bursting with the light of the Sun

There are moments when rhapsody
expands the heArt to bursting in a longing song
like the rays of the morning Sun.

... there are ecstasies lingering between these words,
feelings of connectivity rhapsodizes the spaces and longing,
that intimate language of the Heart, permeates therein ...

You feel the words like the warmth of the Sun
on your face making you pause --
a remembrance in the light
the longing song in the particle
hurtling through space to your face.

to look and look and look, and dare to see
from in the Heart so wonderfully,
that all the beauty we can embrace
comes from inside your original face ...

and if you let the Heart through
'tis only the good you'll do
and while looking up at the face of the sky
smile and you'll know why!

As above, so in you
the light, the warmth, the sky of blue
and in the darkest of the nights
the Stars that sparkle as they do...

I see the glint of light in your eye, inside each glint
is the spark come from the Heart of flame behind it ...
the mindful prayer flashing in a Loving look
from a Heart wide open ... bursting with the light of the Sun.

contrast too

I sit here
in miserable happiness
without but within
a wondrous mundaneness
of insensitive sensibilities
that rapture my containment ...

Language is a constraint
which Poetry suffers
by bleeding its meaning
from the cuts of its wonder!

the Heart is the organ of Awe making the mind to Wonder...

The Heart is the organ of Awe
making the mind to Wonder

Your imagery is well writ,
in your singular style and wit
and the flow it seems,
sings softly in these binary streams
and so the last stroph cries your insight
for all to realize!

The use of contrasts is Poetics form
it catches the unwary in that word duality
so the Zen of meaning lights through;
the sentiment is Lovely as well...

Truth is rare in words that stare
but arise inside as meaning,
better is the thought in beauty fair,
all in wonder dreaming ...

I stare at forever out from windows
inside and listen to the silence there,
my Heart aches with longing
and a childlike awe makes my mind to meaning ...

Our wordplay dances on the page
and our meaning becomes a dance for the reader ...

Eyes are always on with Writers
through all sorts of miseries and pains.
They tell their stories from whom they are
and from their Dreams of what if.
The `wait`station between one life chapter
and the next is often one of melencholic musings
and inner searching.

To Dream we need to rest
and to live we need to dream;
rest easy and Dream a new life ...

The Darkest night

In infinite darkness
an ancient ache cried out
from which came many tears

and so they became
lights in the firmament;
Stars in the night!

From Darkness comes light
and of the deeper,
allured to those Dreams

a loneliness is cast
to the edge of forever
in longing swells.

There is nothing left to burn
when infernal anguishes sputter;
the Stars are falling!

* * *

With Darkness comes light
from the longing of the night ...

We Poets echo each other like Souls writing as one,
between the watery Moon and the fiery Sun,
a Love ascends us to a mutual bliss,
in ecstasies longing where lips cannot kiss ...

You are a Starry light in this Firmament
to which I wish upon your glittering Star
for the writings and words like thee,
to bring forth happiness over misery ...

So too in the Darkest of the Nights
where you shepherd your suffering
and you swell with a Heart of Love,
Your tears are like the infinite nights
that were shed from up above!

Your tears are an instrument of Love,
as Stars are the tears of night!

Come Sing with me ...

Natures garment is a pliant organic layer of roiling change like a gossamer web of interlaced lights of Love and Joy; that is you and me ...

Change is the primary motivation of Nature, roiling with incessant urges to sparkle in a new way and for a brief instant become amazed at this Beautiful moment; yet She lingers not as She is vast and pregnant with Loves many children to come.

Nature does not differentiate, She proliferates diversity in a multifarious spontaneous Joy. Distinctions like race will always become revised and experimented with by Her, with Her goal and not ours, as the longing pressure to evolve.

Monoculture and homogeneity are dead ends and Nature is fractal in her motivations and experiments of which we as Human kind are only a part. She will design with various intelligent evolutionary perspectives as Her basis and the decision tree is always interconnected with ‘all that is'.

The ‘goal’ is part Art and Part Science and part Spirituality. Sometimes she produces amazing creatures whose only part to play is a brief flowering of Beauty, a temporary bliss like a sigh exhaled in proclamation of awe. At other times she creates Monsters to ravage complacent aspects to be recycled for future births.

She is plain and simple and in plain sight yet we do not see Her ‘nor revere her wondrous dance enough. She Loves when we respond in change with her organic symphony. Dancing in sympathetic vibration to Her Loving song of longing.

What does not Dance in change withers and rots, recycled, to feed all of Her newborn; it is a Loving spontaneously beautiful Dance like when the Heart and Mind are passionately fired in creative synchrony bursting with ideas and the joy to express them in Artistic majesties; this is you and I.

Colour or Race are only a part of Her palette of creativity. She will blend Dark and Light attributes to suit Her goals and we must parlay with Her veritable language of Love with tolerance for the various designs She has wrought. We can only understand Her when we become identical to Her, i.e., plain and simple in tune with Her song of change.

For example, I see a Poet as a way of being plain and simple, in tune with Nature; as one who 'speaks' with the Heart. Where his words are imbued with potential; acting as agents of change. He is a Mystic, making language a catalyst of creation. Singing a prayer with Heartfelt words, igniting Grace to action.

A Poet shows us the magical all that is; where Beauty echoes through all things, like Natures laughter in a flower. He is a Mystic in a communion with the 'Eternal Present' where no past ever compelled, nor future beckoned! They teach us that we are each a miracle; a song of Love, where sorrow and joy, laughter and tears, are lyrics and notes in an awesome symphony of Creation ... Her joyous song of change!

We are 'meaning makers', and choose thusly what is of value in our lives. We are 'Magicians' and can compel even 'creation' to move by our 'will'. But the 'Mystic', the Poet is plain and simple; Beauty and Truth are an organic 'Alchemical' treatise written on his 'Heart' with an 'elixir' of prayers revelling in 'Bliss', revealing Reality, the true 'Gold'. A joyous urge of Nature singing and dancing Her longing song of Love!

So, whom will you in Joy and Love become today!! She wants to see each and all of Her children Sing in Awe and Wonder. Do you hear Her? She is singing even now! I'm dancing ...

When I look into your eyes

When I look into your eyes ...
a lovely butterfly comes from a chrysalis of pain
to fly free with Soul again!

It is a mystery...
An ancient ache wells up into
a glint of the eye,
where the Soul speaks in silences
yet the Heart hears it true,
when I look at you!

oh, a moment of passing so lucidly
with all the feelings played out in it,
where such a look into your eye
could cause such a wordless cry.
This look of one Soul seeing each other
and in that seeing is an eternity of you and me ...

The Peace of infinite possibilities
and silence of timelessness ...
a flow and rhythm like the lapping little waves
of a calm lake onto the beach
under the monotone Moonlight
casting shadows on the shore ...
a lightness in the dark
taking us gently through the night ...

Sweet memories from which we've come,
so far under Moon and under Sun.
We see farther because of our Soul inside,
with tears and laughter from which we spring,
all our smiles come alive again
when eyes are glittering from way back then.

An ecstatic surrender towards this destiny,
with all ones Heart listening to the language of the Soul
in silence drawn to that Loving goal ...

I see it in your eyes!

snow flake

A fractal crystal of watery light
holding the presence of a Star,
oh how wonderful you are!
Oh, snowy flake from above,
you crystallize light with Love ...

oh such a tale told with stillnesses,
of floating whispers each snowy flake,
and the stillness lingers with unanswered silence ...

... a fractal echo of creation
with all the glassic glimmering of a Star,
oh how wondrous is this watery crystal
with a ray of light,
that swathes the world with holy white ...

A light of warmth the Sun comes Spring!

Melting a spontaneous overflowing of words
wept from the heart in a wondrous tale
of wordy meanings and flowed
like a rivulet to a binary sea
where Poets are floating merrily ...

We Poets write with a Magical Pen
that pours plasmic light,
again and again,
and with that light flowing into our eyes
fills our minds with joyous surmise ...

the Triumph of the Pen

oh winging Heart on a mission
to the edge of forever,
speed to the beloved with a message of Love.

We look in a different way,
with the Heart do we see,
and in that wondrous seeing,
is the feeling of awes majesty!

