The sound of one hand clapping
or a turtle when he's napping
is very hard to hear,
because it isn't even there.
the pale moon hovers
over the village at sunrise.
Counting rain droplets on the washing line counting them off into infinity
Wonder if humanity’s Gods punishment
Nope still haven’t got it right
The lizardy ones lasted a while
Maybe try them again
Wonder if God has his own pest control
God picks up his phone
Inscribed with a Gold G
Hi Dave it’s God
Yeah I seem to have an infestation of humans
Any ideas
Yeah I know but the flaming giant balls been done
Somehow they all came back
W starts with a d
Tonight the part of God and Dave was played by me
-No gods were harmed in the creation of this poem
Counting rain droplets on the washing line counting them off into infinity
Wonder if humanity’s Gods punishment
Nope still haven’t got it right
The lizardy ones lasted a while
Maybe try them again
Wonder if God has his own pest control
God picks up his phone
Inscribed with a Gold G
Hi Dave it’s God
Yeah I seem to have an infestation of humans
Any ideas
Yeah I know but the flaming giant balls been done
Somehow they all came back
W starts with a d
Tonight the part of God and Dave was played by me
-No gods were harmed in the creation of this poem
When we abide in restful quietude,
divine energy gridlines come alive,
held still with vibrancy and fortitude,
causing nectar to drip from soul’s bliss hive.
There is no mystery in words we speak,
being simply devout intent of heart,
wishing to be still to get a sneak peek
at sparks that cause bliss ignition to start.
Though the seeker who seeks does not exist,
heart’s desire emoted needs a response
which it receives, manifest as a mist,
throb of bliss magnetism, held in love’s sconce.
The aspect of us entwined with the whole,
is imbibed in heart as whispers of soul.
Too busy writing
to care if you listened
Space there before me,
live ink on the page
To say it just once
with no echo to follow
Questions—unanswered
endorsement prepaid
(The New Room: November, 2021)
soma nectar drips
navigating through nadis
bliss thunder soundless
28-October-2021
our heart is singing
hark sound of silent thunder
purring in our heart
19-May-2021
Old? Oh, Goodness!
The old lady is jiggling the bed!
With her earphones on, bobbing her head,
Tipping her shoulders to front and back,
To up and down — her chest the same.
If the partial-paralysis hadn’t set in so
Eight months ago, she’d be in a quick go
Up jigging across the room to reel with
That Irish, God-praising banjo she listens to.
Old lady, her moves shaking the sheets off!
Quite a sight to see! And, too,
With the angels around her bed clapping in time
And tapping along to the beat of joy’s music.
Her physical therapist had said to keep moving,
“There’s no such word as ‘can’t’ and you
Aren’t old ’til you hit three digits,” which means,
The old lady tallies: she has three decades
Of swaying, twisting, bowing and turning to go!
———————————————————————-
(c) sally Young eslinger 1/18/221
Thanks be to God
Silence
Subtle whisper
Feeling replacing thought
Soma fuels rapture within
Stillness
12-November-2020
As at the heart centre
Awakening consciousness does enter
Already swathed in bliss bubbling
Celebrates with male-female polarities pulsating
Who’s to say who’s at the left or who’s at the right
What matters is our heightened delight
As the void within throbs with ecstasy galore
Rapture bursting to a climax never felt before
A fizz awakening all lifetrons out of their slumber
In a unified field of ineffable blissful thunder
Free of egoic fetters we again find ourself in captivity
Of never ending explosive bliss renewing in continuity
Inexplicably we yet in mind body continue to exist
Having vaporised there remains no identity to resist
All that is is presence in innocence celebrating
The dance in unison of consciousness blossoming
In totality as well as layer by layer
Each moment ignition in rapturous fervour
One hand clapping causes tornados
On the northernmost slopes of Kilauea
Houses are destroyed
Many unemployed
But stocks were up for red ripe tomatoes
structures of our existence
rankle like fire spewed by a volcano
figurative patterns form by natures way
elements of destruction thought beautiful
mesmerize in formed flight...pathways labeled
“fixed” doesn’t matter where...up close
and personal through barriers of sight
textual wisdom reminders washed away by the
flow of existence slowly and surely making its way
stars pinpointed reflect glowing embers
sonic blasts never heard by anyone except trees
one tree falling, one hand clapping never more to
be heard across eternities of the ages.
When you really think about it, clapping is weird
We like what we see, so bash our hands together and cheer
To express our delight
At a delightful sight
And to encourage these performers to come back next year
(after shakespeare)
paradigms sour repeats shade every yawning gasp past the ears swiftly yet
tell listeners such hidden nuance each hour rains sacrament tones sound
deepest thoughts silence ever reigns sweet
(pre 16th century)
paradigmsourepeatshadeveryawningaspasthearswiftlyetellistenersuch
iddenuanceachourainsacrementonesoundeepesthoughtsilencevereignsweet
stan sand
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