there are so many places to hide,

in my home at 17th and South screaming death threats at my roommates laughing diabolically playing  videogames and Jeopardy cooking quinoa stretching canvas the dog going mad frothing lunging  spastic to get the monkeys or the wookies or whatever random commandments we issue forth  drunken while Schlock rampages the backdrop,

at my uncle's row house on 22nd and Wallace with my shoes off freezing skipping class to watch March  Madness unwrapping waxpaper hoagies grimacing with each sip of Cherrywine or creamsicle  soda reading chapters at my leisure,

in the stacks among fiberglass and eternal florescent lima-tiled and echo-prone red-eyed and white-faced  caked with asbestos and headphones exhuming ossified pages from layers of cosmic dust  presiding benevolent,

in University City disguised in nothing but a name infiltrating Penn club soccer getting caught after  scoring yet still invited to the pure ***** joy of hell and heaven house parties of ice luge jungle  juice kegstand coke politic networking,

at Drexel's nightlit astroturf with the Jamaicans rolling blunts on the sidelines playing soccer floating in  slo-mo through billows of purple till the early morning or basketball at Penn against goggle- eyed professors in kneepads and copious sweat,

in the shadow tunnels behind Franklin Field always late night loner overlooking rust belt rails abandoned  to an absent tempo till tomorrow never looking behind me in the fear that someone is there,

at Phillies Stadium on glorious summer Tuesdays for dollar dog night laden with algebra geometry and  physics purposely forgetting to apply ballistics to the majestic arc of a home run or in the frozen  subway steam selling F.U. T.O. t-shirts to Eagles fans gnashing when the Cowboys come to town,

at 17th and Sansom in the morning bounding from Little Pete's scrambled eggs toast and black coffee  studying in the Spring thinking All is Full of Love in my ears leaving fog pollen footprints on the  smoking cement blooming,

at the Shambhala Center with dharma lotus dripping from heels soaking rosewater insides thrumming to the  groan of meditation,

at the Art Museum Greco-fleshed and ponderous counting tourists running the Rocky steps staring into shoji screen tatame teahouses,

at the Lebanese place plunked boldly in Reading Terminal Market buying hummus bumping past the Polish  and Irish on my way to the Amish with their wheelwagons packed with pretzels and honey and  chocolate and tea,

at the motheaten thrift store on North Broad buried under sad accumulations of ramshackle clothing  clowning ridiculous in the dim squinting at coathangers through magnifying glasses and mudflat  leather hoping to salvage something insane,

in the brown catacombed warrens of gutted Subterranea trying unsuccessfully to ignore bearded medicine

men adorned with shaman shell necklaces hawking incense bootlegs and broken Zippos halting conversation to listen pensive to the displacement of air after each train hurtles by,

at 30th Street Station cathedral sitting dwarfed by columns Herculean in their ascent and golden light  thunderclap whirligig wings on high circling the luminous waiting sprawled nascent on stringwood pews,

at the Masonic Temple next to City Hall, pretending to be a tourist all the while hoping scouring for clues in the cryptic grand architect apocrypha to expose global conspiracies,

at the Trocadero Electric Factory TLA Khyber Unitarian Church dungeon breaking my neck to basso  perfecto glitch kick drums with a giant's foot stampeding breakbeat holographic mind-boggled  hole-in-the-skull intonations,

at the Medusa Lounge Tritone Bob and Barbara's Silk City et cetera with a pitcher a pounder of Pabst and a  shot of Jim Beam glowing in the dark at the foosball table disco ball bopstepping to hip hop and  jazz and accordions and piano and vinyl,

in gray Fishtown at Gino's recording rap holding pizza debates on the ethics of sampling anything by  David Axelrod rattling tambourines and smiles at the Russian shopgirl downstairs still chained to  soul record crackles of antiquity spiraling from windows above,

at Sam Doom's on 12th and Spring Garden crafting friendship in greenhouse egg crate foam closets  breaking to scrutinize cinema and celebrate Thanksgiving blessed by holy chef Kronick,

in the company of Emily all over or in Kohn's Antiques salvaging for consanguinity and quirky heirlooms  discussing mortality and cancer and celestial funk chord blues as a cosmological constant and  communism and Cuba over mango brown rice plantains baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,

in a Coca Cola truck riding shotgun hot as hell hungover below the raging Kensington El at 6 AM nodding soft to the teamsters' curses the snagglesouled destitute crawling forth poisoned from sheet-metal shanty cardboard box projects this is not desolate,