Yeah, that's the way to overcome
the 'thought police' inside our head;
doubt is the Heart killer
and so with this pen,
we’ll write our Hearts out again and again,
and if they judge the words we say,
to dash our Dreams in any way,
then we'll write even more to soothe the Soul
for the writing life is our Loving goal!

This triumph of Love carried to our pen
where in our written words Love lives again ...

A writer writes and never stops writing
and rewrites and writes again and again ...
and he never stops writing except to Dream,
perhaps to reach for that Star in that Star crowded Sky
and bring that Star to the end of his Pen
and write like plasma all over again ...

Looking at the Moon

She sends her longing Love out the window to forever,
with tears of fire rolling down her flushing cheeks,
She sighs a hundred sighs of loneliness and wanting.

Oh, to be unified with wholesome feelings;
the World is longing through her Heart,
to get back to where she has come.
She is her Mothers daughter
and her Father is the regal Sun!

Oh, of warmth and sweetness by the fire,
eventide dissembles all to monotone light,
where Moon and whispers are the way,
oh Baby Baby won't you stay!!!

Hold me tighter against this wrath unkind,
that whimsical nature of my doubting mind,
and if by night you hear me peep,
kiss my brow so that I may sleep.

Rhapsodically Orange Courage

To write of conflict and pain of which again and again
we seem to fall into that separation fear,
to unrighteous desire, that hell we chase
to become one in that fire ...
for if by Love we cannot be, then we fall together wretchedly.

This wretchedness is a waste of time and energy!
It is the unquenchable desire of addiction;
the gateway to many hells ...

These images are links to the Dream realization
of 'interconnectedness' we all share in the fantasia of Soul,
it’s a soft and waiting Heart that’s the real goal ...

A beautiful ending to a wretchedness of this hell of the mind,
that the Heart can speak in silences and help me unwind,
and what is spoken there is so very sweet,
even in the bleakest night my Soul I can meet ...

We Dream of Poetry these longing nights,
and she visits in silken whispers and rhythms of the sea,
Rhapsodically Orange Courage like paintings of music are we ...

Maker of Dreams

A-Muse-singing in trickles of words
to prime the pump of a torrent of meanings --
grasping at each one roiling into another
like Loves children to come in mutations of mercy
and endearing us to the charms of knowing
like a twirling Galaxy knows the humble dust
from which it’s many glittering Suns arise!

Wondrous is the time of diminishing
where we murmur lost in highlighted
memories meandering foolishly in lost time.
We thrive when dancing with our youth
who need our cautious wisdom
as we need their brave new world --
together our Hearts are ageless in wondrous awe!

Humility and homage put together in a comely way,
a celebration of finding Humanity in the midst of dire miseries.

A Brave New World comes of bits and pieces of the old;
you are the expected ones who shall break down
the Icons of excess and old world prejudices
to create the new, that's what we do!

I like Roses because they are Beautiful
and yet can protect themselves with thorns.
Their smell has properties that open up brain centers
and create feelings of Love; releases the hormone serotonin
which is a "monoamine neurotransmitter"
that aids in memory recollection and feelings of thriving!

         It speaks true of Loves light
that the giver is the maker of Dreams in the night!

Love's promise of lightening the load
and seeing one through to the other side of misery
with loyal equanimity and sweetness of Soul!
That is humanities lofty goal!

Pattern Recognition

Every so often a pattern emerges that seems to break through the seeming boundaries of perception and understanding; Nature provides a nexus of connections so these patterns become extraordinary yet plain and simple.

Sometimes we call this 'pattern recognition' by different names. Deja Vu, coincidence, group mind phenomenon, meme’s, and the Akashic records. The negative has also been stated within the writing communities and especially the Academic halls of power, i.e., plagiarism, stealing one's ideas and copying another works. Intellectual Property rights is based on this idea.

I've been an avid reviewer here at Writers Cafe and have noticed various themes emerge which can be seen from either a positive or negative viewpoint concerning their 'originality' and hence veracity. As such arguments of various sorts have erupted which leave the parties involved exasperated and sullen.

While there is all out 'copying' that does happen from time to time more often then not it is just a thematic process that is occurring that is unprovocative and interesting if you really think about it.

Ken Keyes Jr. wrote an interesting short story called the 'Hundredth Monkey' based on research in Japan. Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters often referred to this as did Dr. Timothy Leary whom I had the opportunity to meet. The Great Cosmic Coincidence Center!

"There is a point at which if only one more person tunes-in to a new awareness, a field is strengthened so that this awareness is picked up by almost everyone!"


This underscores the flexibility and plasticity of the mind and the inter-connectivity we really have with each other in consciousness.

What really is interesting in light of the newfound theories of Quantum Mechanics and the Higg's/Boson is that everything is 'created' from consciousness and choice.

Will under Love is the proven best Agent of Change in our personal lives and in our World is the same process. All it takes is the ‘courage’ (with Heart) to change with Joy and Love at the base of this change.

When enough of us have gone through this process everything begins to change and it begins with you!

You may be the ‘Tipping Point’ to the great evolutionary leap that is now needed in this world.

Are you ready?

engrams of mentation

Every word is articulated and
recycled from vast philosophies
or the imminent need to declare

that thing out there, or better
the feeling expressed in 'I care!'
A loom of words in dendrites

flash to neuronal fires of
understanding and a smile now
lingers upon your face -- grace!

Everything has been thought of
before and indeed comes over
again in reflections unending.

Like bubbles upon the river
to forever on to a sea of
reveries roiling in meaning.

Perception is often filtered
by our engrams of mentation
and as such delivers events to

our brain as memories instead
of activities in reality -- thinking!
Articulate reality perception is

a raw unadulterated interface
with all that is -- being!
the bliss of NO:W:HERE,

I'll meet you there ...

A comet in our sky

May you rise

A Heart of Love knows not to compare
'nor differentiates in any way,
as Love is as Love does
making only Love every day.

With wonder and with cosmic awe,
thus we write with such a pen,
jammed into the vibration,
and write again and again,
of what our muse does sing,
that bliss is much more then fame can ever bring.

Thus these words are writ not for ourselves, 'nor wit,
but to venerate every single one.
Our words shine like light from a heavenly Sun,
or like the Moon beam that comes at night
to kiss their eyes filled with tears,
and by this kiss remove their fears.

In the language of astronomy,
the two ends of the Moon's elliptical orbit
are called "apogee" and "perigee."
The fullish Moon at perigee
makes the tides to rise!
Thus the Poet sings for all to realize!

With the Truth that shines on in his Heart,
he knows not right 'nor wrong!
He only chooses from Love to which we all belong
and not with dead forms and rituals,
that wounded reason may claim,
but with a living Heart which can never blame!

A revolution of the sort,
with Heart and Soul the meaning,
this is a noble goal!
May you rise to that protectorate
of those who are cut off from light
and lost in unscrupulous darkness;
rise up with your banner of Truth and Heart,
rise up and raise each and all with your noble Art!

the sweetest gift

Lovers are by night and day,
they travel in silken weaves,
teardrops when they cannot stay,
dreams of future meetings on sandy beaches
and not once do they doubt their loving
as there is no thought of this,
yeah, they are lost in the kiss ...

... to kiss the beloved with the same kiss
the beloved kisses me,
to be the beloved as one inside,
this then is a Love in which to abide...

by these tears,
all recycled and come of the Universe and Sun,
flowed and overflowed back to thee
as cleansing the fears after all these years,
and yesterdays gone to tomorrows sweeter song,
and tears now are joy and overflowed in Love ...

yet by doubt we are undone,
that you differ from me,
though in the Heart we are as one,
which cannot take advantage of me ...

... the mystery of longing in the night
where swathed in monotonal light
we as if swoon
to that mystical orb of Moon ...

... it shows in your eyes how bright shines your flame,
and by this gift inspired, gives the light again and again…

the sweetest gift,
to give and give
and by that Love,
give again when old and gray,
that it is the Love that remains today...

