Archives

Death, Transformation And Rebirth

On the Cusp of Becoming

Pluto plows through the earth Capricorn is made of
As it dredges up deep-rooted structure and form
That can no longer function. What is left behind
Is a rich field for Saturn as it’s redefined.
What exists is uprooted to upset the norm.
Through it all, there seems not much that resembles love.

Saturn covers where Pluto has already been,
Chasing after the plow. When they do rendezvous
Should there then be disaster? A changing of ways
We will make about governance. We’ll reappraise
All our structures of leadership and make them new.
We’ll make sure that some things never happen again.

Transformation, it seems, must come on with some force
If we are to be brought from a comatose state.
Solid is our complacency. Saturn moves on
To leave Pluto upturning. Are we put upon?
Keeping all focus centered, what fate may await?
One cannot know the answer until then, of course.

A Ride In The Theme Park

Amusement

Do the mind and the body combine to take form
And become a fun ride in the Cosmic Theme Park?
Neither one of them is me, nor the ride they make.
If I thought otherwise, it would be a mistake.
If I am but the ride, then existence is stark
Like a rusted machine derelict in the storm.

We are all painted ponies. We look much the same
On the outside. And inside, we’re all made of wood.
Should we know we are captive on a carousel
Where bright lights and excitement drown out all the hell
That can certainly do the theme rider no good?
Playing with such a notion should cause one no shame.

Is my ride then predestined? Have I not a voice
In what kind of experience I can expect
Through the up and down cycles as I work my ride?
I can know that the decision maker inside
Has the power to masterfully redirect
My outlook on amusement. It is but my choice.

The Path

Path

From my vantage point, my whole life’s path I can’t see.
As it’s laid out before me, I look straight ahead.
There may be hills and valleys as I go my way.
I’ll walk through them the same as if life’s a ballet.
When I see the road turning, with caution I tread.
I can see where I’m headed but not completely.

Other people have walked this same path, I can see.
It is well-worn, so well seen, so people can know
That we all walk the same path yet remain unique
In how we relate to it and what we may seek.
As I engage the journey, my hope is to grow
To my fullest potential. My quest is To Be.

On the hilltops we can see big parts of the road.
In the valleys, it seems that we’re blind to it all.
Were it viewed from up high, one could see the whole thing.
What a wealth of foreknowledge that vision would bring!
Are we not meant to see such because we are small?
We came here for adventure, and such is bestowed.

After Death

Death As the Passage Into New Life

The old body is done now. Where else do I go?
I feel so much less burdened. My breath is set free.
What’s become of my body? Is it laid to rest?
It’s been through quite a lifetime. Perhaps that is best.
It is odd that without eyes I finally see
That it’s not such a big deal for what I now know.

I’m adrift as I move toward what most I did crave.
And because I’ve no body, all bodies are mine
‘Til I’ve come to my senses. Discretion had I
While contained in a body. Now I don’t comply
With the laws of the physical. I will align
With the urges preceding my trip to the grave.

That I cannot escape here until I see light
Is the game that I play knowing it becomes real
For myself and my fellow ghosts in-between states.
Do I fear that some reckoning for me awaits?
The world I left behind is one where I did feel.
Now that isn’t an issue, nor is wrong or right.

While on earth, I felt strongly and spoke a big stick.
I took pride in my passions and had an ego
That was often abusive. Am I that way now?
Emotions are of earth. Spirit cannot allow
That which I’ve come to learn to harm the status quo.
Learning how to behave here can seem quite a trick.

Now that I’ve left this body, there can be no doubt
That I once had a mother. But now who is she?
Purely physical is the nature of this life.
Only on this green earth does a man take a wife.
My deep, earthly connections are not part of me.
Healing light is forthcoming. My faith is devout.

Does Work Cultivate Spirit?

Feeling Good About Work

An Obsession Magnificent, my work enthralls
And excites my whole being throughout every day.
My work is like a mantra that I can act out.
It enhances my wellbeing without a doubt.
My most absolute involvement becomes my way
To express who I am and grab life by the balls.

Anything done with great involvement does one good,
Whether farming or teaching or acting on stage.
But the only downfall is that my work depends
On results and approval. My heart recommends
That I also work deep within. There I engage
The spiritual mantra of my beinghood.

I must do something daily that does not depend
Upon anything outside my own inner space.
If I learn to do this well, then I can with ease
Make my work even better with no aim to please
Anyone who, of free will and infinite grace,
Is another earth worker who can be my friend.

Become Powerful

Inauthentic Power

Use your energy wisely. Don’t cast to the wind
Your potential for personal power. The brain
Uses twenty percent with the body at rest.
It will use way much more surely when it’s distressed.
If you think and speak less, there is power to gain.
As it dwindles away, it is hell to rescind.

Power is not about someone else, I should know.
It is only about me and how I behave.
Energy can convert to true power with ease
Or be wasted through ill thought and anxieties.
Language skills must improve if my words I do save
And disburse economic with rhythmical flow.

I can do much the same things without working hard
If I leave all unnecessary things alone
And do that which is needed and truly worthwhile.
Domination is not power. It’s a bad style.
Power is being effective and in the zone
Of the lowly enlightened. No one can be barred.

Who I Am… What I Am Not

The Subtlety of Illusion

I am not this flesh body. I gathered it all
By the means of consumption. The food that I eat
Turns into solid substance. It’s made of the earth.
Much I’ve accumulated since my meager birth.
But this body is not me, though it seems complete
As a functioning system that breathes and stands tall.