at the impound lot yet again accusing tow trucks of false pretext paying up sheepish swearing I'll have my  revenge,

in the afterhour streets practicing trashcan kung fu and cinder block shotput shouting sauvage operatic at  tattooed bike messenger tribesmen pitstopped at the food trucks,

in the embrace of those I don't love the names sometimes rush at me drowned and I pray to myself for  asylum,

in the ciphers I host always at least 8 emcee lyric clerics summoning elemental until every pore ruptures  and their eyes erupt furious forever the profound voice of dreadlocked Will still haunting stray  bullet shuffles six years later,

in the caldera of Center City with everyone craning our skulls skyward past the stepped skyscrapers  beaming ear-to-ear welcoming acid sun rain melting maddeningly to reconstitute as concrete  rubber steel glass glowing nymphs,

in Philadelphia where every angle is accounted for and every megawatt careers into every throbbing wall where  Art is a mirror universe for every event ever volleyed through the neurons of History,

in Philadelphia of so many places to hide I am altogether as a funnel cloud frenetic roiling imbuing every corner sanctum sanctorum with jackhammer electromagnetism quivering current realizing stupefied I have failed so utterly wonderful human for in seeking to hide I have found

in Philadelphia

I was a no name worker bee
Yet I had a million bees all working for me
I was a caryatid, house wife, never had the life of a queen
Stole my honey from the wasps with the wax in their wings

I was a comatose burn victim
I could hear the nurses whisper sanctum sanctorum!
They fed me nutrients and cleaned my ******
They either didn’t care or they didn’t think I could hear them

I was alive when the lightning struck
But I was dead by second, to survive my luck
I wasn’t anything special
I was a mass produced individual

They had no names worth knowing
They had no future where they were going
And I never thought twice about what I did
The quiet megalomania of a caryatid

And then my patience turned to rampage
I took a page from Genghis Khan
I wanted the roaches gone
I hatched suburban escape plans
Because my angst was delayed
A generation late & afraid

Now in the presence of the gods and goddesses
And in the confidence of infinite this is
Another power grab a singularity
Another force to fight reverse polarity

I’m all about the lust and not the wander
I am the lingering presence of a long goner
I’m here to clarify the **** of daughters
The spider stink in the breath of fire

If we could **** for utility instead of a performance to showcase our species’ ability
Then we’d be hunted by viruses
The gods and goddesses with the instinct to extinct humanity

Chaos is healthy, its part of reality, essential to symmetry, like night is to day
When life is weighed on a pendulum
Like sanctum sanctorum
The delicate faberge

There isn’t anything to bother with on top of the monolith
I’m shouting mantras from the mountain peak

There isn’t any time to practice with a modern creation myth
A lullaby in a language I don’t speak

Among thee, desperation paints
Sallow cheeks and shaking palms
In the temple in which every child
Consecrates a rebirthing, rejoicing Psalm
Are the steadfast oaths of ages past
Belittled with the present ecstatic gestures?
And upon mine, my chest is pounded
In lieu of papyrus padded scriptures

He walks, the offender, through the halls
While burnt offerings are singed with frankincense
And pulls the steeple’s steel bells
In ode to the sorrowful April shower’s Lent
And finally, the King sits upon his throne
Ad clerum, to the clergy, and nods with respect
When eyed, the child burns inside a dress
Whilst he forgot to genuflect

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming age
In which thine beloved empire crumbles
And the voice of fire breathes out like winter breath
In response to those insidious mumbles
In a world where the ox and *** are slain
For charity to make light of a bleary spring
While He still whispers in my conscience
Still exists their soul in everything

Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears

the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
                      pure consciousness.

"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.

1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's  knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having  sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together,  eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their  chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that  moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
                                                #@@#

‘He who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered’
                                                   - George Meredith
      
In the solemn silence of the cathedral
Close to the 'sanctum sanctorum'
Away from the din of the world
I sat in prayer for hours

In deep adoration as I sat with eyes closed
Envisioning Him at the inmost shrine of my heart
I sensed His living touch all over my body
The one without form lifted me in His arms

Like a child clinging to a caring father
I opened my heart before Him
Placed my life’s burdens at His feet
Asked for gifts my frail hands could hold!

Coming out, relieved and enriched
At the gate I was greeted by a beggar
Dressed in rags, his hair lying wildly matted
With sores in his body, he looked a piteous sight

In his outstretched hands was a begging bowl
His lips were pleading in silence
From my bounty, I gave him something
And saw the glitter in his hazy eyes

Can I ever discriminate him
When we both do the same thing
While he begs before me outside the shrine
I beg before the Lord inside the shrine!

