to see who's leading who
As the night rolls on
The glaciers will melt into puddles in our cups
The dust settles into a stool next to mine
And takes on a familiar shape
We both look at her in reserved amusement and snicker like young school boys under our drinks
One of us will end up in her bed tonight
Cheers to that old friend
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
"Begin to work with the Net of Light," they say, **"by thinking of a vast lighted fishing net spread over the earth and stretching into the distance, as far as your eyes can see. This is the great Net of Light that will support the earth and all life on this planet during the times of change that have come. The Net of Life covers the earth from above, it covers it from below, and it bisects the earth like a great grid-penetrating, holding, and touching everything. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth while the energies of yin and yang shift. And they will shift,"** the Grandmothers say; **"the change has already begun.
"Walk forward and take your place on the Net of Light. Somewhere where two of the strands come together forming an 'x' or a 't' is a place that will feel just right for you. Walk forward and take your place there. Here you can rest and allow the Net of Light to hold and support you while at the same time you support it.
"We have many times told you that the Net of Light is lit by the jewel of the heart. This is true,"** the Grandmothers say. **"Experience now as the radiant jewel of your own heart begins to open and broadcast its light along the strands of the Net. Every person who works with the Net of Light is linked in light with others who also work with it. Experience your union with people all over the glove who are now connected by the Net of Light. Some of them call it a Web of Light, some call it a lighted grid, some call it Indra's net, but whatever they call it, it is the same construct. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth steady during these times of change that are upon you.
"As you call on the Net and find your place on it,"** they say, **"think of receiving and sending light throughout this vast network. And as you think this thought, instantly your energy will follow it, and you will feel the Net of Light working in you and through you.
"Experience your union with us and with all those who work with us. There are thousands of you all over the earth. Also experience your union with the sacred and holy places on this planet and the sacred and holy beings that have come at this time to avert the catastrophe that looms over the earth-the great saints, sages and avatars that have come now and gladly give their lives in service. Experience your union also with those of good heart who seek the highest good for life on earth. Know and feel the power of this union and let your body experience this force of and for good.
"Once you have strongly felt this power, begin to cast the Net of Light to those who do not know about it. Cast wherever there is suffering on earth,"** the say, **"to human beings, to animals, to conditions of every kind, to all forms of life, and to Mother Earth herself. Cast also to people who are longing to serve, but have not yet found a way to access the Divine and as you cast the Net of Light, many who have until this moment been asleep to the fundamental connection we all share, will begin to awaken and feel the spark of divinity within themselves coming to life. Now ask the radiant Net of Light to hold all life in its embrace and know that each time you work like this, you are adding to the reach and power of the great Net.
"Cast the Net to all women and men everywhere,"** they say. "Cast to the leaders of this world to remind them that they are a precious part of the Net of Light that holds and supports life. Cast to the animal kingdom, asking that every animal receive what it most needs. Cast to the plant kingdom and to the mineral kingdom as well. Cast to everything that lives," the Grandmothers say, "and when you have done this, ask, 'May everyone in all the worlds be happy.'
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way
for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....
a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time
now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!
© 2019
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
"MIXED FEELING."
The saints
are always
crook: why.?
They have
none tolerance for ********* Yes
believe me
they don't,
even Christ
Jesus didn't. Nonetheless
though He
quoted "When your
right cheek
is slapped turn
the left side."
that's no ******** it's
what make
a Saint. But
He hesitated
not to chase the Merchandise
out the
Lord's temple.
********* are: like, sometimes where positivity is
anticipated finding negativity there
right is
the biggest
******** in the
whole wide
crazy world.
Full of
crazy thangz, crazy people living crazy lifestyle. Wide
life, out
the jungle,
homicides, massacre Wonder why we breathing, when
we living to
die. Or I'm
high? (Sigh)
when will the
world halt being ridiculously
crazy. Said
they he's
zany. Plagued
the sages
mad. However
sages are the
last hopes
to heal
the world.
Corona-virus
army, enemy
agent of segregation. What right have
you to black
me, who am
I to white
a brother. ?
When we
looked just
the same, being humanbeing.
How to become
human, Auth-positive thinking faculty, creativity,
optimism build only, nothang but
possibility. Innovation, inspiration,
motivation.
Here rode
time on the
road to glory
is there any future anywhere.? if
there ever is
a time for
everythang
le' me use
mine now. I
was told
the future
is now, I
wanna live
it unfolding
my pages
stepping the
stair cases,
roller coaster,
fortune searching
I
ride slow,
nonetheless
I gets heading
I should rush
not, yet
on steadily.
#C9_fm
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 5:08 PM UTC