in seeming silence heart yet stirs
expressions of life pulse innate
bliss bubbles never do abate
thus hum of silence always purrs
to which vibrant presence concurs
nonchalant to outcomes of fate
as long as nodes within gyrate
joyous as soul star chakra whirs
we would take a consciousness leap
flowing with ease as does the breeze
becoming a flicker free flame
to which end we swim in the deep
each heartbeat embrace and release
whence God Himself fulfils our aim
between eyebrows and guru chakra
on the curve of forehead at our hairline
the higher third eye stirs
conjoined with the crown
entwined with spine and heart
with pulsations of love and light concurs
Bard, write through the blizzard!
Icicles, grow from ink!
Gibbous at the gizzard?
Thus, trickery, I think.
Ginkgo, garish gecko.
What herbivore eats this?
Drink thy sweetened tea down slow!
Crow carrion, abyss!
Death. O riddle, wrought in red?
City, rise the dead.
Heaven and Hell, hold thy head!
Careful where ye tread!
Hate, boil up inside my skull!
Overflow and burn!
Clean the end of every trull?
Turmoil taciturn.
Clarion? The count concurs.
Minnow, thy murmurs.
Yellowing scroll, languid lures.
Blue as vision blurs.
Adhesive, thy autopsy.
Blackguard, bounty's broadloom.
Stuck inside, apostrophe?
Apostasy, doom.
Motifs of the hedgerows?
Escarpment, extinction.
Ocean water, harsh thy blows!
Prose, profit the pun.
Toadstool? Viscosity of blood.
Food for thought and gods.
Sonic rain, hurricane, flood.
Vintage, O voivods...
we go in within, when we like
just like that, no effort at all
focus fixed, free from thought flow din
soul presence still in a bliss squall
this morn toroidal heart tingles
bliss pinches us between eyebrows
palms radiate magnetic heat
metamorphosing, rapture grows
our unfocused gaze looks at space
womb that holds manifestation
spine as always a band of steel
catalogues every sensation
there is no seeking, we just are
the life principle undefined
jugular notch concurs with us
its pulse with other nodes aligned
As in the void we wingless fly,
stardust sparkles in our third eye,
orifice in fontanel whirs,
causing tremulous heart to sigh.
Divine magnetism within purrs
as flow of soma nectar stirs
polarities within our form,
infusing bliss when heart concurs.
Ascent begins when we conform
to God’s grace, fearless in the storm,
witnessing death of our ego,
paving way for soul to transform.
In the insurmountable obstacles of life,
Love, LOVE.
With no torn apart starts,
With no borders nor walls.
For, love is a guide to humanity,
And love bridges all gabs.
For, love heals,
And love leads.
Ofcourse love can be a great ordeal,
But, it forever remains a great deal.
Even the bible concurs
1Corinthians 13:4–8
Love is patient and kind;
Love does not envy or boast;
It is not arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way;
Love is not irritable or resentful;
It does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.
Love bears all things,
It believes all things,
It Hopes all things,
Endures all things.
Love, LOVE
Love with no bounds,
Love with no fear.
For, love is a beautiful thing.
And love is a special delight.
But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children
come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God
belongs to such as these.”
—Luke 18:16 NIV
WHAT’S HAPPENED TO JORDAN
What’s happened to Jordan? He’s living proof
that a kid with sideways horns, pawing hoof,
saw the masses using imperfect tongues
with elbow grease, praising God with their lungs.
What’s happened to Jordan? He’s living proof
that letting the children come, is no goof…
that glancing behind, the aisles were well lit
with eyes and ears saint-bright; faithful, tight-knit.
What’s happened to Jordan? He’s living proof.
He pounds on the drums. He’s raising the roof.
He concurs with youth. Ears incline to him.
He married Wisdom. They’re verve is a hymn.
What’s happened to Jordan? He’s living proof -
though he stumbled, God made him shatterproof.
And as the saying goes, “God don’t make junk.”
No whiskey in hand - only Spirit-drunk.
What’s happened to Jordan? He’s living proof
that his progeny, raised right - not aloof.
He’s raising young men with Christian morals.
Hero, on white horse, unsung with laurels.
Bulky ute voyeur selects sleek sporty stalion
Driving by, supersedes her oversized sedan
Wide wheel arches have Porche comparison
Voracious engine's enthuse easily enchants
Large car cast dispelled by lacklustre Calais
Original conjur 370Z parked beside boring
Low leg swing exclusive slide in, magic valet
Over revved start stabs adrenalin assuring
Our dear Dara, choice contacted in December
Available last minute to test drive his beast
Black gloss road boss, enlarged 'lungs' terror
Capable crazy bitumen baby, tester pleased
Ultimate Man concurs, the amenable outcome
Keys in her hand a few days after, aura froze
Couldn't imagine huge generosity from anyone
Racing car reap, increase on what she sows
Merry go round roads, another showoff slotted
Silver pole stabilised glides in Surfers cycle
Crosslane carousel onlookers, briefly besotted
By hot hoof nimble Nissan race horse style
28th March
Too Great of a Man
I love returning to the vale;
I feel recharged, hearty, and hale.
