The curtains are open, fresh bread and jam sit on the table
Outside in the rain I sit wishing for a bite if I was able
As night closes in the warmth inside I still see
Jumping puddles and wet, a crack in the door is there for me
A wood stove brings light and a place to dry off
The floorboards and an old linen bring comfort from the storm
Rain stops and the moon shines in windows below the loft
A little mouse am I, but happy, dry, and warm
My nose still smells bread and jam, but I begin to dream
I don't want to leave here, this place, my heart strings gleam
All is quiet now, everyone has retired, the kitchen still illuminated in soft light
I scamper around the old table and there I spot it, crumbs! I timed it just right!
This cottage is beautiful I think I shall stay a while
A small gap in the stones by the shed will be my own at night
The occupants here play melodies from a grand piano which brings me a smile
This family, and me shall live together and coincide, a place in the world, a little mouse am I
He's back
like he never left
with scary undertones
in tow
The story goes
They're chasing ghosts
& a known host
of other things
Who knows
what they're really
after in reality
They know Casper
brings a mentality
that borders on
unfriendly
Never mind the surface
it's what's
underneath the matter
that counts
The numbers continue
to mount because
of the unseemly
things that are about
This is a stout reminder
not to take anything
in life for granted
On this planet
the thinly constructed
veil hides more
than they surveil
With a heavy head
I say frail appearances
shouldn't be taken lightly
Granted they talk
a good game
but can they play
them all the same?
So many strange things
casually happening
but this is no
coincidence
They coincide with
certain incidents while they
claim they're on
the fence
His cryptic brilliance
is in question
but I swear that's
nothing new
It's true his
suggestions grew wings
& flew the coop with
an air of exposing truth
For those that know
this is the proof
that they try but cannot
hide
He resides somewhere
between what is seen
& not seen with
normal eyes
The silk clock melts on the horizon’s crest,
As shadows aim their arrows at the sun,
A marble eye surveys the tangled sequence,
Before the silver journey has begun.
The target is a mirror made of breath,
It shatters into singing hummingbirds,
To dance across the emerald fields of light,
Without a single, cold, acoustic word.
A telescope looks backward through the void,
Where vision aims to catch the quiet fire,
The geometry of space is now transformed,
To fulfill the spirit’s waking, slow desire.
Now rests the focus in the palm of sand,
A feather weight upon a heavy tide,
It waits to bloom upon the seeker’s point,
Where aim and destination coincide.
Consent equals dissent,
Into another's intent,
A message sent inside,
Directing the ride,
Having to coincide,
With who chooses rules,
Fools to a false Idea,
Deciding to follow their guide,
Getting you to pick a side,
Dividing you from God,
Trotting on others beliefs,
For some personal relief,
Easing their own grief,
A thief wouldn't be able,
To have a seat at the table,
A fable when tested,
Arrested development,
Eloquent dialogue specialists,
Listing all the guidelines,
Refining your inner mind,
Into their Confined ideas,
Designed to keep you coming back,
It will put you back on track,
Then smack you with the past,
Alas you'll never pass,
They have a class you can take,
Partake in their wine,
It's blood from the Divine,
Find value in their bread,
It's the body of the dead,
Said to heal you from a sin,
If you take it again and again,
All are welcome in,
If they take their medicine.
My instincts coincide
with what I believe my attributes to be
People,
no more directly
you indirectly
Influence
what I mean to me
How I tend to move
What I tend to see
Not all the time
does our light shine together
But our average of sunny
Shines through
And weeds out
What I know
stagnation to be
Premeditation at the beginning
We always dreamt
What our lives could be
What together our lives could mean
Marching by our own sound
But when in silence
Meditation is key
Marching band on our side
I know the director
The director….
that’s me
Every thought I have ;
comes out usually in rhyme,
nothing that I plan,
still happens every time...
I have to slow myself down a gear;
for most to understand,
because I am ten steps way ahead;
with my head still in my hands....
Pouring out emotion;
no one would ever see,
its personal in most cases;
unless I let you see.....
I did things for attention;
a word though to the wise,
pick your battles with intention,
so you dont later cry.....
Times were tough, and Yes I admit;
I was at the wheel,
cause even Jesus Christ himself cried,
when he seen how I did feel....
The moral of the story;
is decisions coincide,
with exactly how we live;
even with little pride.......
It’s a ritual of living
Daily chores and evening drink
Coincide with your believing
As if you don’t have to think
Repetition doubts the sense
For the safety it provides
Past affects the present tense
Changes time with all its tides
Blurs our faces on the screen
And the sound comes unheard
I repeat 'what did you mean'
But you cannot hear a word
Then I type, but you can’t see
Cause your glasses lie downstairs
In the bedroom you are free
Free at last, from any care..
