blind path bifurcates
time arrow cleaves paired footprints...
split shadows unblend
outside lies the snow
each flake its own uniqueness
beginning descending moisture, bifurcation
eructing tendrils, forming, unpredictable
as is the dichotomy of life
the triumph against entropy
limbs lie empty, skeletons
leaves of feathered frost
birds are few
lost in the hemispheres, patterns
and for all the answers
more questions await in chaos
the quest for God's hand
wondering thru the majesty
this white coat of winter
where beneath the monotony
lies the uniqueness of creation
the snowflake and i share something
the ubiquitousness that is God
it is struggle enough
to understand this hand
some things in my life
were meant to be accepted
winter
God
Fergus Fall 96
Things already happened
have lost their shockproof mechanisms
The living are all done
with the surprise of you.
Who hurt me?
I hurt me.
Falling into it in the open mouth of night.
Trip-wire daylight, the falling backward
motion of progress.
Many a time wanting to let it happen
challenging it from a reckless need.
The ‘it’ is a multiscreen cinema,
a bifurcation where choice is
a haze behind the eyes.
Sometimes, only seeing it come
after it as gone.
Still and all, it happened,
The ‘needn’t’ was never an option.
I am glad to see the inevitability of now.
The only question worth asking is:
was it worth it?
I believed it was the end of the world.
Prepared to leave, the mortal whorled.
Into the domain of the spiritual pearled.
Into the darkness and absurd.
But the butterfly made us realize.
Death is the starting point that applies.
I've evolved into a spiritual not demonize.
From a seasoned butterfly and eagle eyes.
Written: October 06, 2021
His hands are around my ankles, that boy
I was,
tugging me back to see him.
I knew him not, hardly can imagine him
or review him again in a reflecting eye.
Adults talk of their youth, poets embellish,
but I am older than any fresh faced poem
and the curtain calls and cheers
of long past years are dimmed. I cannot hear him,
how did he speak, what future did he hope to be?
There are no photographs,
no sound recordings.
The child is mute, the curly brown hair,
his bashful curious stare are left
loosely articulated in a warped frame
of incomplete memory.
Yet today he tugs and catches at my mind
wanting to be seen, acknowledged, loved.
I turn around seeking to find that self
that I grew away from.
I sense he wants to lead me back
to where we lost each other. To show
me the bifurcation of our life, where he
died that I might live on as a man.
Two things I know we still have in common:
he was a lonely child, and today
without him, I am a lonely man.
A dark and faceless bedroom
consents to talk with me awhile.
The brain buzzes on
being its usual endless
blunt toothed saw.
The body belches and rumbles
as it tirelessly works to produce
the odd snort or snore.
All is a normal stasis on an escalator
speeding to nowhere,
Just the random outtakes
from under-rehearsed thoughts
dropping like dying mammoths
into tar pits of forgetfulness.
Beyond all these moving parts
is a soundless voice,
a voice I realize I had left somewhere
returning now to show me
where a loss had occurred.
It was there at a bifurcation
in a nowhere place.
that two voices grew deaf to each other,
but now in this instant
the voices have become
a synchronized dance of one.
I am translucently unilingual
through my mouth and ears.
An oceanic speech
funneled through a shell of self.
This is how the All speaks, said one voice.
This is how the All listen, said the other.
A third voice said:
and here is the holiness of silence.
I’m near almost here
resounds in my ear,
I feel a presence
closing in tonight,
Curtains of darkness
so bereft, it’s death,
Here to take my life,
i’m paralyzed to fight,
Limp helpless,
supine I stare,
as finality descends,
snuffing out time,
The loan to this body,
has run it’s course,
An entity must return
via the void,
Deaths vice-grips
every last atom,
Squeezing existence
to an infinite point,
This is not choice, echoes
through space,
Death comes death calls
death shows one grace,
a bifurcation,
Deus ex machina shrugs,
voicing these words,
One path holds copious love,
equaled only by hate,
The other, love’s barely nothing,
yet hate is absent,
Former is tempting
but sounds familiar,
Latter could possibly
bore me to death again,
Yet holds an iota of potential,
I choose this fate.
By
David Kavanagh
"If I weren’t afraid, I'd..." move to heaven.
But suicide is frowned upon, up there.
It seems there is NO path free of leaven
neglect yields censure, insults follow care
Does gay marriage do well to make this point -
should kids not be borne to this broken world?
Not a lifestyle I'd prefer or anoint,
but granted, earth's end IS being unfurled.
Unfurled with red flags touting abortion,
A second issue that I can't endorse.
As ethical questions flout distortion,
many gallop down this barbaric course.
The border gleans talk, such politic-ese
Opinions thereon, I judge have gone south.
Concentration camps, bah humbug, puh-lease!
"Want credit for the rain, take blame for drought."
August 17, 2019, edited September 10, 2019
back in the days before coronavirus captured the conversation
last line quote, Dwight Morrow
blind path bifurcates
time arrow cleaves paired footprints...
shadows unmingle
June 13, 2019
Brian Strand Contest A Strand (1071)
As it is
Oneness
that is the experience
of your Self..
your real Self..
not the bifurcation
which you and others
have always thought
you to be...
Lilt in rhythm giving high and low
High and low with own rhythms go
Bifurcation to an endless end
Fast moving and slow!
Yield with what is
Bend, to what you do not know!
Blow your own whistle at last
Before it is too late to blow!
Michael
Lady - path less trekked
Bifurcation of my route
Ambivalent? NO.
Mourning? Lady you're here nestling me with blithe
You're an aura of heightened value
Simple yet inexplicable
Totally unfathomable, esoteric in every facet
Intelligent, astute - no doubt
Quiescence sometimes your endowment
Understood through words of aesthetic poesy
Excellence, eminence is your efficacy.
Pure
peeress
of what if's.
PERPLEXITY?
NO. Unscathed course of actions' sovereign.
Inconceivabilities? No worries
Lady of
Value
" WORTH " .
You're the VERITY in MYTHS and the VIGOR in LETHARGY , yet still IMPERFECT.
==============================
haiku
acrostic
tetractys
monoku
* " WHO AM I ? " * Paula Swanson's sponsored contest ---- an entry....
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