Prolific poet Emily D
no titles for her poems had she
Posterity allotted to identify
Making it easier for you& I
Ruminating on Li??le Bo-Peep,
and sadly,
her badly-missing sheep,
the evidence will show,
in the time allotted,
to get all her ducks in a row,
she had not spotted
the reason they were lost.
It was because her t's were dotted
and their eyes were crossed.
Systemic Strain Part II
Proof that survival is an art outline,
And you paint it daily with any scraps
They embark you.
They monitor your struggles without seen
In the prototype of the broken appliances
Behind it.
The group blame the person
Instead of the patterns.
They call it "Personal "
Responsibility ".
When it's genuinely Systemic Sabatoge.
But you-
You trudge with a spine that recalls everytime
You bent and still didn't quit.
You speak with a voice that carries the
Parroting of every barrier lifted.
And you say it plain, loud enough for the
Block to hear:
This tautness ain't mine
This fault ain't mine
This fight was allotted to me by a system
That never cultivated how to hold its own
Bulk.
I'm not the Crack.
I'm the pressure point.
I'm the vocal cords that named the real culprit
And to carry it's shame declines.
THE VAN GONE MUSEUM
A gleaming, extravagant building.
Filled with jewels of art.
The brainless herd pile in at
their allotted time slot. No thoughts
Zombie tourists flock into the Van
Gogh museum. It doesn’t matter
how many nationalities are there.
Everyone does the same.
Observers drone from one gallery
to another.
Their eyes not even focusing on the
painstaking art.
The portraits and landscapes stare
back at the viewer in
disbelief and disgust.
Please comprehend what I am.
The constant shutter of a camera
can be heard but not the slightest
intellectual thought can be even
fathomed amongst them.
Those photos they taken cannot
even echo the detail of the brush stroke
or slight colour difference.
They are a false facsimile at best.
The painting now a lifeless corpse.
A digital copy is what remains on a
seldom used SD card.
Never to be looked upon again.
A gravity trudges the cattle toward
the famous sunflowers ; not for
artistic merit but for bragging
rights and social media selfies
Although Van Gogh is long dead, it
seems apparent his legacy, his art,
his life’s work is now
Van Gone….
("A Migration of Ghosts", 2023, original encaustic)
In the morning I lay in the bath
Slowly waking with a cup
My mind drifts half asleep.
Eventually I start to count
All the people I have met and known
Close and distant
Who are gone.
At first it’s an easy couple of handfuls
But then the longer I soak
The more the numbers add up.
Eventually several dozen names and faces
Have marched across my memory
Each one smiling for an instant
Caught in a moment of what I knew them for.
A parade of sorts, young and old
Which once opened to won’t seem to stop.
It’s not like I’m merely an observer either
Safe in the warmth of my bath,
Like them I’m moving inexorably from here
To there
A parade of sorts, each with our own allotted light
Candles big and small, dull or bright
But in the end nothing but a memory
In memoriam we erect in honor
Without a site.
(5/15/26)
Time's money, this's how it's seen by monetary agency
Wiser men have modified it saying ‘Time’s currency’
An invaluable wealth, time you should never squander
No bank can help you once for money you wander
“Time and tide wait for no man”, affirms the wise
Be keen to do everything in allotted time n’ space
Like waves, which wait for none, time will advance
By staying idle, we may never get one more chance
Each one is granted a fixed quantum of time
And each second passes with a silent chime
Those who handle time without enough caution
May later regret and can land in utter perdition
As the pendulum of time swings
Each day, to infinity, steadily wings
Time is like a diminishing bank account
Nothing can be added to the existing amount
Time wasted should be our greatest regret
It is precious and irredeemable, never forget
Before infirmities set in, earn what you can
For life on Earth has only a short span
I could map you
against your shadows
measure diminishing echoes
check allotted expectations
or offer you recognition
paint you in
be deliberate in observation
unwavering in conviction
that you belong in this place
and this time
does it matter who your witness is
are you undone if I discount myself
when without question
I see you
I could fixate forever on co-existence
an ache for canvas, paint, words
to secure immortality
missing completely
how fleeting forever might feel in reality
~ witnessed for a moment
but meaningfully ~
I might call out more
call out to the rows of trees
how I see them
each and every one lining a path
bouncing the light
grasping pieces of solitude
that might otherwise swallow us up
I can do nothing about my ache
but I can see your beauty
and be absorbed by it
“Ignorance does not create any doubt. What shall I do, being endowed with modifications of the mind? They arise and dissolve like bubbles in water.”
