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LD Goodwin Feb 2013
A soft snow fell today
burying the Fall,
causing the deer mice to scurry.
Darting, and dashing,
eluding Yoji,
Feline King.
Gone are the dizzy days of Summer,
here are the days of reflection.
Introspection that's Winter's job.
Judging me, preparing me,
"keep up Larry", the Winter says.
"Let us temper ourselves for another year."
My Parents are both 95 now,
95 Winters have they.
Of keeping up, they are Masters.
Planning each hour of the day,
quality time is all they have.
Resistance is futile.
So, like the Seasons, I must change.
Taking off the clothes of one,
understand to die with each breath is to live.
Vowing to accept the suchness,
welcoming the unique events in my life.
Xeroxed, I think not.
Yesteryears' regrets and tomorrow's fears are insane.
Zealous am I about this moment.
Harrogate, TN 2013
My first A to Z poem.  Inspired by my fellow poets here at HP.
Rob Tuck Nov 2014
this year, horse chestnut
leaves were first to fall
lime trees were the last
Onoma Dec 2013
By some Remove privy to self-preservation's
extras...to be, or not to be had...beached, I've
been...electromagnetically torn asunder!
Odd sounds do, and do come in and out...
a crackly chirp singing the foundations of worlds.
The melancholia of space junk stuck to a mind of
distance...hoards copious amounts of love-filled
forgetfulness.
Bye...bye...Buddha, in all your "suchness"...bye...
bye...letting go is the only Way.
Ideas usurp various limits
by the judicious art
of cross-application.
Onoma Jan 2015
Sunlight rushed on your talons
as receding seawater...
the sand quickened black...
fine tuning stars.
Over-majesty...horizon's
scream vowed to silence,
~High on Light~
your crazy outburst of flight.
Weighing on air--
blank with groundless view...
spirit-sifted.
Solitary to the degree of
divine feedback...
moment to motion....
motion to moment,
perfectly still and air born.
A pounding and liberating
heart thousands of
feet above...
for below.
Feathers refined by fires
too dear to see...
more akin to what experience
Knows of itself.
Entire languages contained
in mere words...
that seem to be unsaid
in the saying.
You're the White bedside
vigil of life to death.
The Narrow Way
narrowed to nonentity...
till nothing was in vain,
and such became Suchness.
Love's love of being gave
your being...
as simply and fully.
Ashes to ashes, you fell
from a wayward sky...
a wiry Cruciform trembled
beside you as if on a
projection screen.
Perhaps to symbolize
you could go on forever flying...
or close your eyes and go on
forever in the here and now.
You are the stuff of dreams...
as I Am...
I don't know what else to call
you, but Eagle-man...
may you sleep deeper
than sleep
upon a purple
cloud.


*Based on a being I saw in a dream years ago...I tried to
put the being's essence into words.
Part of this mind
is furiously angry
and part of this mind
is extremely kind
and this is a condition
which applies
to my whole family
and I have been struggling
to control the anger
by letting it be
and I have been practicing
to bring out the kindness
by being right here with us
so the dual nature
of the split mind

is non-existent
in this suchness
which doesn't have
to be silent,
only loving.
I stand in the shower with lavender fields in my chest

how do I scrape off the muck, scoop out the loathing
and take off the gloves to pick up the patches of fear
that periodically gather at the base of my shower drain  

how do I heal each limb so that with majesty
I awaken knowing
full and bright that I am a child with wings
and elevation is the right song that pours out when I dream
an inheritance marbled into my being’s skin
                              …
how does a child beget forgetting
how does an adult continue such forgetting

what is the suchness of wholeness
whose scent of remembrance seems mythically far
but its verity present within our plot

                              …
our hands reaching for the bunches of lavender
that can be gathered from a bountiful field
a calm whiff of what we truly are
that can send us back into an infinite space of fruitful life
cusping possibility
                            ...
portable pastures inside our homestead
running water
and a chance to be cleansed
what suchness of being over my body  
how ecstatic
how simple to stand under the showerhead 
on the toes of today
with a meadow in my chest
you are slow like daggers or
        cancer.

this is what it feels like to travel
on a discourse:

something about you metastasizes
in my mind whenever the silences
are no longer beautiful;

and just like that, I thumb a prayer
to the fallen obsidian,
this harbinger of marvelous calm.

sometimes all the rooms are white
and I am immersed deep into pallor –
when both our eyes do not meet,
I wring out a cockeyed miracle:

dragging the blood of the trees with me,
these bushy polyps,
   these benign volcanoes skin,
ashen and dull like a heart – these agonized
appurtenances, I gleam like light
   cut from the mirror and fade out
as my visibilities hide.

something in me smiles when you
are flattened out – cross-legged, interconnected
  unloose a star fettered somewhere deep where
hands cannot reach for the inside of a tomb.
  