Sometimes the Goddess comes
when my Heart is afire
and gently touches her lips upon my own,
a longing sigh escapes as she departs in mystery,
she cannot stay, but with my heart has flown ...

for the wounded man

The plaint of the wounded Man
who was protector of Nature and her course,
but ran to the tree of knowing that is reasons curse,
he left with arrogant pride the path of Love,
to look below instead of up above ...

... a walk into the depth and breadth of life,
his Heart aspired and came to see,
the magic, so fleetingly
we all pass by, we all pass by ...
he has the gift/curse to see it all
with eyes wide open reflecting all the world;
to look and look and look and dare to see
what passes by so fleetingly ...

the change of Heart that gives him birth anew,
where all his sorrows and pains are wrapped in honey dew,
so now he walks with kindness stirred in every step he takes,
to realize that all the Love he gave is all that he ever makes

we are only passing by and fragile in our way,
that he will not come again we do not have a say,
between the Sun and the nightly Moon,
he walks this seminal path and by this cosmic cycle is held fast ...

by reason crooked, we are shallow men,
by that doubting path we fall to sin,
for sin is the crooked way
where we detour from gracious Love,
and we look below for what is up above,
and in this hell we wretched stay, for all of eternity!

Where Love takes us ...

Now I write with fullness and Heart
where want and want not, are gone,
'tis not my way to flaunt affections
'nor by this become undone ...

So we to write with all that comes of Love and awareness full,
by this inner sight our minds are never dull.
Love is the current and stream within that flows from our eager Heart,
so to pen our feelings and thought is where we have to start.
Love is round and reason crooked, a doubting path alas,
for by what reason kills our Hearts have found,
a Love that ever was...

It's so easy when we bloom inside the Heart with wonder,
for doubt is but a thought we can change,
when we look within and ponder.
First believe in nothing, then I say, belief is unnecessary in a way,
as Love is the jewel, the wish fulfilling gem,
by this feat we come to Love again and again …

Where Love takes us, a journey,
a spiral, often feelings are circular instead ...
your flowing words are making as if to speed towards
the falls and the whitewater crashing there are making rainbows in that mist.

... a wake up call and a beat with Heart,
to fearless compassion and doing your part ...

Time is a wounded reason
by which we are assailed with a thousand cuts of hurry and desperation.
When broken we fall into the mud and look there
as if for the first time and all is as one
where Peace that timeless affair has come!

So too with Love we've circled
all our lives to affection and desire
when doubt killed that gentle stirring.
We made our hearts to burn with strife
with shackles we built into our life.
… doubt is the Heart killer…

... a smallish voice, a gentle stirring,
inside our Heart does cry, that witless reason,
casts the doubt from which we dare not try,
to Love again as whole with courage,
and knowing not this wound, the vanity of reason recurring,
another doubt is found, so dare to Love and dare to change
the mind is ill from pain, take the high road and take full measure
and Love will come again ...

We break to accomplish many more aches,
to wonder and awe we move
that by this we come again and again,
to unreasonable Love ...

the grind of weighty shallowness,
we all fall there when materiality is all our care,
but to shine on a Heart of wonder,
and sing sweet songs,
demands we dive deep into uncharted territories,
there are no maps for the places of the Heart!

We are all a small part of eternity ...

We are all a small part of eternity,
yet of the greater are we made
by the same stuff as a Galaxy.
We can produce Stars and Planets
inside you and me ...

We make our monsters under the bed,
and we make our fears inside our head,
so when we stop all this make believe,
we wake to Peace and no more dread!

... when the mind is drawn to dark
and our body aches with grief,
we go within and seek the soul
'tis there we find relief ...

... soul gives insight into all we can apprise
if we but realize!

From this great nothing,
gazed from an inner dream,
came this world where all only seems.
There you were and I came too,
it was the end and the beginning anew ...

... your wonderings go deep so I am refreshed
by their uncommon currents ...

This then is what we can say of Art,
that it is born of the Heart of Wonder,
which blooms as leaf in where we ponder,
and bears the fruit for all to eat,
that is ambrosia, Divinely sweet...

So by these works shall we be known,
a teller of tales by light of the Moon and crackly fire,
that show us the wonder they inspire ...
So by that Heart Heathen heresy we shout there is no sin,
that God speaks to us all from within ...

The Eleusinian Mysteries

An ode of ages by men of sight and sound,
'wrote lofty songs'
Homer's lyrical muse gave him visions
from Trojan wars to the Cosmic Flower
of the fair haired Earth Goddess and her power.

Chronicling all their Love among the ruins
'always breaks down'
She walked in green garments flowing,
Dimeter's eyes which look adamantine,
Blessing the fertile ground with feast or famine.

The dying and reviving Daughter Kore,
'into the underworld'
Like dew upon the land of milk and honey,
Her perpetual Spring and moistened ground,
In Earth embowered, assailed, she can't be found.

A wretched Mother wailing her loss,
'oh, rise up Persophene'
The land infertile she wanders, stray
She cannot see with tear blinded sight
and man and beast are condemned to eternal night.

O' Fortuna lost, in Hades she is gone,
'chthonic lust caverna'
Little men are seemly done, waste away
By rape of Love and greater loathe of mystery
They repeat their sin, beguiled, throughout history.

Eternal Spring, O' well of rapture
'rise up, rise up'
Your time has come to melt the ice
Formed round your core with lusty hate
'tis the season to rise up, rise up, do not hesitate.

Verdant Spring now comes and goes,
'the Muse of verse'
by Nature we are bound in blood; mud!
She only to our fertile ground will come,
When the cruel time of mans dark season is done.

... to the Poet

... the beat is Rhythmic like a drum,
from which you flow true words of clarity and fire,
that indeed if we do not by despair
'nor by remorse go within,
that we then lessor so, go without!!!

Blessed beauty comes to us again and again,
a fragile reaching and a flowing testament;
we by this courage reach and reach again,
if burned twice or more,
we reach out to say,
I am and will be again and again,
a receptacle of kindness
and giver of Love again and again, today!

That tears of strife bring us relief,
to Peace that boon of Soul;
Where we begin again and again,
to look within, Oh, blessed be,
that this Beauty is inside of me.

We may not have the riches,
nor the house and car to flaunt,
but we’ve got the Sun in the morning
and the Moon at night,
what more could we ever want.

... each piece gathers emotion
and moves us along in the wisdom of Poetry;
that we are the meaning makers.
As such,
we can revision our past,
change it,
and envision our future,
create it,
by these small words we write
with all our Hearts and all our minds ...

oh, what a haunted homage to those fallen
in the madness and desperation of life.
We capture the feelings of fragility
and futility in this write we write.
Under flag and under state,
we march to our bloody field,
not to return 'nor to hesitate,
we make our stand or burn;
a conflagration leapt from our pen,
again and again.

Yet we write for a little moment,
from our Heart of passion,
to cling to immortality
in a word on a page
from which we write
to write beyond which we can see,
and in that is our commonality!

... Oh! On fragile wings our visions fly,
and with a penned veracity,
from our inner life into their inner eye,
we show them the Angels of mercy ...

... you have Nature's breath stirred in your Poem,
and that she can burn, and all to ash, if spurned...
her urge is we, and that you see,
her tale is not yet ended,
nor yet us, but perhaps,
we shall fall, if we hear not her call ...

as Poet we set dark and light textures in a piece,
the Poetic device creates the tension, and we agree ...
yin/yang in a Poem or even a sentence
can paint new wonderings unseen by even the Poet ...
like enjambment can create a beat…

... a fragile reaching and a flowing testament;
we by this courage reach and reach again,
if burned twice or more, we reach out to say,
I am and will be again and again,
a receptacle of kindness
and giver of Love again and again, today!

Natures song is played in melodies that bring me along
in the flow of poetry such as this,
plays on my heart as a Divine kiss ...
Our flowing pen and lavish language
are here united in a beautiful prayer!

... the beat is Rhythmic like a drum,
from which we flow true words of clarity and fire,
that indeed if we do not by despair
'nor by remorse go within,
that we then lessor so, go without!

To life ...

We feel the Autumn which slowly seeks to Winters sleep,
Where leaves of golden hue and yellow bright fall away,
That hearth and kin all cherished share, even to us weep,
With all that is sacred in our heart, to words in kindness say.

