Best Rasa Poems
black and white photos
with no black
they're blank
i blinked
and banked
my book
would not
be a
blanc album
record
of a full life
we never lived
Page upon daunting page;
Chaste white awaiting impression.
A vast archive, consisting only
Of untold stories,
And unsung songs.
From blank to blemished,
Vision must fill the void.
Meaning is born to idealism,
And to intellect.
Conception is the key.
Emaciation is only cured
When emancipation takes place.
Endless possibilites are written,
Upon the blank slate.
Emptiness evokes evolution.
A mind born, clear, clean, free without
restriction, obligation, responsibility.
A mind nourished, taught what it will surely be,
taught of my environments, my person,
my personalities and is molded, a duplicate of me.
Along life’s way. a happening, a melding
comes knocking at the door of the mind
that is clear, clean, free, no restrictions,
obligation, responsibility, that is a duplicate of me.
It is here a loss is reached,
as my pure nourishment is breached,
with what was lurking not far away.
Some will express a merging is for the better,
I have doubts, as weakened I will be.
I have doubts, as I will be less than I am,
merged with environments, person, personalities
mine will be contaminated, my creation,
no longer pure.
Along the way from birth to hence no more,
I, gone to rest and the mind that was clear,
free, with no restriction or obligation or responsibility.
What was born of me has taken a new...
As I, born clean...as I, born free,
I had no obligation or responsibility.
weakened… strengthened...
I wait the merging
Copyright 2011 by Genebrother
I got my pen and paper after a quizzical ride
I tried to squeeze my mind and set some work aside
But nothing, nothing really effuses
Not a single word fluidly oozes
Weary as I slept not in yesternight
Rummaging o'er jungles of paper stretched so tight
Yet my passions surge and desires rise
To yield the crops of thought before sunrise
And greet the day of parched land dry
Awful! Not a single word chimes a try
Now the quill and ink are dead, but the poet seems alive
In a last ditch of efforts, fecundity of thought tries to revive
So that once again, immortal words ultimately say
The most beautiful thoughts from within my heart lay.
I'm me, in me, I'm Tabula, in mental corrode
Desiring to be nurtured, to see my future road
I'm me, in me, I'm fragments of where I should be
My names Tabula Rasa Flux, and I should flow so free
I've touched the stone, now I await through the night
Knowing I was in their shadows end, to meet their right
I'm the spirit of the age, under contract, I'm in solace grow
You will find me under life's clouds, where thunder and crickets show
I'm me, in the oceans of time, where many of me do flow
( Thank you 'Touchstone - Oceans Of Time' track titles )
Ode for a Fortunate Infant
Newborn:
Smacked and
Screaming —
Hardly more than a new fact,
A statistic
Already forgetting
The crush into Becoming.
This “tabula rasa,”
Kicking and flailing,
Not yet swaddled or cradled,
Held only by Fate
In the first minutes of Destiny
(unformed and waiting)
With a heart
Needing to be embracd
By more than just touch,
But blessed to completely feel
The warmth of Acceptance
That founds a first sense
Of Identity as being a Self
Here linked with Others…
For the first lessons of Love —
Swaddled in belonging
Wrapped with thanksgiving.
(c) s.y.eslnger 5/24/2024
Thanks be to God…
It’s the awkward pause when I draw a blank.
All the dreams I can’t recall.
And those whispered tender mercies
That don’t echo down the hall.
It’s the lack of depth to the story’s plot;
Not much drama after all these years.
It’s the empty stare when I hear a song
That used to always bring me tears.
It’s forsaken anniversaries
And birthdays unobserved.
Every summertime vacation
Family portrait that’s been blurred.
All these careless reminiscences
That never cross my mind
Are the way I put my thoughts on hold,
And keep my feelings undefined.
In the dull routine of simple tasks,
The rituals that satisfy my needs,
I elevate my posture,
Positioning my head above the weeds.
From my early morning walk about,
Till quarter past my last cold brew,
I spend my day deliberately forgetting
All those many times I’d been a fool for you.
Alone, she wanders in the trees
Breezes passing back and forth
Rustling leaves swirl into storms
And rain down on the forest in an endless effervescence
She lets the wind flit through her hair
The air blows through her breath like new intention
She's all too aware
Of how she cannot care about redemption
As she feels her soul collapse
Inside her empty frame
Knowing every truth
She wishes she could bear the pain
She falls down underneath the burden
Of the ash of hopes' remains
Everything spins, aching, burning
All the world seems so aflame
And she has called it all by its true name
She has brought it into being
She has known the truth inside each word she couldn't say
But all things seem the same
The way she cannot help but frame
This picture of perfection
With infinities of nothingness
Regressing 'round the edge of all of this
She wakes to find herself
Beyond the scene where she had wished to be
Partake of fate
No name defined her
And no sands of time could hold her back
She cannot bear to be
And so she sees herself
No hope, no fate
Outside
of everything
Setting ground rules
Mind tabulates
Sorting rocks from emeralds
One day the sky breaks-
Tabula rasa!
monotonous
pulsating
perceptions
of
formal
coherence
in
open-ended
fantastical
fragments
in
the hinterlands
of
ambivalence
gaps
hiatus
lacunae
errors
&contradictons
discarded
then
restored
an eclectic
mystery
of
ongoing
scepticism
faded
in
a surfeit
of
analogy
tabula rasa
when a child has no memory
one can say clean slates, after a few days they pick up
the basic like crying when hungry
from there on we fill the baby with what we know
a knowledge handed down from our parents, and the child
when it learns to read believes without reflection
what they are told must be the truth.
sometimes the child has a new thought, and it says what if this
is not valid, that is when the memory it didn´t have
is remembered, something that is clean and true about the life
we live an illusion made up of a generation of lies told
to keep us docile, most children dismiss this idea and go on
playing football, but a few listen to the voice of verity
and not knowing how to shut up tell everyone that life is more
then they have ever imagined.
those children are embarking on a long track that sometimes
leads to jail terms and sometimes to an early death
by those who know they are speaking the truth but try to say
the child has a criminal mind.
The road ahead of the few are long, and there is no happy ending
except the knowledge they have gives them comfort
No, my child,
our soul is not a " tabula rasa" as some men of
learning want to make us believe
for
our Lord has
written on her volumes of His wisdom, that life's
experience, helps us to retrieve!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
27 January 2020
* Tabula rasa is the theory that our soul is a blank sheet of paper
that our experience writes upon.
This house is empty
without you
though you've never been
here to fill it.
I thought it would help
to find a place
you have never touched.
But all I am has
been touched
by you and there is
nowhere to go.
How can laughter echo
through a place
it has never sounded?
We are born we are consciou, we do not possess mind
Mind is a work in progress of life.
It builds through the days of experiencial time
conscious’s right there, right there so sublime
Tabula rasa not more then a lie
A misunderstanding of conscious and mind.
A magical, mystical, invisible battlement
Prove of quantum physics entanglement
A heavenly fairy tail: the gnome and the giant
Or god himself split up in us all.
The mind is for earthly ghosts to devour
The conscious is sacred and ever divine.
We are all but the same, the same in the dark.
You would need to perceive there are forces beyond,
beyond mind and self, beyond mind and time.
Your consciousness would need a heavenly climb.
As long as we dwell in material realm
God will have a human persona, a form of a man.
To understand creation from my point of view
your name needs to die for the truth to shine through.
You never knew you would make it till here,
Rising above the sky was never a chance
New beginnings don't end happily always
A true fighter at all times stands on the ground
Comfort never proved to be a true healer
You never knew you would make it to the ground.