Poem | |
I never cease to ponder at the turmoil in my life
Though I feel my soul is peaceful it is manifest in strife
While the strife is all internal 'neath a self content facade
Turmoil rises in the absence of at-one-ment with my God
Is it merely my perception? Am I resisting taking heed?
Should this life be one of resting, or is it strife I need?
It should be a simple matter to find the purpose of this life
Is it growth I need from striving or is it rest I need from strife?
Is it focused introspection, is it altruistic love?
Is it spiritual reflection, or is it all of the above?
For sure it’s more than economic, yet while that’s necessary too
Is it our souls’ evolution that makes it all worthwhile to do.
I can see no point in living just to pass another day
I must have something more worth giving, than just to pay my way.
It would be so much the simpler if a man could know for sure
What his purpose is for living, his evolvement to procure.
Will my purpose well within me? Could a vision not appear?
And suggest a clear direction to pursue while I am here.
I’m so tired of treading water, putting time in ‘till I die
There must be something more constructive waiting for me by and by
I have fancied other options but none have succored to my taste
Yet to continue what I’m doing simply put, seems like a waste
So it seems the only option is to carry on and wait
And resolve that when I’m called on I will not hesitate
I have learned of soul eternal, on an endless ageless quest
Taking various forms and bodies, each to serve its purpose best
With each lifetime experience and with every lesson learned
It’s one step closer to perfection that the growing soul has earned
For it’s purpose is advancement, and to not be left behind
In it’s struggle for ascension to God, the universal mind
I have friends who understand me, superficially at least
I have others who are certain I have succumbed to the beast.
I have family who despise me as a traitor to the faith
Very quick to, criticize me and condemn me as "off base"
I have learned I must not judge them, t’would be a travesty indeed
For they are only doing what ‘ere it is that their souls need.
In the meantime, I’m impatient, that my calling has not come
It’s quite clear that I’m not ready, sufficient learning’s not been done.
The problem’s not with others, nor need they change for me
The work must all be done within me for my soul to be set free
Poem | |
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Stirring hornets’ nest
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
Poem | |
It seems I always
against the current.
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance
played out over a lifetime.
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
why must I cause stirred sediments
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence?
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?
I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.
I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed? Perhaps both.
Poem | |
What is life?
Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies
Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime
Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between.
Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.
The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.
In limited struggle, the moments unspent
Become the result of a living lament.
In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb
Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.
From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar
For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear
We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.
A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.
To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us. As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture. This poem is meant to reflect the myriad of disjointed thoughts that have run through my mind throughout the years. The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.
Poem | |
Her blind eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me.
She turned her face toward me with a sorrowful look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif.
Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body.
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life.
One thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never to be again.
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears,
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK".
I lied, knowing it wouldn't. Besides what could I do with so little to give.
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.
Awakening with a start, the dream profoundly disturbing, I find myself
deeply reflecting on the singularity of the experience, so poignantly vivid,
an allegory with a message, extremely important, which still eludes me.
Why such a horrific dream that haunts and shakes my very soul even yet.
Poem | |
Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively
like a long lost love
whispering my name
over and over
until its all I hear
yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat
So conniving in its game
of love and hate
like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed
turn and run they say
where shall I go
the only recourse is to stay
as it tries to tear
to wear me down
He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here
exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back
waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell
Poem | |
Before the abyss, I had it all
Letting go of all I see
My friend, I hope our time won't end
It took a short time for you to notice
Without knowing who I am
We talked, we became friends
Connecting the dots, missing every line
Connect them and figure me out
Randomly it comes your way
Underneath a never known chemistry
Ask me to stay and I may
Grinding your teeth into my way
Cut out my eyes, and store them up
A tongueless mouth, nothing to say
Maybe by tomorrow you will forget
Losing myself in my own conversation
Hiding behind my one big regret
Don't know, Don't care
You had me open up
A book I closed, knowledge lost
No need to see
A mystery called deception
What I am cannot be seen with the naked eye
Along came you using your *ucked* up perception
The ability you miss use
making sense of this connection
A process you carry with your own patterns
You asked, you listened, without making assumptions
A taste to take off my shoulders,
To release an error locked in my Asylum
I myself am enjoying the insights about him
He's got me convince, using his perception
Poem | |
I used to live beside the sea
It was not long ago
A footpath went along the beach
One could walk, and watch the show
As the ocean played its song of love
And the seagulls made much din
It was a lovely place to go
As each day, it did begin.
I loved it in the morning times
When the moon was big and round
It seemed to rest upon horizon
Such joy I often found
Admiring me, this yellow orb
That seemed so very huge
And as I’d walk, within my dreams
I’d often take refuge.
Sometimes I'd walk there, evenings too
And watch the sun go down
As the sky would turn to marmalade
And it seemed this Sphere would drown
As the ocean swallowed it all up
And the night came creeping in
And seagulls sang there evening songs
How I loved their noisy din.
There’s something about the mighty ocean
That makes me want to write
The seaweed and the salty breeze
Give me such sweet delight
I love the rivers, love the lakes
And yet the wild, wild sea
It has a treasure of it’s own
That just calls out to me.
5 November 2013 @ 0950hrs.
Poem | |
The country gathering
Sometimes the folk all got together
In the little country house
Now there was Tom the tiny tiger
Well, he could be a louse
But could he play that old guitar
Man! he made it speak
And when the folk did hear him play
He made their legs go weak.
There was Winifred the otter
How she did those drums
Her rhythm it could suck one in
If you were feeling glum
You’re legs would start to dancing
As you’d rise up to the sky
And all those troubles that you had
They’d fade away and die.
Now Mugly Minie, could she sing!!
She was the porcupine
She’d stand there with a glass of wine
And she’d just blow your mind
As Billie basset, the friendly bear
Would play that bass so cool
Now he was quiet, and very shy
But lord, he had it all.
People came from miles around
To hear those fellows play
They’d dance and sing Chicago blues
Their hearts alive and gay
They’re going to be a big time band
One day, they all know this
But all they really want to do
Is play, that’s how it is.
24 July 2013 @ 1150hrs.
Poem | |
Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.
Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?
Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.
Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.