Though hallowed death gives rise to impermanence, that fear,
Where we bid all that is familiar a desperate longing wave,
To huddle with all we hold fast for a lasting time so Dear,
'Tis a waste, it is for nought, if our life we cannot save!

Alas, the trees and farmers know this is the cycle of all life,
That from our holy Spring we are by destiny doomed to die,
From the Summer of our rhapsodies, our drama and all strife,
That hallowed death with grace accepts our truth and so our lie.

In what is life when filled with fear of its darkly unkind end,
From whence we come to this fell dream of meaningless despair,
What kind of jest and jester laugh at these, which so offend,
It is without the blind of Justice nor from the heart of care.

We twist and squirm with this apprehensive cry, to denial sink!
And wash our customs with the lie, that meaning is irrelevant.
So to the quest of this life and its sweetest ambrosia we drink,
All the while looking away from what the leaves of Autumn meant.

We rise to feelings that we have purpose and do all belong,
A curious circle of life where death has as much a say as we.
It is never too late to give our Heart to lofty ways and song,
'Nor can we grieve if this Love, our gift, is given to all freely.

We feel the Autumn which slowly seeks to Winters snow,
Where whitely covered all in sleep that is in Natures way,
Look with kindness and cherish each and every moment so,
Not in whimpered fear we bow, but to live and love this day!

She hums...

She hums when all
is aright in her world.
The world where
cool streams roll down to the sea.
Where Salmon berries
are plump for the picking.
Where she does not have to try.

Arms outstretched for balance
as she tentatively steps.
The stream cooling sandled feet,
many Suns dancing in the stream
glittering caresses up her calf,
reflecting light on her face and skin
return to her eyes sparkling…

She has found a rock
upon which to lay her weariness;
smoothed by times endless movement.
Laying there on the alter of river stone
she offers herself to trees and sky.

A furtive fly
catches her eye
and she exchanges her miseries for memories;
reflecting, staring, lost.

The rock has taken her pain,
the sky her dreams;
she is herself again…

The Lovers

I’ve waited for you,
beyond these lies of time,
beyond my life,
of dream seeming;
Crooked motions.

No:w:here,
then you came;
a glance!
Springing to each other.

Eyes on fire
mind flashing;
heart pitter pat!
Wonder and razors
cutting into me;
undone and recreated.

Like enormous
gravities, falling
into lips; and in the bliss,
of extinguishing ourselves
in this kiss; unended.

Swooning without
distinction,
no you, no we,
no other;
both disappeared
into forever together…

When we kiss the beloved,
with the same kiss
the beloved kisses we;
in that kiss is all eternity!

Such as you...

One such as you,
with eyes reflecting all the world,
you see Beauty in another,
because from Beauty we are come,
in each and everyone!

… a Divine sound

you are Beauty,
and if you make me feel more precious
than my mind would allow me to accept,
then so be it;
our Hearts are covered
with all the disperate pains
and deviations from the Spirit of our longing.
And so we judge ourselves,
and cry for redemption
from old wounds given and received.
Yet, these onion pain body skins
are the Mareshka dolls
and only we can twist them open
to see they are illusion too.

… a Divine sound

Your writing shows your wild Spirit
and your trembling Human fragility,
for we are each made of dark and light,
the wings of our longing are this.

Oh, yes, we can never tarry too long,
'nor are we complete without that song,
moving in every cell and every thought,
our hearts a rapture of Love,
by which we rise, by which we rise …
by which we are pulled above,
by these Yin/Yang wings,
made of Love…

…a Divine sound

'O, what a lovely light!',
that from this moment to next,
has also gone before,
traversing time as if it space,
and alternities galore;
this is your pen, and our inspiration,
the breathe you give each letter,
the Soul in our machines!

... the streams of electrons spinning,
cascading to our eye,
information lovingly embraced,
leaving a memory and a sigh,
and the wonder in our why ...

… a Divine sound

Remember me for a brief moment,
as adoring and a Lover of your wonders,
I know you are shifting your world,
change agent that you are;
a Star comes to shine from what you've written,
and that you have touched my Heart,
and so much more, and so much more!

My Muse is bliss:singing

oh my Darling, I don't know what to say,
... you choose with alacrity,
and life chooses you for that authenticity;
for not is good `nor bad, but thinking makes it so,
or better yet, that heresy we shout,
that God speaks to us all, from the inside out …

my Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …

What could you not say to me?
If Poetry speaks to you,
the language of your Heart,
I am pleased and overflowed to hear it.
Yet I write these for you, in my heart.

I feel you! What more can I say…
the Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …
some mornings after having danced
with my Muse, and a Poem recited on her lips,
then to awake and it's gone like a wisp …

my Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …

... she is there in you,
I see her peeking through the Poem,
she is of hearth and heath and home,
she is the sky and birds that sing,
oh my,
I see, she is in everything …

Your thoughtful messages make my heart swell,
as it comes from a writer who with her pen,
can, again and again, blow my mind away,
and make my heart to play …

... and in kind so are you,
a writers friend, and a keeper of the flame,
from which we send these simple writes,
and in the end, a thousand lights,
that gift of kindness, that cannot compare ...

my Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …

... oh, a painting, an impressionistic piece,
colouring that longing sky,
that unreachable star, of Poetry...
you have captured the stirring caress
of the transcendent in this,
and sent it to my Heart with these few lines,
an enjambment beat the beat
in your vers Liberte, and I must say,
those waves of yours and mine,
sent me to a farther shore!

your use of colourful language
and your image descriptors
made me see/feel as if synaestetic,
and then brought me to a far star,
named by you, a galaxy with Angel wings,
that whisper and coo ...
and bathed by oceans sound,
you kept me wrapt in earth and sea,
the spin of a spiral existentially …

my Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …

... an exodus from the ordinary ...
and now on a Train hurtling into wonder ...
oh the existential crises you are creating here ...

... then all is well, that's the end so Dear,
when all the past is made clear,
and Hearts connect in healing wounded reasons worm,
where ache and wonder is born.…

oh, and a plaint that we have all lamented.
I've heard it said, that on our bed of death,
it's not the things we've done that we regret,
no,
it's those we feared to do,
that has left us wanting, wailing at our last breath …

the creative process takes you up
like an Angel winging you to Empyrean heights
while bliss:singing
and rapture flutters the Heart
as if with wings divine; you know that Secret place ...

my Muse has been dancing in my Heart
and bliss:singing lately …

after having danced with my Muse,
and a Poem recited on her lips,
then to awake and it's gone like a wisp ...

the whole is greater, Philos:LOVER

... and the whole is greater

then the sum of the parts!

Indeed, language syntax

is wounded reasons form;

a duality construct mired

in the paradox of you and I...

where the Heart, Love

is without such constructs

and limitations,

only embraces without differentiating,

kisses the Lover while also the Lovers kiss ...



Breathe ...



a wounded reason tells the lie,

a longing Heart 'sees' through,

and eyes glitter at the weightlessness

of floating words ...



all men make a God of their desire ...

as history repeats ad infinitum ad nauseum ...



But learning curves

and temper tantrums go together;

just before we 'get it'

a cognitive dissonance occurs

as synapses rewire

and neurons cascade

into a meaningful flower!



Breathe ...



all one has to do is wish to

`belong` as the first step

in the hubris of meaning,

where meaning becomes a flag,

a banner to hide the little fears,

and differentiate amongst men ...



all men make a God of their desire ...

as history repeats ad infinitum ad nauseum ...



what remains is our courage

to change the world from the inside out ...



Breathe ...



Soul is the dancer

Ascending to eternity

Circle of whirling’s

Reeling heart’s desire

Even the moment

Dances in the light



It is said by the old ones here,

that we each dance the Tribal DNA dreams

of seven generations,

that these patterns permeate our brains

and our bodies.

The old ones continued to say,

that we become what we choose to become,

we become what we LOVE,

and that we stand on the shoulders of giants before us,

so that we can see farther....



Breathe ...



that's the kind of 'believe' the universe does through us...

it is 'dreaming' ourselves into being something new,

stretching us to our potential...

i believe i can evolve further then 'Darwinian' science speculates...

i believe i have a wish fulfilling gem in my heart

which removes all obstacles to the goal i have set my self to;

the caveat is that i have to shine up the gem everyday so it works ...