  this suchness that when I feel your sensations
press their threats against my skin,
      you are a salutary squelch
in this pure-iron condition, or a heavy-earth machinery
   moving inside my marrow, that deep

  into death like a morning waist-high
with tears, walled in by requiems.
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2023
Our politics mostly ridiculous
Sadness seeping sad
Despite disabilities
Try to be a good dad

Poe's chronic despair
It doesn't work out right
Richmond. Baltimore.
El Dorado flight

       The Baudelaire Orphans!
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2023
Have to content myself
With the little and the small
Not much and such
It's a small world after all

Probably not going to find her
Won't be satisfied
Try to be a good dad
Mathematics pure applied

Poetry because I ...
San Francisco grey
Delicious won ton soup
Rainy night Taipei

San Diego Sandor Marai
Californ I A
Music on the fly
Soon the month of May

                the little way
Cliff Perkins Sep 2018
“Come over here” I said

She came
Laid herself upon my shoulder
And melted into me
As only she can do

For a long time
There were no words
No need for them
Just that powerful thrum
Like a lion’s purr

It held us there in silence
Like kids in awe of church

It assured my faithfulness
Without any need for promises
Or pledges or oaths

It will
As long as one of us can ask
“Come over here”
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2019
today again a Celtic story
       Cambridge gave me Taipei glory
                William James and his family before me …

                                         the multiverse
TS Garrett Aug 2017
Something viscous and of the Earth

rampant hydraulic and geometric

where...

ever the green neddles empire

cupped hand of salt and clay

where red is skin unwashed

where smoothed stones

come under scrutiny

of rainfall

burnished by atmos

tasting of remnant iron

back of the mouth adrenaline

fear where choking lives

beguiled feints of the (nearly)

..the almost

..the always

just out of reach

seductive...

by satiated tones hither

yet kissed to life abrupt

sputtered out from shoals

soft guarded places

padded in the low end

theory spun cobweb

tied by philosophy of moss

long stretched wisps of time

that curl as smoke meanders

to drink in the momentary

nooks where God is salve

woven to worship pause

tangled and braided just so…

to hug in the splendors

a ram with horns wide like horizons

and spirals under darkened eye

on recoil, on tiptoes

that beckon to ride without saddle

eating ego and back peddle

whole seasons by the mouthful

each blinked snug

and overshadowed by determination

dancing as singular sensations

serenity swimming river's bend

circles slipping outward

elliptic goldfish spinning

hypnosis beneath lotus

opposite ever ends of the prism

A coy wink of rhythm

sway and schism cast

flailing from a cyclical sun

suchness dissipating

with the touch of dusk

and surrendered to fog

unveiled de ja vu to wax

to fauna melting orange in the distance

beyond moon picturesque

as a resonant echo breathing

armored against the crow’s call

feather fall looming, changeling

Sisyphean song obelisk

songs and sirens that got away

at nineteen hertz and rising

from the bottom of the arched heart

leaves falling scattered, witnessed

to swaddle as hinges the seasons

as transcendence including

wreck's collection magic chasm

rising and riding a tidal twist

we are each and all the alchemists

that decide the sacred

feinting flourishes we entertain

where nostalgia shades it's crispness

where hope holds hands with memory

to sip the nectar from the nightly charades

in the details that kiss the bottom lips
I - the Devil
& she's the devil's fav. poem
that i rejoice throttling
deep down into
the suchness
of words with the
huma of love
& the pleasure of wot? -
written & rune 'pon the
parchment of HER world.
A woman is not just for bringing the pleasure to one's bed overnight but also for making someone's life full of love, peace & lights of delights. And a man with dignity often makes his woman his fav. poetry that she loves getting wrapped into.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2020
AN RUD A DÚRIT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20


"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmmthe sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.
The éan beag that told me all this against the wishes of the sky...was the drud or druideog...the common starling or as in the W.B. Yeats' poem THE STARE'S NEST. It liked to quote the lines to me in its own charming voice.

"We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty;"

And here was my little stare friend opening my mind out and turning the key.

When caught by the sky telling tales to humans the little fella tries to get out of it by telling the sky "I don't have any Irish at all!" but in Irish. Of course the sky although knowing everything didn't however know any Irish!


I was uncertain of the lines about uncertainty in the Yeats and was trying to remember the Callimachus about people not listening...how a mountain never listens to a sea. And David Cooke when he was staying with us was delighted to find some Greek that he both loved and could indeed read and I thought I bectcha David could tell me. But of course not having a David Cooke at hand I stumbled along in these lines and offered up the poem to him.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2021
AN RUD A DÚIRT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20

"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmm the sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.

*

The éan beag that told me all this against the wishes of the sky...was the drud or druideog...the common starling or as in the W.B. Yeats' poem THE STARE'S NEST.

It liked to quote the lines to me in its own charming voice.

"We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty;"

And here was my little stare friend opening my mind out and turning the key.

When caught by the sky telling tales to humans the little fella tries to get out of it by telling the sky "I don't have any Irish at all!" but in Irish. Of course the sky although knowing everything didn't however know any Irish!