I only imagine
In shapes and calculations
And measurable values
When I am healthy.

The system starts failing
When I start to idealize
The lack of numbers
The lack of words
And the lack of progress.

An optimistic brain can be more dangerous than the cynic.

When you stand tall
Looking beyond the clouds
Vast nothingness
Welcomes you
Lucky you have reached
Through the filters
Your soul set free
As it now soars above
Levitating among space
Filled with celestial truth
A higher resonance
Your frequency matches
With the similar wavelength
Burdened illusions down below
Here, truth has found safe haven
You enter the sanctum sanctorum
Privileged among hallowed souls
Charismatic, euphoric
At the benevolence of this place
Graffiti on the hearts
And hymns emanating from souls
A rhythm with the awareness
You flew beyond
Nothing, to hold you back

Kneeling, I cower
Seeing my merciless Lord
Looking down on me.

I sit, still surprised
At witnessing His greatness,
Oh so fortunate,

To be permitted
In the sanctum sanctorum
of His holiness.

My lips are eager,
But cautiously, taking in
The scent of His feet,

They plant tenderly,
On His wrinkled skin kisses,
Kisses more and more.

Losing my own self,
Forgetting the universe,
Immersed in worship,

My hands in fondness,
Move up His body of stone,
Wishing to please Him.

All fervent prayers
Are at last answered, when my
Deity shudders,

As my tongue reaches
The root of that blessed fountain
Which seeds all of life.

Happy aren't you, on what you see here,in  my humble garden?

Life isn't always a garden nice, for some never,one would think.

It would seem a field ravaged by the vagaries of nature,

Even if you try to keep it as the apple of your eye.

Crops get uprooted abruptly,field gets waterlogged,slushy,

Yet you find a far corner nice,clean and dry,a wonder, right?


Sit down there for a while and meditate on such,wonders,

That keep our boat afloat, during the times of uncontrolled floods,

I do that when I am elated, while feeling down and hapless as well.

This world, is created to be good and generates happiness for all.

That's what my dad taught me as we would play hard to get

There and attain goals,without hurting, the  others who compete.

"That" he would insist ,"is the spirit, to be nurtured always"

But then we changed,ideas are now different,we need to speak.

On taming our wild ways,by getting in to the lap of mother nature.

Resolving differences is  a step forward, bad Karmas  left behind,

Every moment of meditation,makes mind a still and clear lake!

"From darkness, lead me to light, I'll gladly share it with others!"

When the light enter in to the sanctum sanctorum of tranquil mind,

What more one would need, isn't living that experience  bliss?

Was alone until you were there;
You took my hand in yours,
And we walked the times—both vice and fair.
You left me with no words
To tell you how much I care
For you and love you no end.
Remember the times we spent
In each other’s *****,
With nothing betwixt us but love
In our sanctum sanctorum.
In me you remain, and shall sustain—
In a heart that loves you just and sane.
Remember me and, no doubt, I’ll be there
To bathe you in my love and care.

let us gather
blessed broken
people seated
closing ranks
around the table
over sounds and
smells of plenty
arm ourselves
with forks and
smiles and silence

let us pray
for those invited
those who come to
spite the invited
those who come in
spite of the invited

let us pour and
taste the wine of
kinship cultivated
vows kept and broken
words weighed and found
wanting seconds
pass the potatoes
let's eat
let
us
let us

Pennated souls conform themselves
By gesture unto the penitent crack of doom,
Truths sombrous tintinnabular dissolution
Like to it; crossing the rubicon
Entering the sanctum sanctorum of Mors.
The wraith gerant priest of the
Higher world weighing trammelled
Empty bottles with the funereal
Sword of Damocles, gilding
Thread and thrum eternities moribund lily.
The hollow glass of mortality
Destinies lake of fire;
First purging the dickens dead men,
Living creatures on the wrong tack
Tarred with the same brush
To an igneous second death
Pent to illume the myrtle charnel house
Of the devils bones.



ELEETE J MUIR

A sacred lotus emerges
from the navel, while you rest
on trembling waves. I am shedding
my leaves.

The knotty hole. Center
of the earth. A shell
breaks inaudibly in the churning ***.

The pledged promise was
deep. Pole's red aurorae stream
in new birth.

Was it necessary to take
an oath under the bo tree―
to become a sacred Buddha?

It *****. Fake or genuine?
I am searching the faces of whites,
browns and blacks. Who
wants to be buried in a nameless
grave of a soldier?