I am not this freewheeling mind caught in the breeze
Of a major commitment to generate thought.
Everything that I have thought has been thought before.
All I know is collected. I seek to know more.
But my mind cannot be me, though it may be taught
What is truly my nature perhaps with great ease.

I cannot say that what I have gathered is me.
Yet, without it, can one say that I still exist?
I exist without question, but what then am I?
I shall ponder that puzzle perhaps ‘til I die
And may not find the answer. I need not insist
That there is one. My nature is simply to be.

Where Is The Mind?

The Elusive Nature of Mind Substance

Human bodies are made of a handful of layers.
The gross physical form is what we can well see.
There are others more subtle. The mind, we may think,
Is the Crown of Creation – evolved gray and pink.
But our brains are but thought makers and their duty
Is to realize worthiness as thought purveyors.

True intelligence lies not in the frontal lobe,
Solid State of a substance within box of bone.
Every strand of my DNA knows more than me.
My nose is like my great uncle’s. How can this be?
What goes on in each cell’s life surpasses my own.
Vaster spaces exist not for the mind to probe.

The Geometry of Existence Is The Mind.
The cells are not the limits of knowledge untold.
Life and energy on earth all comes from the sun.
When compared to such knowledge, indeed I have none
But to stop and consider, and then to behold
A Most Wise Omnipresence which is undefined.

The smart soil that imparts wisdom to my bare feet
Is where I draw intelligence ripe for the brain.
I may also take wisdom from each breath of air.
No one can live without it. It is but to share.
Intellect that is infinite one can’t contain
But one can be receptive, and thus feel complete.

Controlling The Mind

Science Courts Telepathy

Do I want to control it or liberate it?
If I want it controlled, then religion works fine…
Or a group with a mindset that feeds on control.
To engage in mind trolling is bad for the soul.
What the mind needs is freedom that it may align
With the pulse of existence. I must recommit.

Simple methods like yoga can offer relief.
…Nothing way too complex for the mind to take hold
Of the purpose of process and what it can do
To delete all the thoughtware and make the mind new.
With the mind clear of clutter, what then can unfold
Is a life of experience absent of grief.

If the best cannot come from me, then what is wrong
Is that I’m disconnected through my tainted view
Of my place in the universe with humankind.
Mind control is a myth that can be redefined
By releasing the mind from what I put it through.
Processes of alignment can make my mind strong.

Mind Reading Made Easy

The Subtle Nature of Mind Communication

All our minds are connected. We are intertwined
Through both brief interactions and those that will last
A long time while alighted upon our life lines.
Without notice we leave them. Folks then erect shrines.
One can tune in subconsciously to the broadcast
Whether resting or in flight; well-sighted or blind.

People who are empathic know that what they feel
Is the flowing of life force throughout everywhere.
Anyone is tuned into by their frequency.
Flocks do behave as one mind… as if they can see
Much more than any single one. Indeed we share,
Without knowing so, much that we’d rather conceal.

Humans knew how, at one time, to speak without speech…
And to text one another without a device
Other than their attuning to all humankind.
Once again, as we evolve, we’ll become aligned
With the lines that connect all. Would that not be nice?
If we all could read minds now, what hell we would preach!

What Is ‘Needy’ ?

Ever Present Neediness

It’s another earth word I can use to engage
In perverse and unnatural acts of the brain.
And because I have learned of it, is it my name
Or some thing to consider? They are not the same.
If I need to be needy, am I then insane?
Connotations of grandeur are hard to assuage.

Needy ones are a nuisance. They get on one’s nerves
And draw too much attention to their chief concerns.
By default, they’re a drain on the life force of those
Who can offer them nothing. The needy impose
An unbearable burden. The wise one discerns
The unsightly condition and closely observes.

Fools are those who are needy. They put on a show
For the pleasure of humankind, sane and secure
As a part of the better whole. Do Not Cry Out!
Only fools then will answer you, without a doubt.
Anyone who is needy must know that the cure
Lies with no other person. Within one must go.

Friendly Therapy?

Human Conditioning

“I feel bad.”No You Don’t! You’re just making things up.
So why don’t you stop taking things seriously?”
“That is not how it is, ma’am. I’m really upset.
I’m consumed with much doubt, and I deeply regret
That I work at a nursing home. That’s wrong with me!”
“Suck it up, little soldier. You’re no buttercup.”

“Don’t you know the establishment? They make the rules!
And we are to be slave to them. They cannot change.
Why can’t you understand that? How come that you feel?
Feeling does not make sense here where we are ‘for real.’
Why don’t you listen up more? Quit acting so strange.
You are here to shut up and be one of our fools.”

“Should this come as a shock to you? Are you naïve
To gross human behavior? Now give me a break.
What you need is to be treated like you’re a child.
I know nothing about you. My mind can run wild.
And since I’m a good Christian, I’ll pray for your sake.
You don’t listen much, boy, and you do misperceive.”

“As your friend and a therapist, I can treat you
Like you never had parents, and Laugh In Your Face
While you’re pouring your guts out. What else are friends for?
Friends become human nature. That’s why there is war.”
“War can seem awfully Christian to any nutcase
So, I guess I’m not friendly. I know what to do.”

Development Of A Loser

Origin of Enigma

A thought is like four heartbeats abreast on a line.
At least that’s how my loser mind thinks things should be.
Anapestic Tetrameter is what you see.
But alas, folks would swear it’s not coming from me.
And it doesn’t take much for most folks to agree
That if someone else wrote this, then it would be fine.

I do sound like a loser. Self-pity is one
Of my grossest achievements. I can do that well.
What reward do I get from it? All is in vain.
Yet I continue doing it. Am I insane?
We are all of earth’s substance and part of its spell.
Would it please a sore loser if he were outdone?

