I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....
I do not know?
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty
about what tomorrows
pain may bring
They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best
Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide
Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine
Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.
through the branches,
I sit under
trees and paint the horizon with my pen.
Strokes from my ink flow to each curve I write,
as drips from the
so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod
the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating
progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze
into fruits of sweaty labors
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint
the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects
for this season, before the
days bake the green back into
the humus and the cornucopia
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool
eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron
to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze
any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup
© Goode Guy 2011-08-22
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)
Metaphysical Moment …
… Nature’s Mysteries
This Haiku is for:
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
She, Of The Cosmic Essence
Aware Of A Power
Aware Of A Presence
And Aware Of The Need For Our
Desire To Rise Higher
… and Higher
To Our Optimum Height
Patricia … You Are Like The Alaskan Lights
Those Northern Flares and Colors In Cold Night
Floating Dreams, So Mesmerizing
Patricia, Brings It To Her Poetic Themes
Such Are The Verses She Shares To View
And Reading Them, She's Showing You
Her Cosmic Essence Insight
Oh Patricia, You’re An Alaskan Light …
So, Keep Reaching, Keep Speaking … and Write !
For The Girl, Who Shared A Comfy, Snug Book Read
On One Of Her Snowy Days … (Via Her Poem- ‘Autumn’s Passing’
Also - Your Poem ‘Journey’ is One)
See … It Brought Back Some Wonderful Memories To Me …
O impetuous Muse surround me
with ashes of moody youth
Recall silken moments,
marbled words wrote
an elaborate history.
not moments, dappled drab
where ruined feathers in darkness dwelt.
Ornate years of passion, spilling fire
allusive to all consuming ire.
When summer spoke,
when spring day-dreamed
and Autumn kissed me with
Swift and sweet, how memories rise
diamond- strung in a room of silver
Slick and sleek from a stormy world,
solid tree trunks on a bell- clear morning.
Blithe, dramatic, reckless dreams
flowing with precocious,
Luxurious with sadness,
time’s cruel wheel
rolls vast recollections
that slowly yield
cold, closed canyons of
touched with the starry
kiss of youth.
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
‘ Raul Moreno, Poet- Sen•sei … ’ 56th Senryu
Like Marco Polo
Haiku Master, Moreno
Explores Nature’s Show
From Magnanimous Me (he! he!) (LOL)
Love Your Poetry,
Your Poet-Pal, MoonBee
I do not know?
So thoughtfully busily going to the tomb
Were you enamored with words from the womb
Verbally gurgling did you succumb
Or did it come later in life
Likened to lightning spelling you under
Suddenly there before hearing the thunder
Rapidly vapidly words in your head
Were ringing and clamoring yet to be said
At work in your garden editing hedge
Trimming unwanted excess
It smacks of sedition this growing ambition
To put plants in orderly rowed inhibition
Sun reaching in silent distress
The beauty of discipline held up to view
In close captivated submission
In ranks and in rows uniformly disposed
Earthbound and holding attention
Yet openly Stubbornly free
They continue to grow.
To Flander's field poppies
And crosses akin
They are harvests of memory to reap
Promises planted to keep
she disturbs meaning
in rhythmic pulsation
exciting to fluorescence a deeply subtext'd verse;
'but don't mistake a stinging strophe for arrogance.'
'that's just fierce presence,'
moved by waves of astonishment
cascading through a nervous and vascular system
with a reaching iridescent tentacle
she simply, elegantly, fluoresces a gleam in your eyes
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light
Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come
To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.
The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.
Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.
Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
A duet with the breeze.
So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.
With merriment's ink:
A song etched deep:
Art carved out of sky.
Title: Night Poem
quarter moon in sight,
partially hidden by clouds.
just like my verses.
Apples.. beetles.. caterpillars..
fertile ground.. hollyhocks..
Ivy jumbled kegs..
leafy mint.. nematodes..
quiet rest sunsets.. tomatoes under vines..
wheelbarrows.. xanadu yearning zeal!