Breathe ...



There are always beings like this

coming as gateways, as agents of change...

they are Natures urge

and are only real when they are alive,

like Truth is only real when it is alive.



in the light of cosmic time,

both great and small are extinguished in that eternity ...

then again, every particle,

every drop of blood is recycled

from this great cosmic love affair called creation,

consuming and reviving us over and over again, forever ...


Breathe ...

you are the Truth and the light...

writers who write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

Love freely given, inspires us,
and you who have a thousand Lovers,
with talents fantastic,
they paint with a thousand colours
and write with a thousand words,
for one such as you ...
to fall at your Goddess feet;
and want to lay in your ocean,
and caress your mountains
and breathe your crystal sky,
and so my Dear do I ...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

your eyes did gently scan my words,
and found in them a sign,
that showed me that your Heart does burn,
with longing and with rhyme...

you made my heart to swell,
and overflowed to a smile and twinkling in my eyes,
and overflowed;
I am by thy Love of words,
so praised by a greater in that art,
with a crystal clear mind,
shared sublime by thy sweet heart...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

... it's a map, but not the territory,
and we choose after all,
or fall by fate to a small whimper,
but rise to will by that very Love,
by which we are made complete ...
in our pen, would include the stars,
what could not, Venus or Mars,
and Galaxies and Space,
by this we are done;
we contain all these miracles, every one!

You write intelli:Gently ... with eyes and Heart wide open ...
and no less nor more, then we each reach to a greater,
and by this rise with each other ...

lovely water flows from your pen,
like tears and sighs and so much flow;
overflowed like we are now and then ...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

... a write is a bouquet, bringing Beauty and desire,
for more is yet to come, each flower has its wisdom,
come of Love from Nature’s bounty,
look at me oh! look at me they cry,
for like is to like, and a Beauty now does sigh...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

Devotions longing pours from your pen,
and you gaze upon each word with Love,
and I feel it so, your Love does grow,
and flows without end ...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

... We influence each other...
we do ...
so I am happy with that,
and that we have a special connection this way...
and a shared spirit, a mutual mindedness,
and a deeper way of feeling it all...

we are attracted to each other
as if by these destroying immense gravities
in our Hearts;
where that Black Hole of craving for the light pulls in us ...

write 'Intelli:Gently' instead ...

I am crazy for this Love you give me.
I am grateful, it has been aaaaaaaaaaa long time
with Winter in my Heart, and you gave me Spring,
that wild creative flowing like plasma, into Heart and Mind and Body.

your eyes so blue, and I saw you there,
you thought I was not looking,
but I did dare, and in that seeing,
with your blue eyes, I was reeling from being seen by you ...

... when a real connection is felt, and by this your own Heart,
a pitter pat, and it is felt, like that, like that, a flutter pitter pat

You write intelli:Gently ... with eyes and Heart wide open ...
and no less nor more, then we each reach to a greater,
and by this rise with each other...

your vers liberte beats a gentle beat
and your enjambment skips that beat,
like a pause, to be filled by the Lover,
the reader, the writer, and each other

... without condition, a gift!

So these letters...

Dear Heart,
you know who you are,
and change is won with courage...
So these letters are another way to Love you.

When will you find,
what waits for you there?
Written for when you
bleed undone. Cracked.

What you are looking for
does not mean you need
to be breaking ...
But I’ll give you that too,
because I love you ...

... it is such a frustration,
to be so open, mind and heart on fire,
and everyone around, lacking insight,
scurrying to their survival holes,
whimpering of a wasted life,
hands clenched in their pockets,
making small eyed looks ...
instead of open open open,
a heart of caring; real Humanity...

You love Humanity, it's the heart wearied
humans you have trouble with ...

... it amazes me: how by so choosing,
writing words can be like a magic, a balm,
to heal the wounds that reason makes,
in lyrical song,
to pen all of our fears and worries,
and send them out to binary seas,
and look back at them, and reflect that by this pen,
our magic wand, we have changed ourselves,
and perhaps better yet,
helped another to raise their pen
and change themselves,
and others again ...

So these letters are another way to Love you.

... this Alchemy of Awe, that sweetest sap,
that runs from roots within my chest,
and seeps to branch and leaves of Wonder,
to where it is that I still ponder ... is let
to this pen and writes with words of Love
on wings of letters to your eyes reflecting all the world ...

...a Spiral of messages comes through,
raptures, reverberate in the words
and by these full melodies, we each
are moved along the Spiral,
to further heights of Natures Urge,
between our World and the next,
and even the one before ...
and much much more ...

Change is catchy, and Hearts on fire
burn a New world of wonders,
from the old and wearied.
If it were not for Love
and friendship,
Love over fear,
Pen to paper,
we’d all in darkness weep!

So these letters are another way to Love you.

...a little poem meant for you, and with this write,
and in this way, for you are the vers Liberte,
and the rhyme, and the meaning of why
we beat the beat, enjambment,
that with our Pen
our wild hearts
are made complete...
Oh my Dear friend, these words,
these letters are another way to Love you....

Free... flow

oh, your tender Heart,
that swells and burns with ache,
and oh, your wearied mind,
that goes over it again and again,
and, oh, your crying eyes,
that release your mourning anguish,
and, oh, how beautiful you are,
and that Love will soon be growing ...

Free... flow

... these repetitions give it Heart,
and a beat to hang our eyes on,
and linger in your story
... and that we each want to rest in the bliss,
of extinguishing ourselves in a kiss,
or better yet,
to kiss the beloved with the same kiss
the beloved kisses we,
and in that sacrifice, live eternally ...

Free... flow

... to forever thy longing is cast,
to return a beat upon thy heart,
and where your mind may not resist,
thy Love returns with a Soulful kiss ...

Yet we falter and sway,
to reductions and escapes
from our tedious hurtful cry,
to drugs, to sex, to TV,
and all this is delirium;
so to rise, with wounds that heal,
Radically forgive, and do our duty,
is to live with Heart
and the Art to share this with everyone ...

Free... flow

... never so ravished,
as in our longing grows,
'til bursting with wanting,
our heart in writing shows
... your HeArt burst through your Pen,
to ravish a thousand Lovers
with your cozy warmth and secret kiss ...
I know I am!

Free... flow


We share a Love of wonders,
and Nature is more elegant
than the mechanical purpose
posited by wounded reason...
and so she teaches such as we,
and by that learning, we are free ...

Free... flow

‘Tis a meal from which we rise,
never sated, never full,
to go on ravishing on and on,
forever, and further still,
'til each become the other,
in plasmic fields of wonder

Free... flow

a Magic healing by word and rhythm,
that Artful purpose, that noble persuasion,
that HeArt and Art are rich purveyors,
of living Love and the breath of Wonder ...

Free... flow


your words did flow, and carried my heart to a further shore ...

The Green Man: heArtman

yet in ignorance, hath we fell,
to that darkness, that stupor hell,
where no Art from Heart does swell,
yet Artifice is known so well ...

for all of them, may I say,
the wounded mind that had its day,
can be as supple as sapling tree,
if they give their Heart to Mystic sea...

a pausing plaint of passing into the wound inside,
that reasonable doubt, of Jekyll and Hyde,
for which we each, are humbled victim,
and from which we arise, as The Green Man...

His language of the Birds, his secular tongue,
and silence his noble one,
arise from living soul within his HeArt,
and washes simple throughout his Art...

Universum

This then my Heart,
that walks in meaning of you,
this then my body,
an alter of water offerings,
this then my soul,
a wind blown out to sea ...

living like a Monk,
dreaming like a Creator of Worlds;
dying like a Human every day ...

ohh, a sweet cry,
to desirous tempest sea,
where crashing, we are tamed,
and to flurry of our sails,
in the lashing of canvas whipped,
by winds that we forsook,
'til current sets us free,
to each others majesty ...

tell me of your beloved,
tell me about your universe
and his patterns exotic,
and how his mind is Quixotic,
and he learns in rhythmic dances,
all the mathematics of your glances,
and he rules a kingdom from a thought,
and he sheds a tear to create his Art ...
tell me of your universe baby,
and I'll sing of my Muse,
tell me of your Heart,
and you will know mine!

