planted d
e
e
p
seed draws talons
life, born...
cleansed in spring rain
green leaves dance in light
stem then grows
blooms wilt
petals f
a
l
l
dust returns
earth breaths
new growth starts
seasons change once more
winter yields to warmth
and...
life begins anew
The Asian version of Life
Is of a wheel that endlessly spins
Rotating in kaleidoscopic scenes
Of beings in realms
Trapped by their karmas in endless suffering
Endless until it, of course, ends
Which is what all things must eventually do.
In the West the dominant view is now
Of an endless cycle of Life
Where we don’t actually become anything
After we die, just a nutritional building block
In the ecological web of growth and decay.
It’s a rational seeming world view,
But one devoid of soul.
On the whole these two views compliment
And complete each other;
Soulful and soulless
To give a sense of life on the wheel.
But the truth is neither are complete,
Together or alone
Because neither sees what lies beyond the wheel.
Of course, they say eternity and annihilation respectively
But what is the it that endures or dissolves?
And if it endures was it ever really trapped?
And if it dissolves was it ever really existent?
Somewhere between is the middle way
Free of extremes and labels,
Free to simply be, what is, inherently ineffable.
(10/12/25)
Today I revisit a blessing…we need to hear it more
perhaps that’s why I’ve used it so many times before
It’s from the Native Nations peoples
who had their share of tragedy, heartache and strife…
and how they understood about one particular circle of life…
I imagine long ago they found the beat…
and discovered it by chance:
Dancing is a way to pray
prayer leads to healing
once we heal we can give
to give is to live
and one way to show we appreciate being alive
is to dance.
I never really minded the species that inhabited me.
I had especially taken a liking to man, however.
"I'll take care of you.", they promised.
I believed it--
We became interdependent, inseparable.
He relied on me, and I relied on Him.
I gave Him food, water, and air, He gave me towering buildings that grasped at my atmosphere.
It was perfect;
Until it wasn't.
As time went on, man began cutting down my trees for the pages to write their own stories with.
Their tales will be woven between my pages, ink stains the skin I shed for Him.
And with my help, their stories will thrive.
Remain utterly, completely,
timeless.
fruit
we sway in the wind
but i grasp the air
in hopes it can sweep me from this branch
this branch-
preserving the purity of my skin-
is forced to let me fall
i rip from the loosening grip of my cluster
a wound on my side-
evidence of a new chance-
gifted by violent departure
i feel the air on my palms
i smash into the ground
mud covers my face.
i gaze up to the branch-
my past shimmers in the glaring sun.
a blue bird flies overhead
her beauty exerts itself effortlessly over my grime.
she parades her freedom
as the mud hardens under the kiln of the sun
i signal to the bird.
recognizing my flare, she glides to my side
and picks me apart
as i lay here-
opened up to this beast-
i listen to her speak
her tongue mumbles a foreign language
one that doesnt wish things away
a language learned from experiences
observed in her fulfilled juvenility
when all that is left
is the muddy skin on my back,
i sink into the earth
decaying for more time than i ever spent on a branch
why would i ever
excuse myself from youth to preserve my expiration?
i forfeit my experience then,
to gain a lonely breath here
God controls when the music stops.
A chair is taken away and an important person in my life is taken out.
As life continues, the music changes and I change with it.
With each chair moving, the tempo and mood of the music changes, but God is there.
Important chunks of who I am change or are ripped away.
However, there is hope in the music, and God is there.
New people enter the game and the circle expands again.
There are more changes to the music, and again God is there.
Yet, I am still circling through life.
Until the day the music stops again and grief crashes down again or God takes me home.
The leaves are falling
Autumn's calling
Summer bids goodbye.
They'll be showers
Watering winters flowers
As a cold wind passes by.
There will be snow
Winter's star of the show
When snowflakes from heaven arrive.
Then songbirds will sing
To welcome in spring
Completing the circle of life.
When I was a lad growing up in the small village of Wakenda, I would sometimes sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I would listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spent my days doing exactly what I wanted to do. Now I am retired, and we moved to the hills in the Ozarks of Missouri. I sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spend my days doing exactly what I want to do. Why didn’t I leave well enough alone?
Why did I chase life
through so many wasted years—
just to get back home
A two edged knife that deluges us
With both the midlife and afterlife
Like a tempest,
It sways us to ruination and obscurity
Then hoists us to reclamation and lucidity
The circle of life!
It steers us through despair and hope
And leaves us in a state of mélange
Where the failure to reset once more
Becomes the anchor of our setback
And the attempt to reignite dead flames
Births the strength to thrive!
(C) PoeticLord
Zero – The Circle of Life
Zero is from where we all start
An infinite expanse of nothing and all
From the abyss do we rise
To claim our fated right
Some fadeaway into the darkness
Some become one with the light
Few settle on the shades of grey
Others ride the tides of time
Who we were, who we became
Is a thought lost from the minds
Zero is from where we all start
Zero is where we all shall return
What counts beyond this value
Is the circle that we went around
Was it smooth like the milky trail?
Or rough and twisted like a vine?
Did we achieve what we desired?
Or did we achieve what we hadn't before?
How many lives did we touch?
How many souls were warmed?
Material or emotional
Which aspect did we leave our mark upon?
Zero is from where we all start
Zero is where we shall all return
A mother is dead
and a father just buried -
God bless the orphan.
I still don't fully understand why I'm even here.
I haven't found that "purpose" that others talk about.
I analyze my life at the end of every year,
Only to discover another year of mental drought.
I live my life day after day and week after week,
Waiting for a sign to tell me that what I do is right.
All I need is for the wind to lightly kiss my cheek
And to whisper in my ear, "Don't give up the fight."
But what is it that I'm supposed to be fighting for?
What reason is there to believe in what I do?
All I want to know is that there is something more,
Something beyond the knowledge of just me and you.
When the doctor lays our newborn child in my arms,
I finally realize my "purpose" here, on Earth.
With her smile comes all of the beauty and charm
That erases years of doubt with one, single birth.
At the center of the circle of life stands
The great I Am of all that has ever existed,
‘Tis true the best our lives s/he commands
Though in our own ways we’ve persisted.
The wise creator has given us a free will
At the center of the circle of life stands
Our example of peace, from ages still,
Yet our selfishness and self-will demands.
We bear witness to the work of our hands
Oft failing to acknowledge the source
At the center of the circle of life stands
One who has created everything, of course!
True worship is recognizing the greatness
Of the unseen, spiritual heavenly bands
Being cognizant of the ethereal brightness
At the center of the circle of life stands.
Written July 12, 2022
Through pain you were born,
with love you were raised,
with hope we sent you off,
with pride we watched you
from afar, not realizing
your dawn was our dusk.
Contest: BITE SIZE POEM no27 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Dated: 19th November 2021
The nearness of his ancestors spirits
caused a chill. Looking out
over the plains he could hear
the horses hooves, the riders
panting, the buffalo running.
He could smell the sweat as
it ran down his Great-Grandfather's
face, down the broad painted
chest, pooling on the back of
a saddle-less horse. He
could taste the sweetness of
the bison meat, causing him
to drool, even though it
had not crossed his lips
in years, perhaps decades.
He could see the grasses
waving in the breeze now,
trampled by the massive
herd in bygone years, eager
to regrow after being eaten
then fertilized by the buffalo.
The circle of life. he smiled
at his ancestors, said a
silent prayer and moved on.
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