It lifts my spirits without fail,
bringing a joy that’s not for sale.
It keeps me lighter on the scale
while still eschewing all that kale.
Missy concurs out on the trail,
takes in the smells, and wags her tail.
Mama writes a nine page letter to me
The school counselor
Wanting me to lop off some heads, twist some arms,
Do other things I would never do
She wants someone to pay.
I read lots of anger in her
large angry block letters
She thinks her baby has been victimized
I know her baby who is certainly not blameless.
I wait for the principal, suspecting this is a neighborhood problem.
Principal has been here six years, she concurs my suspicions
and answers the mother.
Huge relief for me.
Glaring, daring him to stare into her eyes.
They’re stern, they burn terror of an evil kind.
His fibs, she twirls like a baton, his feeble lies.
This stepmother, a fairytale witch, finds
ways to wreak havoc when her husband’s away.
Elementary child, small but wise, inflames her,
releases creatures uncaged - she goes cray-cray.
As fake mother cracks, her vibrato bum concurs.
1/4/2020
From “Off With Their Heads,” by Maria Tater, in the oldest version of “The Three Gifts,” a boy asks that when his stepmother glares at him, “her bum might then let go, and crack like roaring fire.”
The catalyst of two faces, his and hers,
bookends with pleasure dais in between.
Faithfully compacted on canvas, concurs,
never turning ones back, remains clean.
Sharp brush of Chagall, floats lovers.
Their passion, a cloud in lala land, hovers.
Circus performer on ochre horse forbids
openness and honesty of their lofty eyelids.
Marc’s pallet red and black succinctly
paints an inseparable couple, for better;
worse, flower-veins glory and pain distinctly
shady, married-hair worn romantic with fetters.
Poet decides his circus lacks an idyllic affinity .
With pain, questions whether to smoke or abstain.
A satisfied artist, elongates his masculinity —
triad of instruments, hard lines against grain.
11/25/2020
Haiku riddle
tons of garbage
left by those who want peace
the right to be ty
people like to march
to the tune of pied piper
social conscience
when everyone concurs
they are usually dead wrong
bombs are exploding
consensus are fakes
foisted on naive people
thinking in unison
beware of peace traders
they want you to agree with them
dark hearts of hate
Thanks to all those brave souls,
the trail blazers
that has gone before us.
They who fell in love,
back when white society
wasn't so excepting or
was intolerant of mix marriage.
Love is made of tough stuff,
couples had it ruff.
So, for a while, some lovers even
kept a low profile.
This has been going on for a long while.
But they took a leap of faith anyway,
staying to themselves.
Love will not be denied.
Now days you see mixed couples everywhere...
Not just in and around military bases.
Today it’s not a shock,
but a pleasant surprise.
Seeing couples and their kids,
from different ethnic back grounds.
And even different size,
skinny and obese.
Both straight and Gay,
more than just Black and white.
As Day follows Night,
all kinds of races mixing it up.
One has only to open your eyes to see,
the mixing of the of the melting pot.
Which is hot!!
Love truly concurs all.
God has taken the spoon
and stirred the melting pot,
from the top of the rim
to the bottom of the bowl.
Lifes backroads, have left my halo....A little dusty
And there's scars on my heart, I'll carry...To my grave
Every Sunday, I see her, two pews away
I refer to her, as my saving grace
And I give thanks, knowing she prays for me
I don't know what I've done to deserve her
I'm not sure what her heart can see
Cause I'm not worthy of her blessings
And in all honesty
I can't give back what she's given
Without her where would I be
I'm blessed, just knowing.....
Knowing she prays for me
She lifts up her words.... to Heaven
And In silence, I believe she asks
If the Lord, will watch over
And straighten all our paths
She sends her blessings on high
And I hope she truly believes
It's an honor, in knowing......
Knowing she prays for me
I don't know what I've done to deserve her
I'm not sure what her heart can see
I'm not worthy of her blessings
And in all honesty
I can't give back what she's given
Without her where would I be
I'm blessed, with just knowing.....
Knowing she prays for me
It's my honor to do life with her
I'm not sure why, but I believe that she concurs
Its a blessing to know
Know she prays for me........
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