Tongue Tied in Clichés: A Blessing in Disguise
A blessing in disguise,
a double-edged sword—
a far cry from peace,
yet all in all,
at the drop of a hat
we reach for a ballpark figure,
beat around the bush,
break new ground,
burn the midnight oil.
By the book we cut to the chase,
play devil’s advocate,
fill the void with food for thought,
start from scratch,
then get cold feet.
Give the green light,
go down in flames,
hit the nail on the head,
find ourselves in over our head,
jump on the bandwagon,
keep something at bay,
leave no stone unturned.
Out of our depth,
past the point of no return,
we read between the lines,
take it with a grain of salt,
see only the tip of the iceberg—
until at last we throw in the towel.
Was your jaw ever hit at some watering place
Yes, I have on occasion hit a fist with my face
His incorrect answer,
Scar tissue, not cancer.
That Doctor was too quick to cut to the chase.
Dig, dig, dig,
What a catchy phrase,
It is a phase,
When I gave time to pace,
I untie my lace,
Set time to race,
I cut to the chase,
To let my body move,
The sand I shove,
Grain by grain of quartz,
As if I'm wearing a Swatch,
I dampen my body,
With out of reach,
I am not a preacher,
But I know I'm on siege,
I'm not underage,
I turn money into sage,
I take my pledge,
I make it to the center stage,
But wait, I'm in a cage,
I need to go to college,
To turn a dime from a seawage.
Let us take a closer look at our head
Is it not shaped like an inverted egg
Hiranyagarbha: truth to which we’re led
Held captive therein, for freedom we beg
When we are ready, this cosmic egg splits
Wherefrom emerge aspects male and female
We do nothing; it’s not a game of wits
Into heart both polarities set sail
The table is laid for bliss readymade
Ignition renewal continual
In ethereal mists we barefoot wade
Rapture renews with love as our fuel
To cut to the chase, head must meld with heart
This requires our ego to surrender
Once we do this our soul’s journey can start
Aided by bliss, throb of soundless thunder
a thought arises
so strange
it should not be here
but yet it is
examine: how is it different
from any other object
we happen to see
like a bird for example
let us cut to the chase
is it not ownership assigned
by deluded heart and mind
that causes needless suffering
identity that seeks
shrouded in ignorance
is it not but dust
immersed in this lucid dream
Our mind conditioned,
we chased objects of desire
but to no avail.
Reaching exhaustion,
we renounced the outer world,
which offers nothing.
Our identity,
which depends on flow of thought,
resisted silence.
We were determined
and so held steady focus,
in our tranquil heart.
Emptiness was strange
at first but we remained still;
a witness silent.
One moon cycle passed
and then we were rewarded,
by a bliss tingle.
Divine magnetism
soon engulfed our body-mind,
as a bliss beat spell.
Though we wished to share,
these benedictions sublime,
no one understood.
Save a select few,
who had so experienced,
all else spurned our views.
Thus, as a recluse,
ostracised by one and all,
we became a monk.
To the outer eye,
we went through all the motions,
as fate had ordained.
It was a facade
of course, for we alone knew
what others did not.
It’s strange, is it not,
the truth’s hidden in plain sight
but we see it not?
Let’s cut to the chase;
the God we seek is within.
We are living light.
We’ve said what we wanted to.
For no reason at all if our heart contracts,
enveloping us in an aura of gloom,
lost in ambedo trance, our presence reacts,
refuelling vibrations ushering doom,
so unless we're in possession of the facts,
we stifle innate bliss beats that yearn to zoom.
So where lie roots of depression, we may ask,
to exhume darkness as our breath by breath task?
Let's cut to the chase, ignorance is the cause,
which in turn means that unless we are aware,
moment to moment, with desires put on pause,
we'll be unable to side step ego's snare,
so being here and now is the cure because
by abiding in stillness, our soul's laid bare
and we then witness the ebb and flow of tide,
in the firm knowing, that bliss pulsates inside.
08-May-2023
__________
Anatomy of Melancholy Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Towers and showers
You fall then you rise
Making love to the clouds
It's mundane you despise
Let's cut to the chase
Keep our words short today
I'm proud of this city
Perhaps 'nice one' you'd say
I think you are awesome
In the day or the night
As the faces peer up
Or peek out to the sight
Of industrious city
Laced with tramways and cars
With it's heroes and humour
Or it's battle strewn scars
On the surface you're hard
Always up for a fight
Dig deeper.. discover
A heartbeat, you might
Whether homeless or minted
Perhaps just passing through
Our Mancunian spirit
Is now running through you.
GET’ER DONE
I don’t like a bragging bigot,
Tall in stature, but in class, a midget
A man of faith, a fool to some
But at least a man who’ll get’er done.
I don’t like a man, who’s mouth is runny,
You’ll be outraged or think it’s funny.
A brilliant boss, a beast to some,
At least a man who’ll get’er done.
Don’t like a bull in a China shop,
Cut to the chase, fail or flop.
Not a fan of most everyone,
But at least a Hulk who’ll get’er done.
Would we rather one tailor fit,
political liar, bumbling twit...
A wrecking ball that ain’t bout Schmidt?
Excuse my colorful candid wit.
Give me a proven man
whose paid the cost,
have built an empire being the boss,
Went far out into the deep,
to save his country rocked to sleep
Some’ll beg to differ, but here’s the sum.
We needed a patriot who would get’er done!
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
Pakistan was born on 14th of August based on communal grounds.
Many have this misconception that India was born on 15th August.
India was at least 2222 years old country.
We got independence on 15th August 1947.
The name itself was derived from the river Indus.
Muslims in India are the second majority after Hindus.
However,they enjoy minority rights.
India provided Hajj subsidy for almost 33 years.
The subsidy was stopped by the recommendation of a
Muslim Parliament member.
Cut to the chase I want a logical answer rather than some
standard False outdated answer by those sitting in Rawalpindi...
I may seem simply just a slob,
But at least I always comb my bob.
Laugh or cry, the sun will yet rise
Oh, why does heart contract
Does not each breath usher surprise
Soul eternal, a fact
Let’s then cut to the chase
Choose open arm embrace
Imbibing divine grace
Fear decry
Laugh or cry
20-August-2021
Quietus
The stomach of the sky is rumblin'
and I fear that I'll be consumed;
the oceans are dying, the earth turns to sand,
and I sense the day of my doom.
If we're going to change this we'd better get started
stop making excuses and cut to the chase;
I fear this movie will have a bad ending
if we don't meet our demons face to face.
Thought cessation, welcome interruption
The zone of polarity rotation
Quietude the door, allowing Gods grace
On stretching stillness, at an easy pace
Long thought hiatus, our meditation
We are empowered for co-creation
Our intent colours manifestation
Path simple, so let us cut to the chase
Thought cessation
Lower mind resting, births revelation
Within sphere of our active cognition
We feel divine love within, face to face
Bliss magnetism ignites, our inner space
Needless striving shifts to celebration
Thought cessation
27-January-2021
Hiatus poetry contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
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