Moving a touch above slow motion,
not sure why it feels like déjà vu.
Breathing feels like part of a plan,
but isn’t it meant to be involuntary?
Maneuvered with an old joy stick
in a maze that’s impossible to exit.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.
The entire quest set on boss mode,
are we really even inside the ring?
Someone please check the specs!
Fuzzy edges are now amplified,
I can’t see the end of the rat race.
No progress, none. Zero. Zilch.
Stuck inside an age of regression,
make no mistake this was calculated.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.
On to the next level, but what is it?
Climbing into an assumed screen,
we think each decision is up to us.
What if we are merely toys roaming?
Rodents in a cage for amusement?
Locked in a seemingly endless loop.
Sick of feeling stuck in a simulation,
someone fix this roaring glitch.
You are the source of my soul.
The colour of my blood.
The lilt of my accent.
The waves of the ocean.
The wind of the night.
The beginning and the ending of me.
Your craters moulded the depth of my eyes.
Your dust painted the colour of my skin.
Your light kissed my body to life.
I am utterly devoted to your illumination.
Years after my separation to you, on this beautiful land I recognised you for the first time. We talked for hours until dawn and from that day on, you never left.
And I never forgot.
Your residual filled my lungs and your orbiting holes of light hummed through my veins.
I lit up, stardust and moondust shimmering within my roots, giving me a sense of faded nostalgia and a déjà vu that acknowledged you.
You were my home.
You are my home.
My place of origin.
My place of birth.
My place of creation.
I am a child of the cosmos.
A devotee to the universe.
A skin of stars.
A heart outweighing gravity.
A loyal disciple, belonging only to you.
I am an angel of the moon.
And I will end where I once began.
For even in my ending, I belong solely to you.
Acoustic Shadows 4-8-26 Craig Cornish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Acoustic Shadows
As screen doors slam an audible footprint of sound
Echoes in phonics of ice in glasses
And tinkling bells of ice cream trucks.
The solstice ripens
Growing large in the splash of rainbirds
And telltale whirr of hummingbirds at feeders
As humidity buzzes, the breath of summer’s envoys
Sound out a boneless resonance
With chords that tease and tantalize
Alluring in fleeting notes hatching hazy inklings.
Haunting memories of a solstice oratorio renewed,
Veiled in the caress of a mirage,
Reverberate in noisy shimmers of Luna’s fullness.
Ripples of ghostly illusions speak in clues
Like bards of déjà vu
When sounds trickle down furrows of skin and soil
Leaving hints that foreshadow dusky shades
Recalling the hum of warmth in cold bones
And cues that foretell of the season of crickets.
The seagulls flying low
You know that crying wail
The storm is coming on
One boat put down the sails
To sail against the odds
In hope to reach the bay
Is there an urgent load
They carry, who would say
It feels like déjà vu
Although it must be real
For sailors, not for you
And not for me, we’re still
Beside our desks, sit frozen
Watching the wheel that rolls
And then the wind blows in
Some petals have to fall..
Not yet revelation,
not yet omen,
not yet flame.
Too subtle to name,
this recognition
from beneath my thought:
I have stood
in this shadow before.
It was the first shift
from pure longing
to the quiet ache
of déjà vu.
This connection
mirrored old wounds,
though I tried
to convince myself
it was new.
Silence of the weary mind
Is not silence, but despair
Wind is blowing in the night
Then it stops, to let the air
Dressed in white, fall on the ground
Flaring up the coals of yearning
Dark December spreading out
Longer evenings, dimly mornings
Newer virus books a room
In your body cheap hotel
And it feels like déjà vu
Though exactly you can’t tell..
Shadows on the edge,
memories slide out of view
never full focused-
the past lingers like a breath
you turn to catch, but it's gone
Sideways glances sway
moments in periphery
blurs smear the mirror-
déjà vu calls to play its hand
closing again, happenstance
Gazing at the lake
trees melt into reflection
golden rays adrift-
I reach to hold the shimmer
my fingers grasp only air
A leaf in the wind
fluttering in dusk-lit breeze
reminds me of you-
every sideways glance reveals
the weight of recognition
Wharf boards creak beneath
our bare feet press grips
we leap without thought-
each splash resounds in my chest
as time refuses to pass
The late sun hovers
painting ripples in copper
horizon half-formed-
déjà vu hums in waves
whispering, be still, be calm
Beneath the surface
voices travel in bubbles
half-song, half-echo-
rising like our lost laughter
from another life we lived
All glimpses return
lakes, ripples, sunsets, jumps, leaves
sewn multi-threaded
sideways in peripheral
repeats until the love stays
Your hand in my hand
Can this feeling last forever?