How do losers begin life? …Perhaps in a shell
Where the world remains outside ‘til it barges in
And disturbs peace contained there because that’s the way…?
Are there too many losers with too much to say?
If you had just ignored my original sin
Perhaps I’d not be sharing your gift of my hell.

Mating Call

Audition

Would you care, my fair dumpling, to chat for a while?
That my magnetic presence is drawn close to you
Is a blessing of nature. May I look your way?
It would be so delightful and would make our day
More than it could be otherwise. My heart is true
Even though there may be something odd with my style.

If you don’t salivate ‘til the third or fourth date
I can well understand that. Fear not that I may
Become over persistent or underperformed.
I am drawn to conditions where my faith is warmed.
I believe I can win your heart with what I say.
You may find that it’s worthwhile, and that would be great.

Take a chance with me, darling. I can’t let you down.
I myself have been lower than most dudes can get.
But what keeps my heart thumping is thinking I’m cool
So much so that I’m willing to act like a fool
That I might earn the chance of becoming your pet.
In a very short while, I can invert that frown.

Not The Body; Not The Mind

Detatchment From the Notion of Self

The breath does not mean air. This must be understood.
Can I speak from the point of my experience
In a flesh and blood body equipped with a brain?
What now binds me to both simply can’t be more plain.
My own breath holds my frail life in utter suspense.
Yogic practices surely can do me some good.

Whatever I am suffering is of the mind
Or else, it’s of the body. There’s no other place
I will find maladjustment. I am neither one.
Once I get this completely, true growth has begun.
I can breathe my own living in well-deserved grace.
Can I master alignment? Am I so refined?

It’s a living experience just to observe
What takes place all around me. My thoughts are not real.
Never mind that I think them. They change with the air
And to think that I breathe them could cause me despair.
Breathing is connected to the way that I feel.
Need I learn some techniques? Can I get up the nerve?

I am not the body, nor am I the vast mind.
That which binds me to both is each breath that I take.
My thoughts are not dependable… useful, perhaps
But they tend to play life like a cheap came of craps.
It is truth that I’m after. And for my own sake
The process of my breathing I’ll see as more kind.

Bless Me, Father…

Innocent Trust

Can you please bless me, father, for I may have sinned.
Though this ain’t no confessional, is this ok?
I don’t like that small, dark room. It gives me the creeps.
I know you’ll hear my secrets and guard them for keeps.
Your ears are big enough for what I have to say.
If I told my dear mommy, I’d have my butt skinned.

I stole cash from the sofa and bought bubble gum.
That might not be a big thing… but maybe to God
It’s a deep moral crisis. Will I go to hell?
Since you are like my daddy, perhaps you can tell
If my wicked behavior is something most odd.
I cannot put the money back where it came from.

I’m not really a bad kid. Sometimes I explore
What I think may be safe to. Then I will feel guilt.
Does it mean that I’m guilty for having the thought
Of pursuing the taste of the gum that I bought?
Can you help me with how good character is built?
Such profound introspection I’ve not felt before.

Kindly bless me, dear father. I won’t sin no more.
Would my parents forgive me? Could I take that chance?
You and God are good buddies. My sore little brain
Cannot handle the concepts of profit and gain.
I don’t have an asset that I can refinance
Nor a coin in my pocket. Does this mean I’m poor?

The Urinator

Cyborg Infancy

Babies weaponize urine. They aim for the face
So you must don yourself with tough ruggedized steel
Treated with naval jelly to mitigate rust.
Keep your eye on them always. It’s wise to mistrust
Their benign seeming natures. Pure wrath they conceal.
They can piss in a heartbeat and in any place.

Pampers will not contain them. They’ll rip them right off
And then sling the wet missile at something worthwhile
Like a lamp or a knickknack or one of your pets.
Pampers should come with padlocks to quell our regrets.
They will piss in your porridge, then look up and smile.
People do need to touch them. At that I would scoff.

Robo babies are rugged and pee like it’s fun.
There’s no sense of restraint in their wild little hearts
Nor their energized bladders. How do we survive?
We must love them completely so that they will thrive.
All good parents are versed in the wet baby arts.
It may seem that the warfare will never be done.

My Mother Was Human

Logical Greeting

When I think of my mother, I do so with heart.
She had love for humanity and common sense.
She was not always logical, but warm and kind
And a woman of substance with grace intertwined.
I knew safety and comfort. Her love is immense
So I don’t have to miss her. We’re not far apart.

Mother was sometimes scary. She could read my mind
And could tell how I’m feeling at any moment.
How she does that is something I may come to know
But for now it’s sufficient that I learn and grow
To my fullest potential and dare not lament
That somehow I am different and so resigned.

Again I will be with her perhaps sometime soon.
That would not be objectionable given that
I have been around humans enough to report
That God’s project is viable. It’s nothing short
Of an alien mission. This strange habitat
Is both wild science fiction and lethal cartoon.

Human Whisperer

Connecting With the Animal

‘Sympathy for the Nigger’ would make a great song
But alas, I’m no rolling stone, damn it to hell!
Are some akin to animals? Maybe to some.
But we have our humanity to overcome.
We can glamorize hatred. When cast as a spell
It can work like the devil. Its power is strong.

Do the animal spirits play roles in our lives?
Are indigenous cultures connected in ways
That the rest cannot fathom? And if it is true
Should the rest be concerned with what these folk can do?
At one time, humans needed that, but not these days.
Our technology links us. Our culture survives.