Upon recognising we’re not body-mind,
which is a vessel allotted for our use,
it matters not if form flounders about blind,
since we are immune to each ego spawned ruse,
joyfully playing our life role as assigned,
allowing soma nectar from heart to ooze.
Thoughts rise and subside like waves of the ocean
but our core is still, distanced from commotion.
the brain may be quick or it may be slow
it’s like a car allotted for our use
we dwell in our heart, vibrant and aglow
wherefrom bliss mists continue to effuse
from our auric field, ego’s been cut loose
awakening mind of heart, one with God
to pulsations of love, we give our nod
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Rin
Each one is granted a fixed quantum of time
And each second passes with a silent chime.
Those who handle time without enough caution,
May later regret and land in utter perdition.
Everything should be done in the allotted time n’ space.
By staying idle, we may never get one more chance.
"All we have to decide is what to do,
With the time that is given us" before it is due.
As the moving pendulum of the clock swings,
Each day, to infinity, slowly and steadily wings.
Time is like a diminishing bank account.
Nothing can be added to the existing amount.
Time wasted should be our greatest regret.
It is precious and irredeemable, never forget.
Before infirmities set in, earn what you can,
For life on Earth has only a short span.
a soft gentle bliss hum rises within
holding our soul presence in warm embrace
toroidal swirl urging us to plunge in
that we imbibe the offerings of grace
in timeless time we become the bliss chime
which is to say we transform as the flame
effervescence of love voicing a rhyme
subtle epiphanies that have no name
body-mind a vehicle which we drive
allotted to us for our earth life span
yet we are not here to merely survive
but to ascend by following God’s plan
having seen in plain sight that we’re God’s light ~
we dance in the void with unbound delight
One life,
one tiny light to shine in our allotted hour
a single strutting chance upon the stage
a single line writ large upon the page,
a chance to love, to live, to give
and what is more,
one entrance and one exit, no encore
recognising limitations of body-mind
the vessel allotted for earth life
we make do with the vehicle
remaining always bliss rife
our true Self is love and light
cognised directly by eye of soul
we let not this dream life impact us
as we cheerfully fulfil our ordained role
In what galaxy does a heart
not learn lessons the hard way?
It’s in the nature of all creatures.
The school of life welcomes its students.
Some will breeze on by and
not learn much of anything.
The ones that embark implicitly
on that lush wild river of discovery
will be amazed when they unleash their potential.
Everyone is given the same amount of hours,
precious time to squander or exploit;
checks and balances accrued in bank book.
Here on earth promises are delivered,
bruises fade and broken bones are mended,
fear eclipsed and IOU's paid and erased.
Everyone carries about their baggage:
the outcome of their experience,
the detailed records in their head.
We each have our predestined portfolio,
an agenda or checklist of things to learn,
be they tender or wickedly cold and harsh.
It would be ridiculous to expect that life is fair:
it’s a lottery we are allotted numbers,
some are lucky while others feel their curse.
AP: 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
I met a vietnamese woman in the C.B.D
She looked little, though, but truly dainty
We talked over fates and one's lot
I found her charitable and thoughty
The buddhism allotted her classy
Which brought the meeting a bit lucky
I imagined she might be an embodiment
Delivering me courages from unseen
By firm beliefs impressed me to follow
And by intelligence and courage to win
I believed making miracles can be possible
As long as mastering the life's essence
She is an Vietnamese I've only met
By the meeting, empathy and courage I had
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