When you read what I wrote hurriedly sped
Did my soothing idea draw you or not
Maybe laughter or deep thought at what I said
Whatever be the outcome that you got
We are tied together forever friend
Somewhere in the future a thought will come
Maybe when you read of Whip-Poor-Will penned
Or see a sunrise that is so awesome
You'll think of somewhere in long ago past
Having remembrance of a poet who wrote
Of early morn and clouds like veils amassed
Either of how smoothing or how remote
It could be a good thought or depressing
Forever influenced by granny's expressings
‘ A Metaphysical Moment ’
A Metaphysical Moment
Electrifying To The Touch
Breathless, Thru The Clouds
Can My Heart, Take So Much
… Can My Eyes Endure
All This Vision, I See
Can Voice, Even Speak
Over Roaring of This Sea
… Can Ear Even Listen
When I Am Flying So Free
Soaring, So True With You and
Metaphysical Moment and Me …
A Metaphysical Moment
Will I Ever Understand
This Mystery of Our Universe
The Mystery of Woman and Man …
(And I End This with an Haiku for
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno and
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)
Metaphysical Moment …
… Nature’s Mysteries
Metaphysical (definition) as an adjective:
Metaphysical of early 17th Century Poetry
Relating to the poetic style of John Donne,
George Herbert and other early 17th Century Poets
Who used consciously intellectual language
And elaborate metaphors that compared things
It's here now under a converted sky
Where daylight has loss it’s might
Hours before the green hills had sight, with
splattered hints of yellow wild flowers so bright
Now time has casts a different light
It here now where the heavens sings an evening song
With twinkled lights on a moon lit prong
Dancing stars and dreaming of mars
Its here on this transformed spot
I will sit and jot
It is here now as I lay back on this cool grass, and write a story
with the heavens the color of quarry
Of jeweled eyes in the skies
that connected to stories, some disguised
With silver spoons and astrological loons
On dream away, dream on by
to the earths motions and lullabies
It is here now time to take a brake
from life’s work ,and worries and heart ache
Try it yourself remember when, you were a child
when you looked up the night and smiled amen
Crab on a mission
So much inside that shell; leaves
writing in the sand
scissored shades of Betsycoed
taste of yester youth's sweet tones
splashing sound of forest water
kissing shining sacred stones
Dreams of swirling druids dancing
in the faery water's rill
flash reflective thoughts of flight
The dragon tears yet spill
The druid hymn of waiting
for greed to die of want
a constant scream of tortured winds
belie the curse of can't
What matters ought to those who fought
and died that I be here
to stand beneath a blazing sky
and gaze upon the Western sea
moments of reflective thought
pondered on expressed and caught
to feed an ever growing need
To dig and rap and plant a seed
That blossoms in another mind
Repeated as the finest kind
to be forever sowing seed
And time to spend with thee
You see my face and you see my expression but you don't know the real me that i'm
You don't know that behind these eyes that a little girl cries every night, you
don't know the half so why are you desperately trying to label me with some brand that I
would never wear.
If you'd look a little deeper into these pearly browns you know that I am not just a
cover you have to take time to read the book to really know me.
You can't just skim the back or listen to what other people say because yeah I might
be talked about but unless you dip into the pudding you will never truly know why.
Maybe if you looked a little deeper you'd see someone trying to keep up in a endless
I keep on moving but it's never any good I guess I underestimate myself or maybe I
just need someone to give me courage.
I see the surprised look on your face and all I can do is laugh, I bet you didn't
think that I had so much depth, I better you never realized.
So even if it's not me your interested in, please let me teach you one lesson. You
can see some much more behind the eyes of a girl than the cloud of makeup hiding her
In a girls eyes you can see her insides, her deepest fears, her insecurities.
Behind these eyes is the magical side, and if you can look into them first then I know
that your confident and well worth the struggle.
In thy garden, let
My muses, as I do now, spell
For thee, the sweet honey of spring where I humbly come.
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
(Haiku)- * Motive, infidelity messing with the Queen Bee's Honey*
Queen Bee sits on throne,
Bumble and drone bees as one
Sample flowers dew
(Limerick) - *Admission of guilt leads to compensation*
Indeed this is how the story unfolds,
Pete said, "It's a poor rat with only one hole"...
Love had taught a sad lesson;
Divorce court was now in session,
Judge rules favor, Pete's pockets full of holes...
(Couplet) - *Take vows seriously payback often belongs to Spouse - Queen Bee*
Love said, "Pete too late you've opened your peepers"....
"Man, you should know it was cheaper to please her"!
Submitted for P.D.'s Divorce Club Contest (Haiku-Limerick-Couplet)
P_ Pleasant place not an ILLUSION
O_ Opens mind's CREATIVITY
E_ EVENTUALLY enter Zen place
T_ Trance like state INEVITABLE
Y_ Yearn time all senses INFUSION
P_ Pleasant early morning garden
A_ Alone mountain with valley view
L_ Laughing next to lapping water
A_ Any one garden, mountain, seashore
C_ Caught up surrounded by nature
E_ Enter state poetry palace
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
Planning on crossing over
where footprints of night
are ne'er seen...
There fish are spawning
in clear blue stream ~
Surrounded by verdant green;
Nature begins speaking to me.
An antiquated chine-wood bridge
gracefully arches it back
with sturdy braids makes a path ~
That I may cross to a place serene
Where nightingales and crickets sing
It's a place where I do my thinking
Unafraid to shed my skin ~
by dusk as honey bear I may roam,
by dawn take flight as an eagle
I may be found soaring toward home.
Upon opening mine eyes
I come to realize the colors of the skies
Yes, I've crossed that bridge before