Moksha, liberation, freedom, peace
Fly through our imaginations
As ideals, inspiring, yet beyond
The grasp of mere mortals.
Yet being beyond
Is no reason to dismiss as unreal
It is in fact what defines and determines
The liberation.
Our lives are ruled by our body-minds
Habits and hormones, hungers and healings
This is what defines us, but God
Is not our body or our mind.
Thank God, It is beyond these tangibles
Controllable and manipulatable
By forces as capricious as a wild wind
Whipping up the ashes to leave no trace.
And what remains when everything
Has been removed and all is cleansed?
The freshness of a new dawn
Bright, clear, pure, with no need to even name.
(“Something From Nothing”, 2024, original encaustic)
Moksha, liberation, freedom, peace
Fly through our imaginations
As ideals, inspiring, yet beyond
The grasp of mere mortals.
Yet being beyond
Is no reason to dismiss as unreal
It is in fact what defines and determines
The liberation.
Our lives are ruled by our body-minds
Habits and hormones, hungers and healings
This is what defines us, but God
Is not our body or our mind.
Thank God, It is beyond these tangibles
Controllable and manipulatable
By forces as capricious as a wild wind
Whipping up the ashes to leave no trace.
And what remains when everything
Has been removed and all is cleansed?
The freshness of a new dawn
Bright, clear, pure, with no need to even name.
(12/3/25)
One foot in front of the other,
Listening to the Mother.
Rumbling and tumbling,
Through the water.
And thought about,
The path it sought.
Since it began,
A trickle in the sand.
A puddle on the land,
S?ince time began.
Winding and Flowing,
Finding its way.
Eroding and growing,
Never knowing,
Where it's going.
Bestowing life,
T?o all along the way.
A path now showing,
It'll never sway,
Stays the course.
Patiently waiting,
Building up force.
A persistent existence,
Going the distance.
The path of least resistance,
Can change in an instant.
Is life any different?
Unstoppable,
Flowing freely.
Controllable,
Packaged neatly.
Who will you be?
Contained, trained,
Refrained from its domain.
Or connect together,
Let our river of life,
F?low on forever.
Steer the reins of what's within your grasp,
Decipher with clarity, thoughts amassed,
A cognitive shift, profound and vast,
Transformation blooms, the die is cast.
Anxieties and stresses fade from view,
The unknown's grip loosens, no longer askew,
Emotions' weight, a burden undue,
Yet we bear the load, our strength renews.
Fatigued and weary, battles unfold,
A war against odds, stories of old,
Bruised, we're caught in a cycle, retold,
Intentions pure, yet their grip takes hold.
Serenity sought from realms above,
Truth's gentle embrace, unburdened, we move,
Acceptance blooms for what we can't improve,
Wisdom to discern, to courage we prove.
Embrace both pleasure and life's sorrows,
Controlling the self in each tomorrow,
Irony blooms, as we release the arrow,
Change unfurls not in fate, but in our marrow.
Nick's sword of mischief is ready,
The thrusts to be ever steady
For those he is sure are heady,
Now controllable, soon an eddy...
Nick's challengers need steely sword,
Until they accept a Made Lord,
Palm wine has failed with its swell gourd;
No one has ever pleased a horde.
Nick shall reached throats slash with his sword,
Now it's without doubt the Spring Board
For proclaiming himself First Lord
His sword at the back of his Ford...
Too bad for who'd lived in Oxford
And his English Last Name: Clifford.
The absent minded, the fools, the liars
Filtering all things of what we're fed
Tortured without sense behind desks conspired
Checks are bouncing off the chest of the dead
Thoughts are no longer your own to think
Placed by weapons using silent electronics
The edge where everyone stands on the brink
Looking down, eyes vacant, mind hypnotic
Control is the aim of what's controllable
Those who stand against are delivered their fate
Pawns being misled like cattle it's horrible
To feed Queen Bee and her totalitarian state
Blind those follow not living their own lives
Carrying out deeds masked by puppet strings
Just another worker bee in the Queens hives
Struggling to carry the load on broken wings
Written for Poetry Contest:"Fear Is Liar"
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
01/17/2023
AWARDED 1ST PLACE IN CONTEST
It was their own way of shedding blood:
Their backs turning to a surging flood,
Until it warranted the Ark of Noah
Or left survivors a preventable fewer …
To rain-boots sticking, publishing no fear,
Until the waters were to bellies near
And Dear Erosion here and there,
Preoccupied with the unfair…
Stacked-high dumps emptying into water
Against disposal challenges getting hotter;
The Government alerting at the final moment,
When it should be shameful to make a comment.
It had been their way of spilling blood,
Not a half reply to a still controllable flood.
Great moments in childhood
THE PLAYGROUND.
Responsible for
bumps, bruises, broken bones
busted egos
Redeemed by
spontaneous acts of wisdom
retaliation, retribution and mercy.
THE “JUNGLE BARS”
A ten foot high tower
ruled by a reincarnated
Olympic gymnast.
THE “SEE-SAW”
An 18 foot plank
Balanced on a fulcrum
(never trust the other kid
to dismount slowly and ease you down)
THE CENTRIFUGE
(aka the kid killer)
A 12 foot in diameter lever powered device.
Purpose - to allow children to spin so fast
that they could be thrown in a tumbling
mass across the stone strewn ground.