Won't you wake up, you sleep since a long time
Migrated caravan we stayed on the edge of montane
Don't you have faith in, look calls bellman
Migrated caravan we stayed on the edge of montane
Pilgrimage responsible migrated long time ago
Muhammad is religion and faith to all
Ways are rough, without evidence can not be gone
Migrated caravan we stayed on the edge of montane
As a nightingale whistle in the garden of friends
Put your load with good deeds
To master's caravan become suffice
Migrated caravan we stayed on the edge of montane
Jonah why did you come to this world?
Night and day let your tongue praise God
If your way to prophets doesn't coincide
Migrated caravan we stayed on the edge of montane
Written by Dervish Jonah (Yunus Emre)
Translation Onur Ünlü
I timed my departure to coincide with the
lunar eclipse, but the
eastern horizon wasn't apparent,
in the park, or at the top of the road
my local high points
I scanned the firmament along with
other rando hopefuls but there was
no show to see so
onwards and upwards we went
as wine of a deep red hue
wasn't going to
buy or drink itself
Looking for my home,
As I roam the realm,
My conscious at the helm,
An overwhelming experience rushes over me,
The feeling of ecstacy,
I'm starting to see the synchronicity,
Feeling energetically charged,
I barge into the connection,
Feeling the affection,
Enjoying every second,
A blessing in disguise,
As I rise in myself,
A prize inside,
My home is in the body I ride,
I Am the tide,
Seeking for my bride,
Thankful for my guide,
As moments coincide,
She's always by my side,
My pride and joy,
The one thing they can't destroy,
Since a boy I've known,
And have grown to understand,
I planned all of this,
Using love as the witness.?
Did we meet when stars aligned?
Or when fate dragged our paths,
to coincide, to bump together,
sidled up, side by side,
by coincidence, in time and space?
Or did we slide into the same path by accident?
Enchanted to dance by chance,
with happenstance and serendipity,
on a path less traveled?
We met in a deserted park,
in a deserted ghost town,
on a path way off the beaten track
Both coming to see how rising salinity
in the district's groundwater,
through excessive water use,
had ruined the crops,
ruined the town's livelihood.
Everyone had left.
One of us came here,
to yen its cause,
the other with pen,
to write a report.
In the park was a swing
with a rusty chain and black rubber seat.
The wind made the swing,
swing to and fro, to and fro,
emitting a haunting creak.
Which drew us to share the
pathos of the scene.
Which to us, thus met,
made all the difference.
This path, this town, this park,
this swing, this wind, this creak,
by accident,
made all the difference!
2025.5.5
It was the 5th day of winter.
Somehow the weather was still warm,
It tickled my travel's bones.
Yes, I went all the way to Queenscliff Geelong.
I came here several times in the past,
But missed climbing up the tower part.
With it magnificent 360° clear view,
I circulated the platform along the glass windows.
My time of arrival was coincide with
The departure of the ferry Sorrento - Queenscliff.
I casted my eyes to the north-west,
There were three Islands Swan, Mangrove and Rabbit.
The Point Nepean on the far east across the sea.
On the east side of Queenscliff
There was a stretch of sand beach,
Curving it all the way to Point Lonsdale.
In one hour time, I could enjoy the sun set,
Beyond the horizon of the marina bay.
It would be lovely if I could stay.
But I had to give all that a miss,
Head back to Geelong and then home.
There will be another warm day in winter,
Before the weather drops to low temperature.
I just have to make the trip again
With or without friend in the future.
Where there is will there is way.
Faded memories litter the walls, as anniversaries coincide together with zero regard for one another, the simple beginnings are barely visible and yet the complexity of wrong choice after wrong decision are very prevalent. Isn't that how it always ends up though, in the end anyways? Hastily cultivated 'wonderful' ideas are laid to ground, only to later discover the overlooked Great Wall, which ingenuity says there's a way around even provides a way, but ultimately ending in complete disarray. Then insanity's epitome is born...
Torn and broken we dust ourselves off and go right back to the drawing bored, or the supply store, either or, we're back at it wanting more. It's the gifted curse of persistence at it's finest, completely blinded to judgement that could barely be considered lucid, however still finding room for improvement, if only for the piece of mind that our actions are conducive to society's 'of the moment' movement. I know the evident truth. Do you?
A fraction of home,
Can she come to me? See?
Ignore the useless bodies,
They can’t have what’s mine.
Can’t even tell what’s a lie,
What is living? (Living, living, living.)
Why do you come back?
Dread is all it is,
It can’t hurt me, but my home SUFFERS
My hands are gross, coincide with my arm,
One is insecurity, the other is selfish.
Do you drag? Do you wait?
Why do you stall?
There are many genuine , good and kind people in our world
Who’s kindness, empathy and good deeds are apparent
Who give and help those in need without expectation
Their authentic , selfless, humble souls transparent
There are also those who voice all the right words
Yet their words and actions do not coincide
Outwardly spouting graciousness and compassion
Yet their actions and real truth lies inside
If your heart is truly open and sincere
Your virtues are beyond reach
Show it in your actions
And practice what you preach!
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