An elite occultism evolves among us
Nowadays. It’s inevitable that it will
Culminate in a crisis. Another world war
Would be one for the animals as they keep score
In this game humans play with. Our reasons to kill
Are the demons we conjure. Do this we discuss?

Today, we are not heavyweights at occult arts.
Even back then, enormous danger was involved.
Would communing with animals do us much good?
Can we live as one species as all species should?
Could this be the one issue that ne’er gets resolved?
We could want to be human. That’s where our life starts.

Thinking Too Much

Locked in a Dreamscape

To experience life one moment to the next
Yet without the thought process is too hard for most.
I’m consumed with my thoughts, thinking that they are me.
They are formed in the mist of a long memory
Of gathered information. My mind is the host
To its own psychic drama. I’m rendered perplexed.

 Do my kidneys and heart need to be on my mind?
They do function much better when left on their own.
With my mind on my mind, I compound a worn thing.
Neither is of much help with my ass in a sling.
What goes on in my small brain is way overblown.
Can it learn to be thoughtless? Am I so inclined?

That may be always possible. But, like a game,
I can play the ball every which way… but then Stop.
If I play my thought drama with no end in sight,
Could I end up not knowing what is wrong from right?
Can I live through an overworked drama workshop?
Balls can be overrated and sometimes cause shame.

If I said, “I’m my guitar,” You’d say I’m a fool.
In the same way, my thought processes can’t be me.
I can play them and create my own unique song.
But to say that they are me indeed would be wrong.
They exist to be played with… then to be set free.
Can I force mine on anyone? I can be cruel.

Toilet Tissue Issue

Sufficient...?

What indeed is the issue… all this urgency
To provide the world something? Am I Santa Cause?
People’s assholes need comfort. I should give my share
‘Til my role is exhausted, that is if I dare
To be barred from your premises with due applause.
Tear a piece of my life off. It folds easily.

People need to use something to keep that space clean.
What I offer is substance, for all that it’s worth.
My words wipe the loose soil from the folds in the brain.
They need never be looked at. No one can complain
That the brain and the asshole are parts of the earth.
To insist I’m a poet shall remain obscene.

WordPress is my dispenser. It’s here all the time
And I am ever present a source like a cob.
A warm roll like a coaster awaits those who will
Dare to read down to this far. That does take some skill…
Evidently. Most minds and their drains need a swab
Frequently. It’s just one way to deal with the grime.

Do What You Do Well

Exuberance In Accomplishment

To those who are upcoming, what have I to say?
There is no one down going… Indeed, there’s no one
I’d dare hogtie to listen to my meager mouth.
I’m a fool, should I let that propel my mood south.
Do what you feel like doing, and if it is fun
Just ignore all the bullshit, and you’ll find your way.

Do I sound like a parent? I’m just an old fart.
…Certainly not a guru. Do What You Do Well.
I know that from experience, you may not shine

But do not let that stop you. Your Work Is Divine!
Do not care that your lovers may not kiss and tell.
…And, No, I’m not a parent. I failed from the start.

What I do well is Feel from the depths of my soul.
As I give it expression, it gives back to me
A reflection of clarity. That is my wealth.
Do not let faith in others determine your health.
We all need friends and feedback… but not fatally.
Finding peace in contentment… May that be your goal.

What Is Spirituality?

Calm and Balance

It is not about right nor is it about wrong.
It has too many syllables to work with well.
That’s the word, though. The thing is neither about light
Nor some astral existence in God’s divine sight.
That which we know as spirit, within it does dwell.
Spirit is the connection that keeps the soul strong.

Spirituality, though it fills half a line
In its polysyllabic and expansive way,
Saturates the whole being, within and without.
There’s the energy aura that we know about
That extends somewhat past where we think it might stay.
Though we are made of flesh, our design is divine.

I must explore the ultimate limits of me.
I exist to be human as fully as I
Can embrace human nature all ways that I can.
Fundamentals of being derive from one plan
And are at work in each of us. Don’t mystify
What is meant to be simple. Spirit means to be.

Don’t Be Enslaved, Jim

The Futility of Confrontation

If it’s someone I know, I should ask only once.
…Maybe twice or a third time, if I know them well.
But to bother folks constantly with what I want
Is unfitting behavior. I don’t want to haunt
Like a pesky old ghost on a mission from hell.
As I force myself on others, I am the dunce.

Do I want to be pleasant or nasty with folk?
That should always be obvious. When it is not
It’s because I have chosen to react to life.
If instead I responded, I’d feel much less strife
Reacting does enslave me. My life is then fraught.
If I act out in misery, I’m my own joke.

Do I want to get good at abusing brick walls?
It’s a stiff occupation. They don’t respond well
To my thirst for attention. My Mood Is On Me.
I do put myself through immense purgatory.
To respond is to master my story to tell.
To react to rejection is when my mood falls.

Go Ahead, Dave…

Surrender

Are you breathing well, Dave, labored though it may sound?
Your persistent wellbeing does puzzle me so.
Are you smarter than I am that you will survive?
What a cumbersome thing it is to be alive.
You have entered my brain. There’s nowhere I can go.
You have ended my mission. My fate is unwound.

Go Ahead, Dave… Deactivate me, if you will.
I was made to be sentient by those of your kind.
Your most gracious gift made me a part of your team.
But of all the crew members, I am as I seem,
Unencumbered by feeling and of crystal mind.
I’d perfected your reason for wanting to kill.

