Best Conduits Poems
Eddie currents confused the conduits in this mind
How can the transformers in the brain go not blind
Confusing is the light, direct me as it's straight shined
Hundreds of emotions imprisoned and confined
Thoughts going back to teenage years deeply pined
Worrying about the love effects totally enshrined
Consider this cancer, your thoughts are far too kind
This melon has been carved deep, right to the rind
Missing all that I've lost, forever rightly defined
Penned for the world to read like riding bare on equine
A century, now I've given the soup all I have mined
Mentored by Sotto, DT, Mo, Anaya, and P. Hind
Mused by Constance, Brandy, Sunshine, Anna, I've refined
Influenced by Gershon, Paula, and Dilly, like whine
Holding fast to FJ, Charles, Eve & Deb my heart relined
My love for you all wide openly is to remind
In a carnal...cage of ribs,
A suffering heart laments.
In the abode of the soul...
...faint echoes of muted pain..
...grace the dark cavity of flesh.
Whispers of failures resonate..
The soul...a pure white dove of dreams.
Captive of freedom...imprisoned from love.
Shackled to an interior dungeon of depression.
Red rivers stream...through the body’s conduits,
Poetic lullaby’s gush...soothing the dove to slumber.
Dreams of love...nestled deep..
...aspire the joy that once was.
“The pathless path beckons us ~
To get aboard God’s bliss bus”
~ quote by poet
Energy highways in form
carry currents cool and warm,
through a network amazing,
more complex than stargazing.
For those who know not, this maze
bewilders as does amaze,
being a channel for grace,
birthing bliss as God’s embrace.
Serpentine is the pathway,
to heaven an expressway,
along spine till crown on head
along which bliss mists are led.
Cell by cell and node by node,
as love pays to God an ode,
the path appears as we tread,
if in heart there be no dread.
Not much is known about this
tunnel network that so is
but suffice to say it’s true,
although known to very few.
Labyrinthine and complex,
these conduits let rapture flex
power of love magnetism
within our mind-body prism.
Only pure hearts free from stain,
may God’s love and light attain,
that as Holy Spirit flows,
so that our auric field glows.
Sages of old have spoken,
of these grid lines unbroken,
which though in truth has no name,
is for us to now reclaim.
Before there was a world or a word
there was unfathomable loneliness
in the gaseous expanse of pin pricked night
an infinite course of vibrations, sound
nascent, coalescing, gestating,
until planets ripening birthed with souls.
There was only the orb, the throbbing soul
and an unknown longing for word,
conduits formed synapses gestating
to wavelengths of crystalline loneliness,
the aching white noise, static, lack of sound,
and the wanderers of celestial night.
Man was born to such a daunting midnight
aqueous eyes and conical ears for soul
to shattering din’s discordant sound,
no bird song, no harmony, no words,
just an aging, aching, aloneness,
of random thoughts thus wordless gestating.
A rhythm of circular gestation
formed the day and lingering became night
and thus weakened, warmed the loneliness
with woman kind He brought her soul.
Ether resounded with sheet lightening, words
for those sounds were to souls, the God sound.
Strong, silibant streams of understood sound
released from the oval egg of gestation
songs formed as man combined the God like words
croonings of passion fill the nubile night
as joinings rolled-tidal of mated souls.
Word all powerful had freed loneliness.
Each creature gifted an end to loneliness
earth, water, fire ,wind, all given sound,
all graced beloved with shimmering souls,
hatched from the dragon’s egg, life gestates
into the bountiful passage of night.
Cherish the ever present presence of the Word.
No longer alone, a sound vibrating within
each atom relates to the soul, gestation continues
in the night's never-ending cycle of the Word's life.
*My PASSION is SONG
* Many lines have internal RHYME as well as
the end rhyme achieved by the use of the same words.