... it is a tear, a drop
which makes it not seem right,
and so I write,
of longings never to assuage,
never to embrace my beloved;

... it takes a tear, a drop,
to realize, that you have gone,
and waved a silent good-bye.
So I am sent to crowded Stars,
in a dark and colder sky ...

The voice, which walks, cannot have your heart...
'nor hear, that uncommonest of tongues,
... as the language of the Soul, is silence ...
and you know when you have been unspoken,
you will feel it sublime; Peace is that wordless cry,
a Peace for which to die....

... a tear, a drop

She sings with patterns plasmic,
tingling Dreams in our synapses ...
yet cries a tear for dire humanity!

... a tear, a drop

yet, I say, we all strive to Love, yet stray only to affection ...
perhaps to falter lessor still, to whimper in the closeness,
instead of wail for the Dream.

your eyes are wide open, because you are the eyes of your people;
write with plasma and look and look and look
and shine your light into those dark places
that their 'vanity of ignorance' will not let them see ...
and look and look and look
with Heart where Love of life would be ...

... a tear, a drop

you are the eyes filled with tears and blood, seeing the vanities
of all nations ignorance
seeing people hide behind their looking smart
seeing the rages coming from Heart
Look and look and look with fire
change their hidden whimper to shame
you are the wonder, and work the change
a new world arises from one decayed
with eyes wide open, and Hearts that see
a wonder of a world will surely be ...

... a tear, a drop

you are the beautiful eyes that see ...
and reflect the world as others cannot do,
and so you write with fire from this dream,
that life and love and heart can be,
and go where no other dares to ...

... a tear, a drop

I am this little drop, reflecting all the world,
I rose to the sky from your tears here,
and merged with a Cumulus Nimbus cloud,
danced electric with all my brother and sister drops,
and rolled with thunder, then fell still reflecting all around,
whirled in the winds and heard a sound,
hit a leaf, and dripped on down,
to a babbling brook meandering around,
then I mingled in little vortices, and became a stream
with fish and forest,
and raged in white water
and fell down a great falls with crashing sounds,
and moved quicker still to sea and ocean,
I became the sea, or the sea became me ... and all over again ...
I am this little drop, reflecting all the world...

and you write that HeArt heathen heresy,
that we all are creators from the inside out
... your eyes are open and you look and look and look
and open eyes that dare to see ...

Brokn cold alone

ders a place up da road
where ya can get outta da cold
no one asks yu anyting
no small eyed looks

so ya can stay warm
til yu can go back out agin
when u want sumthin
yu kno, nothin more

i gotta go, eh
my feet gettin cold
no more we can wait
cold lik dis, alone
go somewer ta fall apart

remember dat place
again wen ur cold or
yu kno yu won wake up
yu be an ice bump
in da road

unusual balance

Spinner, jammed into
the vibration.
Collecting stillnesses,
and morning dew.

Waiting instantly
for the beloved
web dancer.

Splayed, unusual balance,
moved by the music
of wind and wisp.

Beloved, captivated
in the net of longing.
Caressed, tightened.
A fitful passion. Bitten!

Swooning, overflowed.
Spinner spins the lovely,
then kisses with the same
kiss the beloved does kiss.
In that melding, merging,
melting, drinks slowly.

your unknowns complete me

knowing is wounded reasons form;
we cannot comprehend
or understand
each other or ourselves.

our particles and convergences
make up meanings
and symmetries;
we can even reconfigure
and phase shift in wonder.

this makes for liveliness
and dance with each other,
and even fondness
for recognitions reflected and
transferred between our DNA schemes...

we even Dream in referents
to our command of syntax;
our little forms
and rituals
like candles and moonlight
and our sense of place.

we can only imagine
as far as we've ever realized.
we can only understand
as much as awe and wonder
has risen us up...
so I wonder about you
and I'm awed in that
revelation...

your unknowns
complete me

automatica minutiae

your wonders
wandered into my eyes,
flowered my neurons,
into gathered light
of meaning
and murmurs,
of visions
beyond my
usual sight.

these automatica
of ecstatic revelation
take the heart
to dance in song,
bearing the soul
to merge with
each
o
t
h
e
r
in harmonic waves;
sinusoidally embraced
in ocean, sound and light ~~~

times machine

millions are sleeping
taking time,
can you see,
can you hear,
can you feel,
how far you are
away from me?

this time machine
its juggernaut,
its merciless arrow,
maybe wasting time
on my e-mail and
data streams
until I die.

so I will tell you
how it feels to be me
but your time machine
will branch your concern
and your TCP/IP protocols,
taking you away from me

our synodic cycles,
our tidal ocean echo,
our Lunar rhythms,
and phased deliriums,
they are making time

you are sleeping
on the other side of night,
dreaming child of wonders,
no machine can produce
a wild wonder like you;
yet my machine assembles you
and I wonder about your pixels
this Fairy dust on my LCD

times restless progress
and fervent dirge,
its hopeless eternity
and unstoppable moment,
leads to nowhere and
takes me away from you...
times machine is me!

Sacred Dance

Our 'burning' dance wandered our whirling feet far,
Our Hearts on fire, our minds crystal aware
Our circle expanded and eternity bent
Unfinished evolution, covered in sweat ...

We climbed the DNA ladder looking over at each other
Responding from a timely comprehended gaze
Our feet pointed the way to forever
Our Hearts beat out the frequency

All was motion and mutable worlds
We paused at moments of freedom
Then, a wildness took over the form
And dance burst into an organic flower

We sacred dancers with a real aim
To follow the Masters of Reality
Danced between body and mind
Our Hearts continue to Dance this way

A dream of humble bumble bee

Did you know
Old Nile Kings had golden bees
Entombed within their vessel to forever?

Why would they take the humble bumble bee?
What is their mysterious treasure?
And why were they cast in gold?

Did you know
That gold has numinous valences,
That old Nile Kings used to cross over
With quantum tunnels emitting subtle rays.

The humble bumble bee
Did visit me in a dream today
And surrounded me in golden honey
now I hear a buzzing in the light

luminant

Mystery is embraced in weeping,
in surrender all grace comes fast,
unbound from wounded reason,
to forever longing is cast.

A rapturous heart has vision,
all dream is a hunger to thrive
lifted is this veil of meaning
to ‘see’ and not to contrive

Reality is the sweetest goal
linking below to what’s above
in luminant threads it’s woven
weft and woof entwined in Love

cast about the sea

I cast about the sea
in a vessel suited to me
licked by salty waves
paddling over watery graves
where rocks and waves meet
there a perilous greet
t’was here that I was drawn
as death sang a haunting song

strength did gird my loins
the sea did roll and sink
my mind as sharp as bow
the oceans rot did stink
for all the men she lured
to that easy fateful terror
a song so deeply immured
in want to selfless end
and cast my vessel further
to lost eternity I wend...

Every once in awhile

Every once in awhile
the lights go on
and there it is,
right there!

And you walk up
touch it gently,
look at the eyes reflecting
and are astounded
by the clarity.

You giggle at
your sillyness at not
seeing it before;
little things like
this and that;
do you see it?

birdys sing

i don't believe in forms and rituals
codified truths don't dance the night away

i don't believe in Darwin’s thesis
monkey man i'm not, i come from bears i say

i don't believe in doubt and reason
they play fear games and run out of lies

i don't believe in newspapers and tv
they just steal your rhythms and they don't rhyme

i do believe in make believe
it’s how we dance on shifting ground

i do believe in you and me
we can play and laugh and roll around

i do believe that stars made us
so we can be shining all our light

i do believe in transformation
that change is out of sight

and i believe we can all hear
the birdys sing

and they don't need to be believed either...

mist

the mist this morning,
earth and sky are hidden,
everything is mutable

death is like this mist;
ghosts everywhere,
no time and space;
murmurs.

dreams are like this,
ephemeral, numinous
what could be real
when you are not.

the mist clings today,
wet everywhere,
the earth is sleeping
and dreams of the sea

the Secret: nine one one

My phone rang! I was startled out of my morning meditative reverie, my eyes blinked open taking in the daylight and scanning the clock at the time. It was just before 7.

