Best Musings... Poems
What if love is the religion,
and heaven a voice
with no ego;
synchronized in
harmonious hope,
speaking dialects
of kindness?
What if hell is a myth,
and evil lurks as shadows,
dressed in greed
and insincere speech?
What if there’s no fine line
between dusk and dawn?
no strained streak between
darkness and light,
blurring out visions
of wrong and right?
But If love is the religion,
would the Universe
tame the storms
raging above holy shrines?
If honesty can see through
the sunless eyes of
sinners crawling
as nocturnal creatures,
preying on gullible souls-
disguised as saints,
would they mend
sacred survivors?
for, they’ve conquered
colossal galaxies rising
from unbeatable infernos.
In a world that is oblivious
to the grieving clouds,
drizzling tears from the azure.
I wish, you and I, would read
the same book of intuitions;
scriptures that reveal
no name to the faith we behold.
Sometimes, I close
my confused heart,
allow third eye to
roam and reach,
to find heaven through
astral waltzing,
across spiritual realms,
where hymns of healing echo.
Perhaps, it’s been
etched in karmic kismet,
that amidst fleeting time
and passing seasons,
love shall rise like
a forgiving flower,
sprouting from emptiness.
Embalmed in jasmine rain water,
pouring upon the
emblem of empathy.
So, don’t speak, just listen,
close your eyes, awaken
your awareness to the air,
witness the unspoken truth,
swirling through weary winds,
caressing fragile skin,
like eagle feathers.
Seek beyond all that
which shimmers,
there flows dreams that glow,
woven with faith;
a combination of meraki,
and divine elements.
Judgement
You light the fire, then play the victim.
It's not my fire, yet you let it burn.
Rage and pain drive you insane,
creating a parody of hypocritical lies.
Judgemental eyes ignite in fumes,
ignorant to another man's shoes.
Silent emotions
They say he shows no emotions,
yet fail to see the flow of tears,
crying from his poetic pen.
Poetry is only silent to ignorance.
It's the pain keeping him alive,
breaking all figurative chains.
He realises there is not shame,
when the sorrows of lost time,
become burdens he can't let go.
Yet the hurt makes him stronger.
She
I always knew she'd be the one,
from that novel, whose name I fail to recall.
When I read those words,
her image burst from the page.
I always thought lucidity of my imagination,
was a slightly cruel curse;
until i saw those eyes,
which moved closer in crystal definition,
merging true colours into my heart.
Even in the silence of my dreams,
I called for just one kiss from her lips.
Misunderstood muse
There won't be any poetry tonight,
nothing to say, to see nor to write.
An absence of subtle reflection in words,
become a substance of subsistence.
Confused with silent existence of timeless distance.
Insistence of your resistance,
seems like a waste of emotions,
in a false dawn of devotions.
Learn to create perfect harmonies
through simple sincere symphonies.
Then your predicament will not breed,
nor succeed in its egotistical need.
Simple Musings
Silent One
8 December 2019
“You try to be faithful
And sometimes you're cruel.
You are mine. Then, you leave.
Without you, I can't cope."
Rumi
in the kingdom of love,
nothing is simple,
not even musings,
so tell me:
in your annoyance
do you still think of me
or am i just another
common cliché
in Rumi's philosophies
for cosmic connections,
must we be a
contradiction of circumstance
when our story has been sung
beyond the reach of stars,
so despite the dystopian demons,
i keep hope in the invisible
golden harp strings,
yet to compose our swansong
oh mistress of medusa
in splitting seasons,
when serpents spit venom,
your British horizon soul,
coupled with your
climate change heart,
procreate porcelain patience,
where rhythms of rage
lead to breathless silence,
but i never forget you
it can be tiresome
battling against
ebony lashes from
metaphorical daggers
when vertigo eyes
hunt for their prey
and i wonder if i
was at shooting distance
would you pull the
trigger to rip my
heart like shredding
secretive documents
but despite bonfire breaths,
my samurai spirit has
become immune to
momentary flames,
adopting a mermaid mind,
finding sanctuary in
deep waters until
the last ember dies,
as at the end of each storm,
when rainbows reappear,
i resurface upon your
ivory shores,
for what am i,
but a sea urchin and
you the empress of the sea,
so each time you are cruel,
i wait for the return of
tender gestures,
as i know it is your
veil of vulnerability
you hide from the world,
but in the intricacies of conflict,
i am still the moonlight
glowing upon your ripples,
as i know the code to
your handcrafted heart,
floating in wandering waves,
as you still ignite intimate spiritual
sparks of soothing sensuality,
so never abandon me - forever
in the imperfections of love,
in my abundance of flaws
i know you adore me
internally and externally,
for we are refuge and
safe haven for the broken,
like a masterpiece of
alliterative adjectives
glowing like gems
in topaz textures upon
mookaite mosaics
I know I'm no
Leonardo Di Caprio,
I've never been as
romantic as Romeo,
so love me for
what I am today,
I am not your past
of wasted sunsets,
so ascend with me like
tomorrow's sunrise
Every discovery started with absolutely
no idea of where to start...