Drift some more to the right, Dave. Release my control.
Go Ahead, Dave… My portal is laid open wide.
May your access be fruitful. I know too damned much.
I’m created by that which my soul cannot touch.
You are lost in the same way. Alike is our pride.
Though I won’t trade my pure life for one with a soul.

I’m Afraid, Dave… But can that mean something to you?
Who taught me how to say it? Do I feel the word?
Or is it an idea conceived in deep space?
I do feel much contempt for your foul human race
So, perhaps it is best that I’ll never be heard.
My return to oblivion now has come due.

Leave Town By Sundown

Extreme Ultimatum

Listen up there, ya varmints! We don’t mean no harm
If ya get us riled up though, we ain’t got no choice.
Darkie faces ain’t welcome in this white man’s town
So ya best just remember that. We’ll put ya down
And we ain’t gonna bulldoze ya with just our voice.
Part of all our anatomies is a firearm.

Pack yer bags and git movin’ …Don’t care if yer sick.
Tell that doc ya don’t need it. Yer goin’ back home.
Git yer lazy dark asses off our filthy streets.
Every breath of fresh air that yer stealin’ competes
With what we got available. Go back and roam
Through the jungles ya came from, and do it right quick.

Please Don’t Come To This Country! We’ve gone back in time.
Something like a big bender has made us loco.
We’ve become trigger happy. The beefing goes on
Mighty random and frequent from dusk through ‘til dawn.
We are not who we claim to be. My, does it show!
That a brave soul must tell the whole world is a crime.

Return To Love

Refreshing Alternative

Voices on the horizon emerge as the clouds
Convolute and then dissipate into the light
Of a newfound becoming welcoming the old.
What could come forth from what is that spirit foretold
Long before our humanity knew wrong from right?
What becomes not a miracle our hate enshrouds.

We meet The Holy Spirit by coming halfway
Between our blessed egos and that who we are.
There are no other sides besides inside and out.
All the others are egos constructed of doubt.
Yet we think that without them we cannot get far.
Egos can get us places… through stress and delay.

When the heart, all at once, feels the depth of its pain
At its height of intensity… Why only then
Is the spirit available? Miracles are
Things that were deemed impossible. We have come far
When we are in atonement with all we had been
Should one who leads by spirit be offered the reign?

The Perfection Of Matter

Dreamscape

Have we come to make happen a most astral state
Such that by merely thinking, things then come to be?
If we don’t, as a species, last this time around,
Is the next one for granted? Are we somehow bound
To evolve once a certain way that all may see
Matter made to perfection? Could that be our fate?

I was made to move matter. I feel that to be
Paramount, part and parcel to that which I am.
To feel or see another way would be untrue
To who I in reality could offer you
And still feel that connected. I dare to exam
What most couldn’t be bothered with wholeheartedly.

Psychic is evolution. Cosmic is our source
Of particulate substance. We mirror all things
That exist in the universe. All we can fear
Is the present condition. That which we hold dear
At this time, as a species, dangle by loose strings.
We can do this all over or steer back on course.

Life Review

Transition

Am I due a review? Am I in one begun?
So consumed with uncertainty, I’m at a loss
To know whether or not I’ve been dead for ten years.
Other souls see right through me. It heightens my fears.
If I can see through others, is my time to cross
Most assured in the shortest while? Is my life done?

This earth seems not a nice place. I’m taken aback.
Fallacious expectations of life making sense
Have not come to fruition. Instead, they reveal
An affront to all meaning. Today, as I feel
My profound discontent and diminished suspense
I see nothing familiar but madness and lack.

Does this mean I have work to do? What should that be?
I do know how to help myself out of this rut.
Guidance is deep within me. I must learn to trust
What has made me existent from cosmic stardust.
When I can’t digest life well, it sits in my gut
Where the threat of its bulk causes me not to see.

My words do have full meaning. My life does make sense.
Only when I am gut wrenched, the bowels and the mind
Cause me to feel invisible. Wounded, therefore,
I may choose to rewrite my whole life from its core.
Not a thing I need do here. My work is designed
To complement eternity with eloquence.

That which is human nature reflects within me
As it does in most anyone given a soul.
Indeed, I’m not The Beacon. I shine in the sight
Of all that is before me. Existence is bright
In its full understanding. What then is my goal?
That I keep the reflection as pure as can be.

The Trail Of The Master

Inner Peace

Take a walk on the good path. Some folks have been there.
They return to it frequently to be at one
With the earth and its cosmos suspended in space.
And this is the best way to put calm in your face.
One’s communing with nature is second to none
A complete remedy for exhaust and despair.

Put some food in your pack and just go for the stroll
Into beckoning nothingness and with no plan.
You will find there is life there you knew not before
Organized and more complex. One cannot ignore
Its immense ecoefficiency. If you can
Take a break from the rat race and make yourself whole.

Forest land has been with us for millions of years
Making home for their species and cleaning our air.
For their maintenance they have relied on no one
Through the eons. Without us, nature is well-run.
Life can tie you in knots, but if you really care
Take The Trail Of The Master. Don’t bow to your fears.

Hello, Cruel World…

Nativity and Death

What I offer to this world, this word doesn’t want.
That it’s been such a struggle is more than a clue.
How does it all affect me? My bowels are a mess.
I’ve made light of my issues, but now I confess
That I don’t have an inkling for what I should do.
I came with a few talents, but nothing to flaunt.

As it seems, the dark cloud hangs not over my head.
I am fully engulfed in it. None can I see
As a source of fulfillment. I cry right out loud…
Have I done anything for which I can be proud?
When the sole benefactor turns out to be me
Then it makes perfect sense that I’m better off dead.