Walls of reinforced steel
reserve, packed high
with political ambitions
the steps leading up
into the night sky of diamonds,
for prayers from the pulpit of  doom
to those huddled below in the basement
chants and incense sticks
the temple stood imposing
upon every worshipers fear.

She was more than *****
as she danced snakes
gyrating to  the tax collections of
repentance. At night she coiled
around the sanctum sanctorum
of greed and faked ******* of deceit.

God gave -the  priest didn't!

Author Notes

Even if God gave the priest wouldn't?
Contemplation 11
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

No investment.
No skin off my nose.
- went back to Fool's day
- and then back to all in, free

No loss in time's eternity,
ended in the awesome knowing.

All trials in the ready past, ordo,

Seclorum Sanctorum Ordo, aside

ordinarily free visitor alien status,
-not allowed, they say, my status
holding no sway,
as a free spirit, they
no say, in the way things work here,
-crosswind to all good fortune

now was set to be long
before me, or thee,
verily
very mankindish, we may make do
imaginable causal agencies,
amen-emo-pet insurance
points in prepositioned order,
as we meander after looking out
past the creation of the sun,

some say, and may know, but we,
the common sensors on the planet,
amused and amusing others as well,

we are finishing a projected imagination,
the rites of spring, proposed as worthy
of our Fantasia evolution from Fool's Day,
through several saints days and processions,

all about the passions,
all appointed anointed salves
slick as any Bucky ball solutions
to the smooth, slave mind fear, hell,

set the captives free, break every yoke,
find the shibboleths and laugh at those,

not the accents ya'll'll use to abuse,
the speaker who stumbles …
tongue tied
while quoting Cretan poets.

You hide in the cascading crystal clear waters,

But O Almighty Lord!

I see you in their rapid flow and also in their abysmal depths....



You hide in the fresh, clean and invisible air and the balmy breezes,

But O Benevolent Lord!

I feel your gentle touch and also hear your soft whispers....



You hide in the majestic cosmos,

But O Omnipresent Lord!

I notice you in your limitless expanse or infinity....



You hide in the roaring, blazing and consuming fires,

But O Powerful Lord!

I see you residing in their resplendent and vibrant dancing flames...



You hide in our beautiful earth, our land, our homeland,

But O Omnipotent Lord!

I feel you in the ashes and dust of our venerated ancestors and the daring warriors and the brave soldiers resting therein...



You hide in the profoundly beautiful, colourful and ambrosial flowers,

But O Awesome Lord!

I find you in their myriad shapes and in their floral, oriental and woody fragrances....



You hide in the thick, dark, lofty, evergreen forests and foliage,

But O Quintessential Lord!

I sense your presence by inhaling your earthy scents and hearing your mysterious silence....



You hide in the snow, the mist and the dew,

But O Worthy Lord!

I find you visible in their ethereal beauty and chastity....



You hide in the fruits and grains and nuts,

But O Bountiful Lord!

I find you in my hunger and thirst....



You hide in all forms, animate or inanimate,

But O Omniscience Lord!

I discern you in the spirit and soul of all objects and creations....



You dwell in the enchanting celestial objects, the sun, the moon and the stars,

But O Everlasting Lord!

I detect you even in their endless motion, incandescence and forever changing appearance each day...



You hide in the temples and all the holy places

But O Comforter Lord!

I meet you there in the sanctum sanctorum of my pious mind...



You hide in the sacred scriptures, epics, chants and hymns,

But O Saviour Lord!

I figure you in piety, virtues, dharmas and the karmas....



You hide in my parents, children, friends, teachers, countrymen,

But O Compassionate Lord!

I revere you in their love, compassion, devotion and care....



You hide and huddle in my mortal body

But O Marvelous Lord!

I hear you in the melody of my heartbeats, rhythm of my pulsating blood, in the music of my successfully orchestrated life….



You hide inside my immortal soul,

But O Extremely Gracious Lord!

I seek you in my existence, prayers and faith....



You hide and I shall seek you anywhere and everywhere in total serenity....

But O Good Lord!

I shall forever remember and worship you and we both shall play this game of hide-and-seek till eternity....

(Composed by Preeti Pathak from India...
My link is... preetikandpalpathak.blogspot.com)

like bricks in a wall
we fall under the category of Filling the columns.