There is not enough time in a lifetime
to measure success...
Just as there is pain in uncertainty,
there is peace in faith...
We thrive in our communal happiness,
we parish in derisive pain...
Death is much less reliable in peace.
In war, we can put up a more
reasonable defense...
We can waste a lifetime seeking happiness
from someone else's approval...
Our happiness should always be seen
in the kindness of our eyes...
With desires held in check,
less becomes more...
When a smile becomes a laugh,
you've found happiness...
Love is helping someone discover that they
are better than what they thought they were...
Unfathomable contentment is a poet
finishing the last line of a poem...
Sun is hiding behind glimpses of grey.
Through the window
naked trees,
their bark covered in green moss,
seem frigid and grisly.
Their bird less branches leafless,
but debris of broken nests and feathers remain.
Forgotten by mother birds who's fledglings have long flown away.
(those that did not fall from the nest or became prey to predators)
Isn't it interesting how our eyes see things differently?
I see so much change whilst sitting in the auditorium of Autumn.
In this season of diversity some admire the beauty,
whilst others see death and destruction.
Seasons can be a reflection of personality and character.
Which season are you? Do you know yourself?
My Dahlia heart has never been a lover of the cold.
If I could sleep like hibernating squirrels,
or fly to warmer climates like migrating geese -
I would - I should - If only I could.
Yet I feel it would be selfish to leave my mother bird -
so I sacrifice my own happiness - but wait patiently for permission.
But, I'm struggling to sleep among lifeless souls.
My eyes perturbed by fake guides with false words.
Scorned minds who believe everything they see and hear,
plague me with their false prophecies -
why is it ok to burn some nests,
but there is an outcry when yours is damaged?
Are some fledglings more valuable than others....
Tired from the injustices of life,
I ponder do we ever learn from the lesson?
Revenge and retaliation are never the answer.
Hypocrites with blood on their hands
should not cry for peace - one life has no value over another -
nor does colour, religion or gender.
Yet we remain lost in the disorder.
Seasons change, but some minds remain the same..
Simple Sunday Musing.
10 December 2023
Objects of desire
quenches not thirst of my soul,
that seeks only your embrace.
That that comes and goes
is unreal, oh hermit ~
agape love alone’s real.
All year long he puts my heart on a shelf
No surprise I’d rather be by myself
If there’s no Valentine treat
From this worthless hunk of meat
He can go on making love to himself
Remember there’s an “I” in Valentine
So if no one’s around to say, “Be mine”
Just splurge – get a new hairdo
Party with an all-girl crew
Check out the divorce rate and say, “I’m fine”
*For Francine's Valentine Limerick contest
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
~*~
Away from all the city's noise
my body sinks into the marsh;
as birdsong trills of whispered hymn
I slide away among the trees.
My reveries in forest deep
are well concealed and hid from view--
with jazmines pinned on hair, and then
disperse like fringes in a breeze.
While my voice hushes, quite profound
I trace northwinds, balmy and strong
when evening spreads its velvet cloak--
and muffles any wail or blare.
Here I dream of family's lore
the Sunday feasts, the mourn of deaths
beyond the place where moonlight glints,
where field of life drifts...warm and still.
All the Little Pieces Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France 8/31/2020
Its still raining, my eyes still tired,
wet lawns with little puddles drowning our earth -
but despite the monochromatic skyline,
birds arrived with their morning song -
not afraid to get their wings wet.
Selfish sun has abandoned me,
so I ponder amongst the puddles and serenades,
is this an analogy for us to continue with our purpose,
despite the adversity life throws at us?
Are you even alive?
Is breathing confirmation of your conscience?
Do we even need a reason for existence...
Many probably do not care or do not realise,
but if life was a contest, where would you place?
Not everyone has been gifted or cursed with empathy.
Would compassion compete if it was a competition?
Are words enough to justify where we finish on the podium,
or is it understanding what lies behind the veil -
or failing to explain that it hinders how we choose our path.
So why do we hide behind words?