I was uncertain of the lines about uncertainty in the Yeats and was trying to remember the Callimachus about people not listening...how a mountain never listens to a sea. And David Cooke when he was staying with us was delighted to find some Greek that he both loved and could indeed read and I thought I betcha David could tell me. But of course not having a David Cooke at hand I stumbled along in these lines and offered up the poem to him.
corbin sweeny May 2018
My dear old friend
is waiting for people
to bring her the pill, which will end her life.

She wants it to arrive
before the pain is too much
before the confusion cannot be laid to rest
before she loses her self along the way.

She did this life full up
her hands were always glowing
she did not take more wounds than she could carry
and she did not hide from those she had
and spend her days, as some of us might
standing three quarters in shadow
hoping to be whole again
by chance.

She held it all, once she was grown
in her long strong arms
and carried it full term
to the Big Table and
without a sideways glance or
a catch in her breath
she shared it all with everyone there
with everyone whose eye’s could see
with all the family from all our lives,
she shared and then felt better
to have touched as she was touched
as light knows itself, and rejoices.

This is the story. That is how it unfolded.
Now, what can be said?

I am so full, it’s leaking out
everyone here, everyone at the big table
we could never be more proud
of the person you are, and the person you
let yourself become
your willingness to be
and become whole
even when it looked like
everything might fall apart-
you’ve discovered the trick
that nothing is as simple
as it appears.

I will remember your smell
the suchness of you, in passing
and be sure as you can be
that I will know you again
in another time, another life
when you are fooling me
by being my child, this time
or maybe a happy dog I see
along the way

this is what the tricky ones do
as it is their heart at play
because they finally know that
they rejoice in living all the parts of this life
but they are not bound in fear by any.

Thank you for teaching me, and
being my friend.

In the distance, I can hear the bell calling
wake up wake up wake up
it has echoed near and far
always, throughout my life

I share this with you
as a clue on your journey
and I will loan you, if needed,
my old well worn night wings
you can jump up so high
and then break the illusion
ride the bell singing
way up to the breathing
the endless breath circling
high above this world

and the wings will drop away
because there is no thing such as falling
and there are no more edges
there is only the song
and the breathing
and  the song
and you
ZenOfferings Jan 2019
Karma is a friend
Not a judge or a jury --
More like a suchness...
Western culture, rooted in Judeo-Christian beliefs, lends a poor translation
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2021
The isolation is lifelong
We never seem to touch

Life is Suffering
The Buddha said as such

Suchness in the flowers
Suchness in the rice

I remember Michael Jackson
I remember Vincent Price

Thriller.  Very nice.
ZenOfferings Jun 2019
As sunbeams trickle
So too do the moments here
Spent in my suchness
Don't chicks do pig tails anymore? Honestly! Think about it. I'll prepare the bath, Whitney. Try being gay for a week. Everything backs up on you. It's like a ruptured urinary bladder resulting from prostatitis sintomas. I am like the rest. I'm as common as dirt. I love 'em and I leave 'em. I maintain all the qualities of a dog EXCEPT faithfulness. Ask my Hospice nurse. It's just like Easter all over again. If only I had the time for such suchness. Most of my days are spent in international conference rooms. For relaxation I supervise digs in my 45 diamond mines. Don't let my homosexy appearance fool you as I could tear your head off in one fell-swoop. It's a terrible responsibility that detracts from my homosexy lifestyle. My gang will demoralize com-pliant America with "the snake dance." Canada is ***-purpling icy frigid. Canada is colder than a well-digger's ***; colder than witch **** in a steel bra. Because Becky Lou, as he/she is known in Eastern Kentucky, is a double amputee with 12 toes. Sister Hillary is my pre-op brother. It's extraordinarily complex, more so than a quadruple mastectomy on Siamese twin midgets who share an enlarged gall bladder. Dad tried to smother him/her with a swimming-pool liner. With 6 teeth you're on your way. Call me Kitten because I sit in sand. It's probably a yeast infection. Have your veterinarian look you over. I've never felt more alive, more vibrant and more worthy of eternal, worshipful praise. Is it something queer, or Kosher, or dainty? I'm 6' 1" which isn't very, very tall. Really tall people suffer vascular (circulation) problems more often than the midgetized population. The way to honor ****** is not by goose-stepping. The way to honor Herr ****** is to remember the good things he championed like ridding the Father Land of undesirables, cheating death & killing stinking commies.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2020
stopped into a chapel
California dreaming

sitting solo silent
surreptitiously scheming

who and where and when
what will I be leaving?

I walk away and wait
growing, groaning, grieving
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2019
suchness, seeking, solitude
        long time passing
              unforgotten!
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2021
Today is the Buddha's birthday
Suchness, Shakyamuni

I've seen the monks in Bangkok
Kamakura too

The dharma has spread West
Sometimes a little loony

But when i walk the way
I meditate on you

              Europe and Asia
                      Not-two.

— The End —