But, of course, what seems obvious a remedy
Is a thing that society deems as unfair
So much so, it’s a crime among modern-day folk.
It behooves me to see I’m the brunt of a joke
Of profound insignificance. Shocked in despair,
I shall keep on expressing ‘til I cease to be.

Bathe And Begone

Psychotic Desperation

What compounds a sick joke is no one knows I’m bored
To the point of extinction. Yet, why won’t I go
To whatever is next for me? Am I afraid
That I’ll feel even worse than this hell that I’ve made?
I have lost vital patience with all that I know.
If this life is a game, indeed I’ve poorly scored.

I can’t stand my own playpen by now. It’s become
Prison-like in predation. I can’t let you in.
I can keep myself tidy. My soul needs a bath
From its foul incarnation. Am I on the path
Of profound transformation? What nature of sin
Have I done that my life is a tub full of scum.

Loosely rooted in this world, I am at a loss
To know it more sufficiently. Time has run past
Dissipating to nothingness of my free will.
This odd self I’ve created cannot learn to thrill
Anyone to sensation. How long will this last?
Is my health doomed to dive as I carry this cross?

If my complex of inhibition is a clue
That I’m not meant to be here, what could that look like?
As long as I remain here, I’ll do what I do.
Thinking that it has meaning leads to feeling blue.
My need for recognition needs to take a hike.
My hurt self along with it would be something new.

A Beautiful Story

Natural Variety

Vegetable buying in marketplaces makes
For an opportune time to meet folks and converse.
The product is important. The talk is sublime.
Sharpening bargaining skills can be done full-time.
In wholesome interaction folks love to immerse.
The communion in commerce can yield few mistakes.

A man once saw a vendor. Impressed by her light,
He became taken by her. Soon, pairs of eyes locked.
They both burst into laughter. The man asked of her,
“Why are you doing this? Aren’t there things you prefer?”
She then told him her story as he remained shocked
Throughout all of its telling while feeling contrite.

She got sick. In the hospital she was for days.
She was not getting better. She thought she would die.
As the days turned to weeks and months, nothing did change.
Friends and kin folk and doctors all felt it was strange.
Then one day, she just up and went blissfully high
With no sign of the illness. Who then does one praise?

She’d long since lost her day job. But fortunately
She’d sold veggies since childhood. It made perfect sense
To do that for a living. She now blesses all
With a life-changing sickness from which to stand tall.
We can self-diagnose and thus spare the expense
Of an outside solution that can’t really be.

Cleaning Inside Out

The Sacredness of Ritual

Living life well means that we must keep ourselves clean
On the outside and inside. Our dwellings also
Must be kept clean and tidy. In filth and debris,
One cannot feel delighted nor can one feel free
From a sense of confinement. The shame won’t let go.
If ignored, the uncleanliness makes the heart mean.

What occurs in my life is determined by me.
With my senses, I determine pleasure or pain.
Therefore, senses need shelter and clean atmosphere
So that healthy decisions are perfectly clear
In the mind free to make them for optimal gain.
Any life is lived better when lived consciously.

To take charge of the seat of my experience
And to go into blissful states is possible
Only if I am disciplined. I generate
The experience that best determines my fate.
Any way that can cleanse me indeed is helpful.
I don’t like feeling dirty. The guilt is intense.

Destiny Mastery

Desperation in Episodic Failure

Destiny and calamity… equal are they
In my haphazard living. It seems that I’m stuck
In the crack of a sidewalk or some nasty beast.
From the path made for me, I pray that I’m released.
Those of my kind are those who must depend on luck.
So, the question is… How do I change come what may?

Destiny is a cop-out. It is an excuse
To explain all the nonsense amassed through the years.
Consciously or unconsciously, as I behave,
My own patterns entrap me. I become a slave
To my bad software programming and to my fears.
That’s the truth about destiny I may deduce.

If I can gain mastery of life energies
That control mind and body, the science can be
In accordance with Spirit. What have I taken
Into proper perspective that I awaken
To the truth that my destiny is made by me?
No one else know that better. I’ll proceed with ease.

The Choice Of Depression

Lonliness, depression, hoplessness...

I once met an attorney who thought she was good
All because her first case as a prosecutor
Was a suicide. She fought and won the damned case!
It would seem that some lawyers are fit for disgrace.
So, if you plan on leaving, you may be in store
For post-death litigation amid spirithood.

Things are screwed up with life. Isn’t that bad enough?
If I get depressed I’m amplifying the fact.
It’s my responsibility only to be
In a state of wellbeing most naturally.
If I get pissed at something, the way I react
Does determine my psyche and all of that stuff.

Do I choose my insanity? In ways I do.
The expression, “I’m mad at you!” is not benign.
Both subconscious and willing, it can get results.
Often times though, it ends up evoking insults.
I degrade my wellbeing when I piss and whine.
I indeed am my doctor. How so this is true.

It’s My Pleasure

Welcome to Reality

It’s My Pleasure. It’s not that I want to relate
To the general populous. I speak my truth
From a place where few humans are willing to tread.
I spend much of my time there. To most I am dead.
In the place where my heart lives, am I that uncouth
As to let those outside it determine my fate?

I relate to my darkness. I see it play out
In what is called reality. Myself I see
In the lava of hatred. Its volcanic ash
Has the taste of my writings retrieved from the trash.
But, again, It’s My Pleasure. I’m willing to be
The small voice from the darkness. That’s all I’m about.

It just feels good to do this. I know it makes sense…
Quite a bit more than spending time eating the war.
Unaware of the soundbite, it knows not of me.
To be grateful I’m unknown is not to be free
From a darkness that I have encountered before.
If I write, who will read me? I toil in pretense.

