I found him on the field
amidst the blood,
the limbless bodies
the bodiless limbs.
He still held breath
held his sword;
I kissed the rain from his cheek
ran my finger across his lips
to silence.
I placed my hand
on his gaping wound
took his
and placed it
on my swollen womb;
He is here.
Is it he?
It is.
Will it end?
I say it will;
Though in truth
crows gather on this hill;
I fear not.
I kissed the rain from his cheek
took the sword from his hand.
Bodiless, that desert- formed
Slither-smooth felt as
Headless, of its dragon's fury
Breathed on. Burns the grass!
Sad irony! That safe place
Shades me off from it
Leaf-wizened, droopy hung. Heard waned
Rest, sweet did transmit.
“I am not the doer or enjoyer. Work have I none, now or formerly. I have no body, nor am I bodiless. How can I have or not have a sense of "my-ness"?”
From the stillness fulcrum wherefrom forms emerge
As the motionless potent hum before we exhale
Spontaneous intent causes a bliss surge
In the void of no-thingness we set sail
Resplendent as eternal Self aglow in our light
Dew drops of love and light illumines our life’s trail
We are the source of bliss pulsations that delight
Transcendent and immanent flicker-free flame
Heart unblemished pristine and snow white
Both highs and lows for us are the same
We breeze through life which is but a game
A sonnet
The Universe has no border
a limit, so far not further
It is overwhelmingly timeless
and dark blue
For all we know, there can be
other planets with various Gods
Humans need to worship
something above themselves
The creatures might be advanced
to the point of being bodiless
Pure spirits for whom death is
Alien, they might call it Nirvana
Tombs begin to bloom like raw, bloodless wounds.
Tomes are written with truths of her dead moon’s
tones. A keening lunacy keeps the dirges alive, while
bones rise out of repose. A degloved hand on the dial
hones into a night rainbow's radio, she runs on solar,
hopes for the rhythm to wrench free from her toller—
copes with the captivity of being bodiless hands. Twilight
comes to chance escape—open palms toward birthright.
Coves burst into flame; a hungry fire wants holier water.
Coven circles, recovers the skinless limbs of their daughter.
Woven like song, sirens' balm to restore coats of missing arms,
women are spells read correctly, using words as our alarms,
woken to language, resurrecting ancient pairs of sacred charms.
Why does my consciousness get swiftly corroded?
Why my conscience finds itself in contradiction?
Why with strange thoughts, words, and actions mind get loaded?
Why betwixt likes and dislikes there's constant friction...?
Soul soft, as a gentle tender breeze gets soon swayed,
The spirit within, by cares and worries, is hauled;
Cracks in the axle of awareness make verve jade,
My senses, like birds and beasts, in slavery, stalled...!
This is, hence, I have decided to cleanse myself,
All that is making me drown in the sea of dread,
Should be shed and the soul should become a fresh shelf,
Wherein humanness should its motherly wings spread...!
In a bodiless, celestial space now I swim,
All that entrapped me, like a hunter's net, are gone;
Desires defeated heart and mind possess no whim,
Cleansed of all pitch dark clouds I see a dazzling dawn...!
Renunciation and detachment have been born,
And have started dwelling in me, making me light;
Indifferences, like dust in the gale, are blown,
My bond with each being has become rightly tight...!!!
Yes, the full bloom is pretty
all that culmination just short of perfection,
that opening,
a hasp and harbor for light and warmth
a wide-eyed blossoming
raised up in a blind glory
of transient dominion.
Yet the withering is more lovely to me,
less beautiful,
more graceful than appearance.
The grace arrives just beyond the apogee
as when a high wave reaches its crest
then grace rides ahead of that decline
ahead of any loss or sorrow
it looks not to what was
nor does it seek a tomorrow.
That soft hollowing into the brittle arms
of bodiless ghosts
is a prayer for the ages
but not cut flowers in a vase, no
they die in a fetid wallow
and it is our love of beauty,
our grasping at that splendor
that curses their death.