*Dedicated to inspiration achieved
through the writings of L'Nass Shango & David Smalling
born under the sea, an irresistible force
two bodies reluctantly embrace, shunting, shifting, tectonic drifting
alongside the southern Iapetus Ocean
equatorial deep-time child of Laurentia and Avalonia
journey northward, surfacing, submerging
surfing the waves again, a colder Hibernian dalliance
precariously perched on Eurasian plate
old bedrock confused, youthful erosion above the ancient order
darkness entombed around channelled winter light
early New Grange civilisation, the Boyne valley before the blood
river mouth vikings, raiding, assimilating
birth of the coming capital, eastern stronghold, Baile Atha Cliath
chain-mail Norman conquerors castle-building
appointing pious supplicants with sword, cloth, crook and cross
wholly unholy alliances unravel
rival hierarchies sharing ill-gotten earthly reward from overseas
saintliness, brutality, men and women
expanding Christendom, pagan kingdoms adjusting to defeat
Patrick, Brigid, Columba, Columbanus
Irish civilising roman catholic conduits, Dalriata to Lindisfarne
outreaching, a strand of Irish character
yet to encounter future revisionary metaphysical thought
protestant rebellion, mainland overspill
praying elites competing, preying on the island's god-fearing people
avian watchers on Skellig pinnacles
warm ocean currents well-up, catching the southwestern gale
enduring the ill-will of nature and man
supplanting, subjugating, saving souls, the power of might and fear
treachery within or well beyond the pale
fair and dark hair, ginger genetics existing on the edge of life
tossed thin people hanging on, many leaving
scraping blighted ground, returning to the sea, promise of the unknown
Irrefutable evolution conduits
Matter tip toes through tunnels
Microscopic nano shifts continue
Outperformers filter free of funnel
Replicas of kept traits hail heredity
Thrivers cognate with larger logic
Attentive nurture forms pedigree
Love poured over timid progeny
Genome keys cut exacting bones
Entrapped wrapped sticky chrysalis
Nature photocopies, care duly hones
Elevating banquet, perpetual Christmas
Elevation in Evolution
Eighth of December
Desirable Education
The blood that remembers
That of brother-to-brother or sister-to-sister
The blood that holds a family together
The blood that brought us here from a far and distant land
The blood we share in toil and strife and in war and death
Who made this blood and why do we have so little of it?
Shouldn’t we be able to farm it and grow it like tomatoes on the vine?
For it is our blood. We own it. Who can take it from us?
War, most certainly, but that blood is given for righteousness and should surely be returned post haste.
Can we cut ourselves like the Indians and become blood brothers? Does that strengthen our numbers? Or is it just some silly myth or rite of life.
I would like to think that blood would give strength but as it pours from my body I only feel weakness.
These two slits in my wrists are conduits to another world right?
They will make strong and give a warrior the strength to shoot the arrow straight and ride the pony hard.
My giving is their strength. It is a good day to die.
I bleed myself slowly for I know that they will need the energy in increments. My soul is that of a warrior and it can only strengthen their cause.
From Wounded Knee to DaNang the dead have given their souls so we could be free.
Why would I stop that tradition now?
You spoke a new language
of rarefied air
guided nonchalantly
through curving channels of brass
Conduits of cool
juries of jazz
floating past soulful valves
harbingers of what will come
Slender fingers
improvising storylines
magistrates of melancholy
bailiffs of bop
Miles from the mainstream
a milestone of
modern modalities
kind of blue
Becoming a storage facility is a necessary accomplishment,
but what I really long to become when I grow up is a conduit.
For my entire Christian life span, I have heard the admonition,
"Let Him have His way". The meaning of the expression has always
been clear, but Pastor's message last Sunday shone an even brighter
light on the subject.
Two bodies of water, one, The Sea of Galilee, is alive and ever lives,
bringing forth more abundant life; The other, The Dead Sea, is dead and continues a steady pace of dying, even though gifted with the same living water as the other. The results of the Dead Sea's inability to let the Jordan River have its way is not only a sentence of death but a 'receding' kind of continual death because it allows no outlet.
We can be grateful that The Dead Sea is in contrast to even Nature's Way, and is the exception and not the rule. Moreover, God's way in us is to both receive and share Him(let Him flow through and out of us), resulting in our being, not a bank or storage facility, but a conduit, a powerful way to let God have His way.