Too early for a phone call. I grabbed the phone. It was my eldest Son. ‘Dad, have you seen the news?’ ‘Huh, what? You know I don’t watch TV! Well what’s happening, Son?, I stated with some irritation at being questioned so early in the day.

‘It’s World War III, Dad! Holy shit, Dad! go look at the news!, he exclaimed with a note of incredulity and surprise. I got up and went to the living room and turned on the blasted TV.

Right away I saw the footage of a plane hitting the first Tower. I did not believe what I was seeing at first. Was it a ‘movie’ prank or what? It began to sink in and I felt shock and then despair.

Like everyone else that day, I had a wake up call. Eyes wide open!

Many questions and many more questions, until questions are irrelevant. Conspiracy theories are weaving tapestries of fear now. Questions and muddled answers.

We need to have a scrupulous realism when it comes to man kinds triumphs of ignorance.

That man is more often a destroyer then he is a creator, is written in our DNA. Our Tribal echo and all of our bad education.

"... man plays with Fire, without actually being aware of the detrimental consequences to humanity.", a great living Teacher stated.

Everything is burning, a great cleansing, perhaps!

There has been a flurry of New Age Spirituality movies of late, such as 'What the BLEEP do we know' and 'Conversations with God'. A kind of ‘Chicken Soup of the Soul, for all those who have been wounded by this upsetting tragedy. A ’balm’ to settle the ‘fear’ reaction we are having.

The Secret is such a movie which describes how we all can create the world with our thoughts, our wishes and deserves an objective viewing.

"In truly spiritual work, the very concept of planning may be a redundant one. How does one plan for an activity in a field where thought and action are simultaneous, are really one? In the spiritual field they are not two separate things. "Think that such and such a thing shall happen, and it will happen. All that is necessary is an unfailing will.", so a Teacher has written.

Use Occam's Razer when excising the true story of Man: the arrogant destroyer. Yet the Secret takes the concept of 'we are created in God's image' to a new level of pitched salesmanship.

Where I find the Secret to fail, is in its very protracted execution of the ideas of manifesting: Raja Yoga. Imagine if we all decided to manifest a Monster House and a new SUV as portrayed in the movie. There is the rub ... Twin Towers falling because of resources, the fear of lack. Homeless desperation!

In our ignorance, drunk with Powers, we have become like Heir Doktor Frankenstein, creating all manner of Some Scary Monsters. Samskaras! A sanskrit word for ‘impressions’, the fears we keep in our Hearts and Minds and Bodies, and see as Reality. No wonder! No Awe! Just I, me, mine!

The Secret leaves out information in its positive approach. In a style commensurate with Propaganda campaigns in the past, honed to a cleverly Western style. Two stories, the one of Alladins Lamp and the other of the fabled King Midas of Phrygia to whom Dionysus gave the power of turning to gold all that he touched. Both are incompletely used to shore up the idea that we can be great creators and manifestors.

It is the 'moral' of each of these stories, that any child knows, which is completely avoided and ignored. The 'moral' as paraphrased in the statement, 'be careful of what you wish for, as you may get it'. Some Scary Monsters!

I believe the Universe grants what is necessary to our personal evolution. A relativistic Truth, objective all the same, toward the Goal: Love. Miseries must be transmuted in that Mystic Fire.

New Age propaganda is a lie too. A diversion into flowery niceties avoiding blood and guts and shit. They have covered Truth and Realization in flimsy forms and rituals like Religions have. The real conspiracy derives from Dancing on shifting ground, Beautifully, in tune with the ever revealing here and now.

A Brave New World is always made up from some of the bits and pieces of the old, after breaking the Icons:Towers ... The World is not breaking, Nature does not ‘break’, it roils in transformative longings; our ‘World’ is breaking.

In summary, we are Masters in the making. Yet we are fools of our own predispositions, a veil of ignorance covering our sight from the very Heart of it; the bliss of Reality.

We become what we Think in Joy! Remove the veil of fear and despair no longer. The world is breaking, and Love is the breaker. Let us become what we ought to be; Simple and in tune with Nature. Agents of the change we want to see this world become.

‘Power corrupts, absolute Power corrupts absolutely’, as the saying goes. We make worlds. Use the manifesting principles at your own risk! Risk the breaking and shaking, and Dream Up, Love Up!

'The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive.'
- Anais Nin

That's how we start the change, with Wonder...

kiss: Binary attraction

the 'kiss' I referred to above, is all the little infinity of convergences in time and space, even beyond our foolish sense based metaphors... where water meets land, sky meets mountain, light meets eye, lips meet tounge, pen meets paper, yabyum you know, is that sort of convergence. This is a kiss and the kiss is a metaphor for 'attraction' and LOVE, that ancient ache ... and we are always being 'kissed' this way and never alone, separate, as this LOVE embraces us within and without ... a timeless recycled ravishing, consuming and reviving us over and over again on the edge of forever.


'twinkling' is what happens when the earth kisses a star and our eye
is ravished in awe and wondrous rapture makes our Heart to flutter euphoric...

Attraction;
an ancient ache,
vortex prayers and
fractal wishes.

frequencies combine,
harmonics converge,
over vast distances,
longing is cast;
crescendos and catastrophes.

two stars; disa-stars
orbitally dancing
time and space matters.
letting themselves
be consumed and revived
over and over again.
an invergeous ravishing
over the edge of forever

Dream of Narada

This morning I was dreaming of Narada, he came to me as an Incan/Aztec Saint and could grow and shrink. He was brown skinned and had a golden shine and white teeth sparkled with his smile. He told me to sing devotional Love songs, that my gratefulness has been graced with the boon of this talent. I hugged him close to my Heart, ecstatic. He is Dream walking between the worlds ... he plays his flute rapturously in my Heart, even now I am swooning ... teetering on the edge of forever

the secret of the kiss

rain drops
kiss the surface
of a quiet pond,
ripples converge
kissing, merging,
making many reflections,
entice the eye to the kiss
of light flickering

glittering
synaptic resonance,
neurons kissing
mind merging, fractal
dendrites musing
making many reflections,
entice to a breath,
sighing into eternity.

our Hearts know this,
Love attracts Love,
the secret of the kiss...

how to quiet Dragons

Where is my Muse this evening,
the rains fell and a red sky laid upon the mountains
I watched the sun breakthrough the clouds
and a turquoise Dragon fly alight on my finger
near a Japanese pond
thinking all the while of my Muse

Singer of Love Songs
Poetess and Beauty Divine
like Goddess Venus
She laughs like a girl
her mind is quicksilver
yet she will know
how to quiet Dragons
and play the viola

my flute wept a song for her
melodious resonances that played on water
every note a bird song
adoring her naked approach
even now
she smiles with glittering eyes

I am inspired

Body, speech and mind

No man is worthy of
such refined treasures!
don't keep them to your self
but let them have wings;
broken hearts fly this way.

Let no thief take your Heart,
hiding it in his pocket book,
when its only desire,
is to merge in seas and mists.

You are a Mystic Bird,
frail and hungry for the sky
your feet are on shifting
grounds, dancing beautifully.

Your mind is an instrument of Love
Crazy, piercing like a knife,
yet full of fresh wisdom,
as stars are to sky.

When your Hymn
breaks to Loves
passionate crescendo
and you awake sweating,
lust abated,

there will be your answer,
to heaven or hell…

You are easily lost,
Love is like that!
beyond the confines of our,
body, speech and mind’s.

I am easily found,
love is like that!
open arms,
open mind,
open heart…

That's why we Love
having each other
around!

The happenstance of meaning

The happenstance of meaning,
in a hodgepodge of words.
unskilled in writing;
deception...

Skillful means and voracity,
inherent meaning allured.
writing is playful;
conception...

One is Joy,
another addiction.

From word
to
meaning.
From pen
to
inkling!

Like me,
like my
inflated sense
of word.

Flags waving,
Look at me,
and my group
we are WRITEoUS!
We are what we
Write.

Write flowers
and streams
and
windy chimes.

Face facts,
Words escape
meaning
with cowardly
defences like
paragraphs
and
syntactical
alliances.