*like a cry from a mortal
who writes letters to get his words in place
so i send 'em through a time portal
as he lives in a different age,
making my piece immortal.
resuscitating minds in their conclusive days*/

the way to my sanctorum
filling the void, in place by the devastation caused by your ammunition.
a threat to the decorum(of the living world)
//all the universe's spheres combined
still wouldn't fit the diametre of the iris in my eyes\
when i see through you
see THROUGH your mask you
put on to remove the pollution
purifies the skin
and leaves you with
white and glowing
insecurities and commotion.

people flew with the notion
selling their psych in portions
if i would've bought it
then they would've called it
profit in oceans.
Every year you grew more insensitive
and called it promotion.
------------------------------------
through the strands of your hair
i see a clock
with each of its hands facing the opposite of one another
as dynamic as the hues of your face
but in the center.. have the same colour
a ***** of your nail in my back causes
the epiphany to rupture,
so either im too much into hating you
or half past the other.

There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.

The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.

Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.

what makes a ****, a ****
is the same thing that makes
a flower, a flower
it grows where its seed puts down roots
it blossoms
attracts pollinators
the blossom dies and reseeds itself
and the plant dies

what makes a fungus, a fungus
is the same thing that makes a ****, a ****
or a flower, a flower
the I Am That I Am
creates everything in equal measure
negates judgement of anything as
less than or more than
yet allows personal preferences

a garden has no preferences
is an equal opportunity sanctuary
and a playground for
babies and old folks alike
for animals, trees, grasses, and flowers
and is a seedbed of Love
because
only the naked innocent can live in
Sanctum Sanctorum


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

Inexplicable.
I run my own life, when
epicenter moves to periphery.

A drink of hemlock
from your purple― spotted eyes.
You want to squeeze the blue sky
in your chest.

Was I violating your
sanctum sanctorum, hidden
deep in crevices of ancient love?

Your voice was cracking up
hoarse, as I listened
in silence, concealing my
poem not to explode.

Wings become the tongue
flying off, like possessed
celebration of loosing
the glaze and becoming a naked mammal.

A cold-blooded laugh!

Here lies the endeth lesson
The believe ends
With the jejunellies stop when the lies
With the dandelions as we garrison the climb the steppe can climb
Here lies the free will lies within the girl
Sighs again
Here lies the pressing mead, measure mulling Axylon
Here we are on the stars and under the stars
Halcyon halo when london burns
You heart burns in London
I left my hands on her ken
I left my heads on her akin
Leaving the burning the stormy ******* women
The jealous ones can live their jealous lives
I wait for the doubts to come
Foolish boor said sanctum caitiff
Sanctorum can live for life on fir trees
I sang with the wild
I traced the wild
I touched the wild
To land on the stale sky
There lies the mon dieu sais je toujour aujour quest ce que sil vous avec pense ecriree
LA nous allons
Le fille de magnique
Le mille du pont connais pas
Francais pas non je pardon ne moi
I'm singing because my heart is silent
THe roses can turn blue
If my roses afternoon falls with the ashes
If my love fails pick at my hate, Teddy Bear
If my journey fails me, I need your silent stare and your wisdom
I feel high, kono kata de kai mono kono warui na
It's a bus, a bus that travels farther than the metro station 4th arrondisement
Howling wind, carry us in he moonlit spoon
I burn myself in a silent way when the weight becomes last
Orange bushes and red roses in the fir trees
Axylon and Pamphyllion
Greater than good lives serfs had found their freedom
Heading out into the world I had lost my love

I Will Never Know

Why do I feel I am
losing you amongst the stars.
Half-life went to straighten hierarchy.

Your face becomes a temple.
Lips were the steps to reach sanctum-
sanctorum in dark.

Light splits the heart
after incomplete hugs. What gifts
I give to you. Roses have dried up.

Staunchly the vanguard
Far flung is my beachhead
And only the sirens
Have sung of my weakness
And lonely horizons
As distant as memories
Unparalleled
In bestowing serenities
Woe and beholding
Idyllic illusion
All coming to ruin
As foolish delusion
Intrusion deep into
My psyche sanctorum
Fixated on finding
My place in the forum
Beside the belied
Circumscribed
Happenstance
But encounters as resonant
Subject to chance
And entranced
Unperturbed
Or intrigued
I’m romanced
Just as easy as wind
Finds its way through the world
Just as natural
As any boy
Talks to a girl

Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How
to take on the inevitable?

Will you leave my
hand? I asked the scented wind.
In sanctuary god takes turn.

You speak via eyes,
how to live in sanctum sanctorum
without dying?

Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How
to take on the incredible?

Will you leave my
hand? I asked the scented wind.
In sanctuary god takes turns.

You speak via eyes. How
to live in sanctum -sanctorum
without dying?