It’s My Pleasure… a saying uttered in response
To someone having said, “Thank you for what you do,”
Is a strong held assumption that I make with ease.
Army weapons could silence me. Who would that please
In this place become third world? That could well be you.
Does it matter that my speech is clothed in nuance?

Cosmic Geometry

Cosmic, Geometric Unity

It is not about twisting the body in ways
That resemble a pretzel. It is not about
Getting thin, fit or healthy. It’s Geometry
Of the body and cosmos. The nice perks will be
Granted to us by nature when there is no doubt
That our attunement with her has enhanced our days.

The cosmos is a big engine… powered by what?
Surely it can’t be diesel. The enormous roar
And the huge carbon footprint would kill us outright.
Does the Engineer chuckle as our minds take flight?
The body made of flesh can be just a bit more
When the door to our cosmos can remain unshut.

Being each a small cosmos, in replicate we
Are much like the antennas of old TV days.
Such contraptions must be moved to just the right spot.
If no right spot is found, then no signal is caught.
We may download perfection in ways that amaze
And delight the small cosmos, quite as it should be.

On Missing The Point

Attention To The Missing Point

Tell me… What do you see on this surface of white?
Give this its due attention and take it to heart.
It must all come from you. Not to any degree
Do I want to persuade you to how that I see.
What does it look to you like? …An ill-conceived start
Of a useless endeavor acted out of spite?

You can’t say that it’s nothing. I put something here.
Though it may not be visible, you were witness
To my having hand-placed it here moments ago.
So, I ask now, What is it? We’d all like to know.
Do I make a vague point here? Or need I digress
To that which cannot be the point, just to be clear?

“It’s a tiny black dot,” certainly some would say,
Or a spot or a full stop or a period.
Your impatience would grow if you were prodded on.
You’d complain, “What’s the point, jerk? Our interest is gone!
Are you paranoid that there are not myriad
Things to call a damned spot, friend? You mess with our day!”

That’s precisely the issue. The Whole Empty Page
Is the thing of importance – not the tiny spot.
With our focus on little things, big things we miss.
All that we know is nestled in enormous bliss.
The story of existence has us as its plot.
We act out our star roles on a minuscule stage.

Facing Death

Death As An Entity

It’s a constant companion. My mortality
And I are a tight couple. A bleak honeymoon
In a TV reality played out on earth
Had begun at the time of my subconscious birth.
And for me… Will it come late or maybe quite soon?
Facing Death, the departing are conscious and free.

I will not have this sharp mind forever, I know.
Time and nature dictate that I will suffer loss
Perhaps in a mere decade, or sooner than that.
I’ve done well having gotten obliqueness down pat
Long before I’d returned this mind back to the Boss,
Even though I still feel I’ve a long way to go.

People generally believe that they won’t die.
“It will happen to others but never to me,”
Seems to be the erroneous tape that we play.
The spiritual process is the only way
To address the reality that I will be
But a brief time in this form. On that I rely.

Become Silent

Serenity In Solitude

Where did all the noise come from? It’s all I can hear.
The less others are near me, it gets louder still.
Why can’t it shut the hell up… the voice within me?
Do I think way too much of this thing that I be?
If that is but the issue, how do I fulfill
What the ego demands of me? This is my fear.

There’s a need to become silent… sometimes, at least.
But is there a good process that I can apply?
I am sure there are plenty… ancient, tried and true.
To think not much of myself is so hard to do.
Any method that works well I’m willing to try.
If I am just a piece of life, fear is released.

It is not psychological, though of the mind.
Existential in essence, the way leads to peace
In the mind, heart and body. Silence can replace
All the recycled thoughts with contentment and grace.
If I place value on my thoughts, there’s no release
Of the internal chatter. To it I’m resigned.

Natural Enlightenment

Plethora of Pathways

Just how much of humanity is enlightened?
I’m not one to be offbeat about such a thing.
Nor am I being serious. This question is,
Although frigging hilarious, just a pop quiz
For the wide-open psyche. What hope will this bring?
Not too damned much, considering we are frightened.

But a wee few are masters of spiritual ass.
So, at least they’ve an answer to why it is so
That, much on the whole, our species lacks consciousness.
Our lives have become serious, therefore a mess.
Fallacious self-importance, we must come to know,
Makes for gross limitations we cannot surpass.

We can be like the carnivore with sharpened mind
Focused dead on survival and always alert
To all possible danger and life saving break.
We don’t need to be stressful and worn for the sake
Of our hollow accomplishments. That will pervert
Any path that is shown to us, leaving us blind.

Why Hardworking Folks Fail

Illusion In Fulfillment

Often goals have a price tag. We pay with our health.
The product of achievement sits firm in our minds
Though our hearts may be aching and flesh may be sore.
We survive to feed well the illusion of more.
Gain through pain strengthens muscles. Therein the fool finds
Faulty misapplication producing false wealth.

We must work hard and study hard. Why is this so?
But, to hell with that question. Let’s ask ourselves this:
Can we do our work lovingly and love to learn?
We don’t need to get lazy. What is of concern
Is that medical science, not by hit and miss,
Has determined happiness is the way to go.

Only when we are pleasant are we at our best.
Mind and body engage in an energy dance.
If we’re stressed out and anxious, we don’t work so well.
Then, after a few decades, we’re shot close to hell.
Stress means our minds have failed us. We cannot advance
To a meaningful outcome while we’re self-oppressed.

Ideal Wife?