THE “SLIDE”
A 15 foot long metal chute
Capable of reaching temperatures of 125 degrees
on a perfect “let’s go play in the park” day.
THE “SWINGS”
A controllable Grandfather Clock
capable of inducing great fear and excitement
and an insatiable desire to get higher – faster.
(often thought of as a “gateway drug”)
John G. Lawless
©6/15/2021
We relate to God
with surface depth...
thus remaining
profoundly distant
from the unlimited breadth
and scope of spirit...
when wrongly considering,
we confound immortal, never sleeping,
unchangeable Divine Presence
with the ever-ephemeral, retiring
superficial nature of our physical bodies—
(the mesmerizing entrapment
of our eye-candy)
Though Spirit is not
separate from obvious matter,
as the earth has its wealth of star
(life giving warmth we absorb
automatically) too often
the relationship is less than
literally complimentary,
outer bodies hardly an accurate reflection of
the purest nature of our First-cause
(God The Perfect)…
We consciously avoid
the deeper interior,
where Truth flashes
(like a Time’s Square Marquee
on a Saturday’s Evening);
overtly chasing our hearts
from Spiritual reality
when Right conflicts with
personal ego…prompting us
to run toward the far more controllable
exterior—easier to make-over
a human body (Hell! We have pills for that
nowadays)—for even semi-enlightened
scientists are at a loss, when it comes to the
soul (no definitive substance to God in a
universe of man-made illusion).
Control the controllable
Discernment well defined
A profound cognitive shift
Radical transformation – it’s all in the mind
Stress - anxiety
The fear of the unknown
The weight of the emotions
Tragically – the burden – the cognitive load
Tired – exhausted
Tattered - we fight till the end
Bruised and battered
Good intentions – perhaps the eighth deadly sin?
God grant me the serenity
That comes with honoring the truth
It allows me to accept the things I can’t change
The wisdom - I can only do what I can do
Radical acceptance
Embrace the love and the pain
Control the controllable
Ironically – nothing changes
We change
She is aware of distance,
a distance that replaces smooth with wrinkle,
that adds weight to where it once fell away,
a distance as controllable as a storm, as time itself.
It feels likes a rope thinning,
each frayed line of twine aims
to remind that no longer
is she considered fine and soon
a lover’s 'mine and thine' will
drown in a bottle of wine, corked.
Mirrors reflect a youth in famine,
spotted with age like a dalmatian
with rheumatic limbs. Breath stinking.
Like the missing t in her name she
wonders where her ingenue years are.
They curled into smoke, melted ice, a suitcase
misplaced. She hopes in finger crossed wishes
that he is not aware of this distance,
this distance that seemed to matter not when they met
but these years eight between them spread slowly,
a molasses seeping over skin and sex,
showing him her true self – aged, past –
dry dirt on an earth that only celebrates pastures new.
The earth ceases to exist
The troubles are unthinkable
The stars are shinning brightly
Who would have thought?
The smile is endless
The laughter is controllable
The body is more relaxed
Who would have thought?
The sun is cloudless
The sea is calling
The moon is coming
Who would have thought?
The discovery has been found
The mission has been accomplished
The letter has found its way back
Who would have thought?
It is my fault she killed herself. Crazy talk. Nonsensical logic.
My first thought is to say, “Yes, it is SO your fault,” and roll my eyes.
Luckily, I have had life-training, so I am wisely silent, keeping my
Traitorous eyes, hidden and down, as they are non-controllable.
If I had called her back,
If I had texted her.
If I had agreed to wear the bunny costume.
If I had not argued with her,
If I had realized,
If I had noticed,
If I had thought,
If I had suspected,
If I had….
It is not your fault, it is probably not her fault either.
The only thing right now that might work
Is a gentle shoulder tap, or a hug.
She is not a hugger, but I am.
I put my arms out, and she turns into a 4-year-old.
I hold her as she sobs, sure it is her fault.
I am so glad I have had life-training.
It is not your fault, never works.
Serves as gasoline on the fire.
If I had gone over there,
If I had hidden the gun,
If I had hidden the pills,
Yes, it is your fault.
Written By: D. Collins 4/7/2018
There are but two questions to answer, my friend.
Is the ball rolling? And, was it worth it in the end?
Anything other than that is strictly called chatter.
The beginning and the end are the only things that matter.
Between Alpha and Omega is what we call "Life."
We can only hope that we lived it right.
Between Alpha and Omega is where opinions dwell.
The lies, drama, and many forms of hell.
Its our only controllable, God-Given space.
So, we should ensure we make it a special place.
No one knows when Omega will come calling.
But, when Alpha sets you free make sure you go All-In.
I don’t love you
And that’s the truth
Love isn’t a word strong enough to describe how I feel about you
The definition of love has so many meanings
Some of which fall short from this spiritual urge surrounding you
Passionate
Now that’s a word I would use
That strong and barley controllable emotional sense I get when I’m around you
Compassion
I might use that word too
That sympathetic pity and concerned feeling I get for all those around, who don’t know what it feels like to be loved by you
Adore
Now this I find to be true
To respect someone deeply
To hold close this treasure I see in you
Cherish
That look in your eyes
To protect and care for someone
And never leave their side
To find one word to express how I feel about you
I could never decide
Instead let me show you
One day at a time
D.Christian
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