The closet held secrets
his deepest fears
It hadn't been opened
in nigh on ten years
He'd painted it over
sealed it so tight
its eerie green glow
flickered ghost-white
A note found years later
under the bed
Warned of aliens captured
their arteries bled
Alas, what sick heads
some humans possess
To tell tales like this ~
grinning skulls bodiless
Dinner Date or Date for Dinner?
When the harvest moon is full and bright,
And the wolf bane blooms on an autumn night,
If the guy whose kiss used to make you swoon
Starts to lick his lips and howl at the moon,
You'd best decline if he asks you out for a bite.
A Midlands Urban Legend
A village somewhere in the Midlands
Was harassed by a bodiless dead man,
But sans charger or steed,
How could they, indeed,
Be afraid of a lone horseless headman?
The Chief creatures of God are men and angels
Angles are bodiless spirits created to adore and enjoy God in heaven
The first man and woman are Adam and Eve
Adam and Eve are innocent and holy when they came from the hand of God
Adam and Eve did not remain faithful to God
Broke God’s command by eating the forbidden fruit
Adam and Eve on account of their sin lost innocence and holiness and are doomed to misery and death
Through the disobedience of our first parents we all inherit their sin and punishment
We should have shared in their happiness if they have remained faithful
The Sin which we inherit from our first parents is called Original sin
The Blessed Virgin Mother Mary, through the merit of her Divine Son was preserved free from original sin and this privilege is called the Immaculate Conception
Right before dark in the middle of June,
Between the setting sun and the rise of the moon
I feel an eerie vapor, damp and dim,
Exhale from a distance fence and over its rim
It steals like magic over grass and field,
A motion in sunder, my eyes reveal
Dare, I stand there wide awake,
Dare, I stay for pretty words sake
The strangest presents from a silent tree top,
Through a lattice of limbs a bodiless drops
So, fearful above and close to my wall,
My chest like shadows rise and fall
I say to myself, “have no fear,
Why or what are you dreaming here?”
Shaking from nerves from unopened eyes,
I stand and feel the ghost go by
Does he sleep just over that fence,
What kind of a danger does a ghost present?
Does his tomb have a sounding door,
Do you hear that echo or more?
I wake in sweats
Drenched in the regrets
Of a desert womb
This empty tomb
Where lie the never born
Whom I may never mourn
Never mourn this constant lack
That has me forever in deepest black
Never sit and talk beside their graves
For I can never bury the bodiless babes
Never sit and silently pray
For what dies inside me every day.
© Barry Freeman – 1st May 2021
When we are flesh no more
will we still a have a spiritual skin
to jump out of?
Will we still be able to skinny-dip?
Will Summer rain still feel like
a kiss from a horny angel?
Will there be mind-Harley’s?
Plasma shotguns for shooting
long dead ducks?
Will we have to wait in line
for anything
or will we just shove our minds ahead
imagining a new line with us up front,
but I guess that like now,
most things will not be worth waiting for.
It’s a mind game,
and even if this world is a head-fake,
we will still need some mind-flesh
to create a substantial place
for our many bodiless functions.
The Mermaid Calls
You draw me close,
and I can not swim.
You lure me,
tempt me,
and tell me…
things.
Your beauty is beyond,
all that I have ever known,
or will know.
How can I look away?
I want to touch what I see,
I want to be part of
what I do not know.
You are illusive.
You are austere…
The woman,
bodiless and boundless.
Her hair soft kelp,
Her touch…
The hope to drown,
a witless man,
and support
a mariner.
Back age of brute creation 'n herbage beholders
Hominoids have stayed for bodiless years
Jumbled brains on battered shoulders
With rash of lacking space frontiers
On brief planet lay all the bone souvenirs
For countless, covered bodies in shallow earth tomb
Whilst' sun winks like the star
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust gloom
In an overcast front of sky afar
Protected in the bosom of Spirit’s immortal reservoir
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