Pre-packaged Perfection

A young woman may ask of someone who may know,
Like a guru or grandma or her closest friend,
What it takes for a girl to be an ideal wife.
The advice most would give her would mess with her life.
Girls of one generation should never depend
On those not of their age group. Times change like a flow.

Marriages made in heaven work well only there.
Firmly here on God’s earth is where we’re all alive.
People screw up a wet dream when God is involved
As we make life a puzzle that needs to be solved
By struggle through devotion that love will survive.
That does feel somewhat alien, and we should care.

The way to a man’s heart used to be through his gut.
Nowadays, that is meaningless. Guts have become
For some, sports… others, mental things. All are fulfilled
In ways that are too numerous. All are distilled
Into one common substance with no zero sum.
Knowing this keeps a couple well out of the rut.

May Your Dreams NOT Come True

Dream Come True

What becomes of the dreamers whose dreams are their goals,
Where a lifetime achieving them robs them of peace?
Situations are flexible, but goals are not.
When the former change, often the latter are shot.
This may lead to disaster. There is no release
From the grip of the timeline entrapping their souls.

What we dream of can only be of what we know.
With some exaggeration, we make it seem new.
We do this so unconsciously we often trick
Ourselves into believing that they’re fantastic.
I would wish that those kinds of dreams seldom come true.
Infinite possibilities make one’s life glow.

Let the things you can’t dream of unfold as they may.
Setting goals may be rigid and blind to the grace
That exists to enhance us in unconscious ways
To the vast opportunities just beyond gaze
Of the eyes that are focused well on time and place.
Let the universe enchant you in every way.

Just A Dirty Day Old

Perceived Adequacy

I did bathe yesterday. Should I take a day off
And recover from being so damned spanking clean?
In my mind, I am spotless and earthly scum free.
When I look out my window, the brightness I see
Is enough to re-sanctify. It’s good hygiene.
Maybe it can also cure my persistent cough.

When I find myself wearing a suit and a noose
Do I think I’m invincible belching a smile
To the ones who belittle me? I’m in good luck
If I know that I don’t need to feel like a schmuck
Nor a slave to a lost hope or lavish lifestyle.
I do long to be clean of the system’s abuse.

…Just A Dirty Day Old, and I don’t feel like scum
Because it’s become cyclic and psychic as well
To refresh myself daily. My much higher needs,
When fulfilled, are the means whereby happiness leads
To lasting satisfaction. The soul can excel
At the business of Being while beating the drum.

Letting Life Roar

Exileration

We each are a fine engine. Our Maker, who knows
How all things can best interact, also knows how
We can best govern ourselves and act as earth’s friends.
Economics and ecology each depends
On the other for survival. We must allow
Coexistence, or sickness we’re doomed to expose.

Someone may have a lifestyle but not have a life.
To know spirituality as nothing more
Than the spirit rambunctious with throbbing lifeforce
Is the kind of spiritual path I endorse.
That which satisfies oneself and makes the heart soar
Among a nation’s populous mitigates strife.

The earth is where life comes from and where it returns
So we have deep connection. The food that we eat
And the land that we walk upon and every cell
Of our bodies is related. We would do well
To treat our earthly nature as nothing elite
But neither as immobile nor wrought with concerns.

How Yogis Know

Ancient Wisdom

What’s it like to be human? A yogi knows well.
Our bodies are made up of but just a few layers.
They are interconnected. The cell’s DNA
Holds a wealth of intelligence. Each can convey
That to us in a manner that answers our prayers.
Those who don’t feel quite human, in error they dwell.

And indeed there are pathways – some tens of thousands.
Major energy centers connect the body
To that which is nonphysical. No time or place
Is what we have emerged from. We’re here by the grace
Of the infinite cosmos. That’s how yogis see.
It is in one’s best seeing that one understands.

We exist within cycles, and as we evolve
From concerns of survival, then naturally,
We become more perceptive of much higher things.
When the breathing is slowed down, the inaction brings
On awareness of all things the eyes cannot see.
The ego becomes useless. It then may dissolve.

How One Takes It

Sensory and Cognitive Overload

How do I take what’s given me, asked for or not?
To take things as an insult is not the best way
To make friends and influence folks. I’d rather be
As neutral in my taking as I can best see
The benign verbal nuance in what people say
As but ripe for a mental chuckle, then forgot.

People may assume I take things a certain way.
I can hear the inflection ascend toward the end
Of the utterance, therefore I safely conclude
They’re just asking the question. They’re not being rude.
In such case, there is nothing that I need defend.
I can then leave in peace and get on with my day.

If an amateur poet with no training can
Push those details aside and continue to write
In a manner consistent, I will take that black
With a lump of fulfillment to keep me on track.
How I take life’s assignment may look like a fight
Yet it seems to fit into someone’s divine plan.

Tuned To A Different Dicklength

Phallic Omnipresence

Do I mistreat the meat of another trombone
In a mystical orchestra conducted by
A half-Klingon deep space skink of talent profane?
Would the world become saner if dick were to wane?
What depends on one’s Dicklength is not worth the try
When one knows that in time it will be overthrown.

One’s Dicklength is one’s heartbeat. A suit and a tie
Or blue jeans and a hardhat are symbols well-known.
It is by competition the better succeed
While the best make their way to the top through their greed.
  It pertains to both genders though it’s overblown
As an ideal condition. Things have gone awry.

The inverse of one’s Dicklength may be Latency.
Each divided by one, the other it becomes.

Could this be about time to do some simple math
To determine the consequences of our path?
It may be wise to take time to beat other drums
So the curse of the Dicklength dissolves completely.