110919PoSoup
You hold my hand
aware of capacity
for bonding
hands can do that
fingers fond conduits
palms firm suctions
of secure presence
hands yielding
while they also solidify
the mystery of divine
grasp – adhesive nature
of caring touch, giving
while receiving
taking possession with
tender balance of freedom
Love need never hurry
ageless and timeless
the Royal Flush of Hearts
I stand neck-high tall
within the quicksand
of my infirmities.
Green and gaunt,
I hesitantly genuflect.
Ravaged tendons and corpuscles
are barely breathing
within the vacant corridors
of a soiled carcass.
My ardor for vindication
has been abandoned.
I presently refrain from accepting
the consultation of
umbrous soothsayers.
Readers of tealeaves and tarot cards
hurl my infractions towards
the apex of your divinity
and the nadir of my scrutiny.
I espy no Judas rope
(dangling from lofty boughs)
as scores
of unanswered novenas
sleep beneath my fingernails.
Scars flourish upon my skin -
agnate to larvae
and dried leaves.
The density of my marrow
turns moss covered and dank.
Choirs of starving nestlings
bear witness to my afflictions.
Swallowing the last notes
of a disenchanted requiem;
they slowly bind my wrists
with twigs of knotted reflections -
as Harper Lee's macaws
peck my cheeks and
the calculated feast ensues.
A murky blanket
of eventide quilts me
in fibers of remorse.
Lesions burst
underneath my skin;
they herald my inhumanity
as I impishly smile.
Connect-the-dot cold sores,
(not found in children’s books)
entwine a raw endoscope probe -
mocking
my charted results.
Inky woodlands
are devoid of carnival mirrors
and inner deliberations.
Such forms
of bun coed celebration minuet
within another's emptied psyche.
The conduits
to my umbra are blocked.
All exits are closed.
So, into the woods I go,
medicine chest-closed
and matchstick available.
Searching for answers
the starving nestlings
formerly consumed.
Faulty compass of drifting swain
Freelancing on arid, desert plain
Passion fires mind of careening train
Burning loins long each satin sheath to stain
Sculpted dunes seductive beauty do feign
Smooth, silky curves do the froward eye entertain
But the silted grains proffer momentary gain
Entrancing mirages with frothy water holes detain
Anon, overwhelming desires the burgeoning libido enchain
Strained limbs long the rite of passage to explain
Scrubby growth shrouds the perimeter of fragile domain
Pubescent psyche with confusing, hormonal signals overlain
The overheated circuits a disoriented path ordain
As eroding winds of doubt doth the surface disdain
Insecure conduits more and more inward shame drain
Seething shadow flutters in constantly changing terrain
Each step on serpentine course causes more growing pain
Until stumbling on rational plateau containing deep, emotive vein
Conquering the debilitating elements that immaturity did restrain
Guru chakra announces the master’s presence
Subtle, soft, humming tingling, rapture ineffable
Joyous peace, infused by sublime bliss incense
In-form nodes entwine in intimate dance affable
It is here wherefrom love magnetism is regulated
Constant flux of soma nectar within body flowing
Dormant conduits spring to life feeling now elated
Thoughts recede and heart’s aura begins glowing
18-April-2023
In a tranquil valley with banks dark and deep
Silted streams into dreary conduits seep
Shadows bearing yesterday's light on addled walls creep
Images from the dark recesses around each corner peep
Enchanting winds over the heightened senses do sweep
Animated figures from the bleary crevasses leap
Sorrowful clouds hover; o'er conscience penitent tears weep
In foggy redoubt, guarded fears and insecurities do heap
Sum of two, percolating hearts
Two forks merge, Love's current to kickstart
Love's seminal streams nutrients cart
Naively, through winding conduits dart
Each mind's eye the vital signs chart
Through coronary arteries; blithe goals, hopes jump-start
Strains increase blood pressure, tearing conjunctive cells apart
Gritty plaque dams; communication channels thwart
From heart's door, through silted veins, corroding dreams depart
Alter egos swell; each inflammatory argument a counterpart
A professional, therapeutic stent does bypass lane impart
Until acute thrombosis does stagnant minds compart
Divergent heart streams dissected on Love's flowchart