"volitional" poems
Mornings,
The blessed shroud of sleep lifts,
Ones usesless limbs
Have filled in the nocturn hours with mercury,
Not swift Olympian Mercury,
But the toxic fluid metal
That nearly weighs the same as lead.
A new day,
A new day
Weighs in
Without volitional choice.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
Life ****** out of eyes
Throat burning exquisitely
From the volitional disgorging
Hit a new low
On this very day
Left the door standing ajar
And more demons of consumption trickled in
Swift rhythmic beating
Of a delicate heart
Hand on chest
Out of breath
Sliding into bed
To let it engulf me
I pray to fall into a deep torpor
It has been a rough decade.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Volitional Cageling,
Lightling
Amber agony of in prisming
Show me a way, then
from the baseless lines
from my binding fears
through the blinding menisci of my tears
Take me a way
from this tangle of yield,
from irresolution,
dewhipped web of timid hesitation...
How does one escape from
"rationalessness" How does one escape
from this cocoon of "here"
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Gentle rustle and
creak of bamboo
Far off soothing flute
and soft drum, gentle
mist caressing marsh
Barefoot monks pad
roads accepting simple
alms of curry, rice;
Blessings and incense
float on smooth air.
Sudden cacophony of
mynah explode the grove, a
steady chant bubbles under
the noise, some new symphony
of hunger below bloodshot sky.
Dogs militate exercise,
giving voice, cat slips in
knowing, paws daddy whiskers.
Hawking cough of the headman
announcing his non-demise-
neighbourly sighs.
Crab unburrows and scurries
aside from sand to lapping tide
to feast on volitional jelly who
come inshore to breed and die,
so many alien pearls strung
glistening along the strand.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 4:27 AM UTC
They move as lace
through the discarnate night;
Soft, volitional footsteps along disturbing corridors,
with outstretched
scalpel-esque appendages,
********* five, adjacent, stimulating patterns-
getting deeper-
Deeper.
And flashing their leer
of quivering needles.
Lullabying odiums to Johnny-leper;
Drinking his breath in the night.
O, for an exposed ripe?
Seeing only a diced-fraction of hell?
Will you not rest in the light?
Or wisp away in the rigid winds of reality?
The dawn is riding forward-
As the last tree in the forest falls with a whisper.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
#D Vanlandingham
*Boundless..
In its ability to extend beyond all forms of containment;
the big circle contains within it, the little one
And if it is true relationship through genuine volition of the beloved
that is to be desired most of all,
then spirit, wrapped in flesh is the autonomy most needed
in order for the dream to become true.
Spirit is being.
Spirit cloaked in flesh is being--
feeling its relationship with its own self.
Spirit, mastering its own flesh by reigning in its emotions along
with the synaptic-firing of every one of its nerve endings into full
submission of the spirit's own core nature, is the root-basis of all true volition.
Spirit, in its raw form is perfect-- wholly unable to undergo
corruption, or decay..
but the flesh..
the flesh,
Always needing to substantiate itself through its never-ending layers
of self-promotion apart from the realities of its own spirit's core.
Yet, pure Love--
wholly unable to see itself as that which is to be rejected,
enters in to the very act of the rejection, itself;
..that autonomy may continue to contain
the uncorrupted core--
and the smaller circle becomes established:
smaller.. yes.. but in truth,
its parameters self stretch all the way out
to those of the bigger one
And so, with the necessary advent of autonomy
into the relational equation, comes also
The necessary advent of God's wholly-volitional
self-depletion of God.. entering, in to it all
so that, in time, God(Love) alone might take the full brunt
of rejection's unjust hit--
in its autonomous movement away
from its own incorruptible core..
away, from its own true self.
So, follow the smaller circle, if you will, my beautiful--
either way, you are still following God.*
#
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 8:57 PM UTC
in a dead street
a cat owl bleeds
its mind effused
with images
of music
and the songs
that would alter
pocket thought
it hears the echo
of a buckled sculptor
a blue and chromed car
that loots its understanding
leaves it warped
while autonomous ideas
flow in prophetic vision
as it moves between
life and death
a volitional freedom
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Being slowly stripped
of obsessive compulsion,
unable to creature the habits of X--
its greater pains taken by
pains taken.
Volitional deductions, and
inferences...alibis and motives
scarring a madman's template.
Ram-shouldered entries
through paper thin doors, in response
to off color remarks on his meta-physique.
Isn't nature self-regulating, why shouldn't
it produce freaks of like control?
To assemble variables thereof, Warholian
assembly lines stockpiling non perishables
for unseen disasters.
To man, to woman the reins is a most
satisfying illusion...spurring on the tramping boisterousness.
We like formalities, dress rehearsals, the arteries
of maps...to run our fingers down,
nonplussed by their pulse.
We know that we don't know, today the weathermen
completely butchered the forecast, of this wouldbe
blizzard.
Time is already filtering their accountability.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC
#the forming of substance
Stephan W
(stepped out to get some air, and never came back..)
*It presses its face
against the inside of the glass-like globe,
It is vaporous, unformed; globule. It can
experience the moment.. but, formless--
it is unable to hold onto the knowledge
of that experience.
It is k n o wn by Glory-- referred to as; being
~
There is laughter in the newborn baby's sleep..
dreams- present-moment flashes--
of funnyface smears, left there-
on the outside of the globe by the angels;
Left only to a startled jump, and then tears--
the initial shock.. the aloneness of being born-
into the imperfect world of potentiality,
and into the new and as of yet unfamiliar feeling
of unmet needs.
The glass encased Perfection gives way into
the only true access into love--
found only in the movement towards volition,
as the crystalline-like glass
that once encased the spirit
is now traded for skin.
And so that which once experienced Glory
from within the protection of the glass sphere
now enters into the world of participation--
first, though- as an infant..
wholly dependent on those
who (hopefully) will give
who will nurture.
~ ~
Perfection gives way to incompleteness
made perfect again only through love--
Touch brings love right up to to the skin,
baby takes it in.. unconditionally,
yet, in a way
still pre- volitional-ly--
It is outside the globe, now-
and spirit is participating in its own needs;
the little baby cries.. no longer 'complete'
and protected within the sphere
Now wholly dependent on love and care-
from the outside.. taken in, solely
through the repetition of warmth
and the primal longing for its own gift--
that of volition.
Yes..
a small baby has now become
a little higher than the angels.*
#
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 8:22 PM UTC