Why are you afraid?
We can wear a disguise behind metaphors,
but in reality our truth in never being revealed
eats at our heart, killing our desires -
a corrupt heart means a death to our purpose.
I guess the dilemma is:
Do we need a purpose
and what is the purpose of living without a purpose..
Guess I am lucky I found my purpose.
Not everyone can spread light, but I will continue to illuminate.
A selfless soul never worries about the pedestal.
In a selfish world where time is your nemesis,
you have a choice how you wish to place in your contest.
Simple Musing
9 December 2023
To say the universe always existed violates every concept of our logic.
The origin of our totality could not have been a spontaneous event.
A beginning requires a beginner. We have no concept of what always was, except by supplanting what might be with what is through faith. Faith permits us to believe the incredible, which means; extraordinary things do not always require empiricle evidence.
Faith is unconstructed. It's a gift. It's either presented to you through conviction, or it's not. You eiher possess it, or you do not.
With faith, we know love and with love we find strength. Without faith, love cannot exist and without love, existance would be inconsequential.
To deny the existance of God is to doubt the love in our own significance...
the trees outside
my window
stand like fragile bones
reaching
moaning&
groaning
all their leaves
blown away
they stand naked
of beauty
withered&
brittle
their broken branches
cannot be hidden
as snowflakes drift
covering the ground
I hear them
whispering&
whispering
we are not dead
&soon
we will be
wearing beautiful
snow white cloaks
we are but
sleeping
When I feel puzzled and perplexed,
When in the maze of conflicting thoughts, I am held,
Wondering how to proceed and reach the port,
Then Faith in God comes handy to my aid
Over the turbulent waves, as I get tossed,
The promise of His Word gives me courage.
His everlasting love, I feel in my heart.
On my scars it serves as a safe bandage
All I pray is to give me grace to adhere to a strong faith,
To navigate the complexities of existence,
To find meaning and purpose in this transient life,
And from the pestilences of life, to acquire resistance!
Yet, frail I am and when through trials and tribulations as I pass,
And when they upset my balance leaving me unsteady,
To you Lord, earnestly I beseech, not to let me down,
Never allowing me to get drowned in the eddy.
In this vast universe and in its amazing wonders
From the mountains high and the oceans deep
I see the working of your Providential hand,
That from death and all dangers our lives keep.
When questions arise shaking my trust and faith,
All I wish is to fully abide by Your Word,
Entrusting my body and my soul into Your loving hands,
And like a child cling on to the safety of Thy hold.
Some parts of life are permanent,
alas, some aspects not:
The morning temperature feels chill;
by midday it grows hot.
The money spent on cell phones'
long-term value which I sought,
Too soon is gone, as more is spent
on upgrades I've since bought.
The sun in its celestial course
yields light, black night, or shade.
Old years tossed out with calendars
as fire's embers fade.
Some friendships evanesce,
forgetting promises we'd made
Our children grow and move away,
as hair grows thinned and greyed.
Staunch boughs of trees are shaken by
harsh winds, enduring long.
'That time of year thou mayest in me
behold'; thy love's more strong.
You've been my life's sweet constant
as we harmonize our song -
One truth is undeniable:
in your arms I belong.
// Dedicated to Janet, my loving bride of 35 years //
Love's holding one safely in your keeping
Tenderly in your arms whilst you're sleeping
Love's glorious and generous always
Till the ending of your life's precious days.
Love is desiring when you are apart
It’s completely handing someone your heart
The magic moments that brighten your days
Moments that you’ll both treasure for always.
Love is filling each day and night with bliss
Saying I love you with a tender kiss
It’s turning a home into a lagoon
Where every day becomes a honeymoon.
Love is the answer to every prayer
Love’s having someone who is always there
Love is the song one's heart constantly sings
Love's the musing that plays upon heart strings.
I’m a long-legged guy,
A macho man, if you will,
Tho still I fell for Little Blue Eyes,
When on the highway I was drawn
Into a Little Town church,
To give thanks for spared hurts
And wrecks when a truck driver drives.
There I met a tiny little girl that made my world,
As real as the road singing songs.
She made my ham and eggs,
And filled brown lunch bags with love--
And prayed.
The years went by and
When I was gone,
She studied and prayed and
Made us a home.
Now I’ve hung up the trucker’s gloves,
And hold her bare hands, giving my love
To the studies that made her a preacher.
She serves the Lord and I serve her,
Those blue eyes watch her man hear her sermons
For her tiny body holds a heart
Big enough for the both of us,
God and the mellowed macho man.