Prepositions
pasteurized,
so that whimsy
and
freedoms are
battered,
suffering
split infinitives.

Similes with
spiritual
accents
and
distinctive
adaptations of
cunning.

Read deLiberatingly!
Fight the
oppressor, as
the maker of
Meaning,
is
You!

sen·ryu: this longing heart

sen·ryu : a 3-line unrhymed Japanese poem structurally similar to haiku but treating human nature usually in an ironic or satiric vein.

Pattern:
Three line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable pattern that does not rhyme.

Oh this longing heart,
dreams of flying in freedom,
always falls in love!

Language and Meaning

Language is a bridge, connecting; Poetry is the stream below, meandering, murmuring, reflecting many Suns; meaning!

Love Up!

Man is what he loves.

If he loves a stone he is a stone;

If he loves a man he is a man;

If he loves God--I dare not say more,

for if I said that he would then be God,

ye might stone me!

-- St. Augustine


We become what we Love so Love Up!

Psychomachia; heroic journey

Embracing the moment, kindly with ease;
Within the voracity of that little bliss,
All is convergence without separation,
Hearts beat, memories disintegrate.

When you emerge from that anomaly,
Searing, aching, retrograde passion,
The fullness of meaning in longing,
Souls drink from this sweet forever.

Consider the world turning, ellipses.
Whirling realized organic orb, feeling!
Formed from attractions to a Star,
Dreams; heroic, reaching, infinite, far!

That is the journey of every particle,
Made whole by willing mass surrender,
Waiting on the edge of gravities reason,
Is the Sun, your Soul, evolving further…

Between each breath

Sweet Soul lingering upon a Heart beat,
This effulgence precipitating within.
Like a frail butterfly alighting so briefly,
Intelligent hunting eyes often miss!

A Rose glitters jewels of sparkly dewdrops,
Richness gathered where Hearts connect.
Enraptured by this soft meaninglessness,
An intelligent probing mind would miss!

Between each breath my Heart is longing,
Comes a second wind of fresh new Grace,
This probing and hunting mind remembers,
I do not exist when in that place.

Let me speak in silence

After gripping studied meaning,
let loose the Heart,
this seeker of light,
come of longing in the night



Let me speak in silence,
the feat of the pause,
potential in space,
the first cause!
Words of reason; pictures.
Sentence syntax; logic.
Language a bridge,
Poetry the river meandering,
reflecting many Suns.

Picture the sigh,
or the fluttering Heart.
fragile perception,
in between,
darkness and dream,
where the seeming,
oft is master of
reality and silence
the gift of Peace.

dumb, feeling heart

... how does one share through words the fragile percepts, that lingering 'kiss' of Peace, that comes of sweet effulgence in the Heart? ... this roiling bliss, this synaethasian inebriated surrender of a Soul reeling from drinking that ambrosia; sweet nectar of Divinity!

feeling Heart,
dumb,
idiot,
Fool of God,
giver,
lover,
staring at forever!
grinning,
empty,
free of meaning!

Cosmic time

In the light of Cosmic time, both great and small are extinguished in that infinity, yet it remains important that we create, explore and evolve with the courage of a Loving Heart.

Comparing ourselves, or anyone else, with others, only makes for vanity or bitterness. Always there will be greater or lesser than ourselves. (paraphrasing Max Ehrmann's "Desiderata" here)

Yet greatness in another, brings us all up; no one is left behind. When a Writer or a Poet lifts the veil, revealing reality, we are all made more by this feat! Nature always sends us Visionaries, Poets, Mystics, agents of change; mutations. They take us to the next evolutionary level.

The Heart does not differentiate,
it beats in the rhythm of the sea;
the head makes the distinction,
that you are not really me!

an ever prayer

While meditating,
time expanded,
disappearing into
a forever present.

While contemplating,
Beauty appeared,
revealing perfection
empty of meaning.

This ever prayer;
remembering always;
swimming in Divinity,
drowning in Peace …

In time and space

Meditation expands time;
there is no time,
like the present!

Contemplation folds space,
revealing beauty,
in everything.

Prayer in time and space,
is constantly remembering,
how sweet it all is ...

Mystic hunting eyes

Sin; missing the mark,
like an arrow gone askew.
No bullseye!

Mystics must have hunters eyes,
for bagging their Snark.
They must wrap them
in many Mansions,
for Lotus Blossom slaughter.

Synaesthesiac

frequency

frequently loves to
take the Heart dancing.

this sweet dyslexia,

may be resolved,
or separated;
by sense.

No place is alone

on that beach
walking nakedly across the sand,
walking stick in hand,
bathing in a stream,
removing the salt and sweat,
with the Sun in my eyes,
in the Clayoquot Sound.

walking with,
that stick with bells,
and a found Eagle feather,
feet to burning sand.
startled by dogs
lupin procession,
I watched, waiting to run!
They were three,
and white, watching me;
the Sun in their eyes.

Alone in this place,
no place is alone,
with dogs, sand and sea.

Dream up!

a bottom with the promise of a top,
likely to come up,
Dream up, dream up
Topsy turvy,
Flip flop,
Bottom to Top, bottoms up
Dream up, dream up!

Like you ...

Like you, wingless,
what I would be,
if limited by a feeling
I could not follow,
my most secret of dreams.

Like you, languished,
hole where whole should be;
Eager to fill it with
studied meaning and
reason's industry.

Like you, gnawing,
what sense would Love be
grasping little fears,
made of empty mimics and
stolen dreams.

Like you, wrapped
with stars and dust.
Longing like gravity;
aching for the light
we call Love!

Like you, surrendered
Hastened to a sigh,
where tears linger
and something sweet,
inside, waiting there.

constantly remember

writing is a way to constantly remember, that in capturing this moment, we realize the Beauty that is always there ...

by the time you read this, the ripples of my imagination will have merged with your eyes as pixels on the net ... peeling through the layers of impressions, old and new, until we speak from naked Hearts; merged within the carved words here are my memories, my perceptions interpreted. Regurgitated, spent. Spilled reveries emerging in time!

By the time I have carved my words to hold the image of my realization, you will have to be a breaker of moulds, an iconoclast, to release it; otherwise it is religion with its dead forms and rituals ...

Jesus, Buddha, Arhats and Bodhisattvas were all Poets; they changed Hearts! There words were 'alive' with realization. Written down, they became forms and rituals by the third generation! Kind of like Myth, i.e., the Map and not the territory!

Poets infuse their words with 'bellavita' or Spirit or whatever term you want to use here... Nature always sends us Visionaries, Poets, agents of change; mutations!

The 'language of the Birds', also known as the 'Green Language', is the language of the Heart; spoken, sung, spontaneously and in tune with the 'Eternal Present' ... it is the Lover/Beloved dancing between the Sun and the Moon; it is the ocean waves caressing the sand on the beach where these writings were written; now washed away... revealing potential

Sufi Mystics dance in awe,
Hearts in a forever Bliss;
Direct reality!
Connected!
Whirling feet, Realized!

Reflection

If reading Poetry is like watching crystals grow, writing Poetry is like crystallizing realizations in time; either way there are a lot of reflections!

He reveals hidden meaning,
in capturing the moment!
A lover from within,
sharing this light, his second sight
from the longing of his night!

the role of the Poet ...

A Poet is a way of being plain and simple, in tune with Nature; one who 'speaks' with the Heart. Where his words are imbued with potential; acting as agents of change. He is a Mystic, making language a catalyst of creation. Singing a prayer with Heartfelt words, igniting Grace to action.

A Poet shows us the magical all that is; where Beauty echoes through all things, like Natures laughter in a flower. A Mystic in a communion with the 'Eternal Present' where no past ever compelled, nor future beckoned! They teach that we are each a miracle; a song of Love, where sorrow and joy, laughter and tears, are lyrics and notes in a symphony of Creation ...

We are 'meaning makers', and choose thusly what is of value in our lives. We are 'Magicians' and can compel even 'creation' to move by our 'will'. But the 'Mystic' is plain and simple; Beauty and Truth are an organic 'Alchemical' treatise written on his 'Heart' with an 'elixir' of prayers revealing the 'Bliss' of reality! The true 'Gold'.