I don't want to share
You with anyone, it's not fair.
I want you to shine
Only for me, because you're mine.
It's selfish, but I
Unraveled our destiny's signs
It's you,
It's like déjà vu,
I loved you in the past,
I knew that we must
Keep this feeling for our future.
It's you,
It's like jamais vu,
I’ve known you for a while,
And I know that you're mine.
I'll choose you over and over
in each of our lives
Because you're mine
My hand in your hand,
Can this feeling last forever?
Things fade into sand,
But with you, it doesn’t matter.
Do you see the light
When I’m here by your side?
It’s selfish, but I
Unraveled our destiny's signs
Even if the skies fall,
I'll find you through it all,
Even if the skies fall,
Even if the skies fall,
I'll find you through it all,
I'll find you through it all,
'Cause my heart knows the map to your heart
Reviewed by Holly Hearsey. Thank you, dear.
NULL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Déjà vu, a strange, fleeting sensation—moment eerily familiar,
Parallel realities bleed into one another, align, and then bewilder.
SEEDS OF PERPETUITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just beneath the surface of our daily lives, a deep current flows, the subtle murmur of a forgotten agreement, the shimmering echo of the original dream held within each soul. This dream is a fragile thing, flickering in and out frequently doused by the clamor of the world, immediate needs, expectations, and urgent distractions. Yet, the soul’s yearning remains, a seedling just beneath the surface of consciousness. It tugs at the edges of our thoughts, whispers of what could be, of what should be.
It's the reason we chase certain passions, feel drawn to specific people, and experience that unsettling sense of déjà vu – a fleeting echo of the life we were meant to lead. When we remember even a small piece of why we came to life, we pull the seeds of perpetuity farther into the world of time. "The inner seed keeps trying to sprout, but often our fate places us at a crossroads or nails us to a cross before we pay proper attention."
seeds sprout from darkness
emerge from remembering
seeds of perpetuity
*Quoted from Michael Meade
Her inability to love.
Love like bitter sweet honey,
Humming to the song of her heart,
One she has long forgotten the lyrics.
A reminisced feeling of sealed Déjà vu.
And she struggles.
At sight of change,
Freedom of her own mind.
Inability broken.
She is afraid.
A violent ringing in her ears.
Her hearts song screams
As she willingly closes the door
With a tender smile.
We are an entity and so is space,
Mandukya Upanishad claims as true,
a knowing which is revealed by God’s grace,
when flickers therein show light passing through.
Déjà vu suggests time does not exist,
for there’s no way we could have been and seen
and yet we did so why should we insist,
that life’s not a movie, played on time’s screen?
Space and time entwined, is the cage we’re in,
anchoring us in manifestation
but if practice of silence we begin,
we see through pores of space, light’s pulsation.
Dropping then all vicarious knowing,
winds of truth in our heart begin blowing.
Sitting in the sunshine
streaming through the window
my catnap's long overdue
it's way past time I drifted off
to the land of milk
(and honey) ah Shangri-La
a return to déjà vu
and my reverie
it's no hallucination
merely visualisation
of a fertile imagination
and when all is said and done
no I'm not the one
(but, 'Wish I were,' hear me purr)
the cat who ate the canary
or that got the cream
but until I do I'll catch some z's
lose myself in whimsy drift away and dream
She flickers in the glass—
a glitch of golden déjà vu,
The paint strokes—bright, wild yellow,
but no warmth leak through.
I sometimes reach
for her dimming leaves
that hum against my skin then disappear.
I pull back and smell
ash, when nothing’s charred.
There were twelve petals yesterday,
now, only eleven.
I wake up and count again.
Still eleven,
or maybe
none.
(I’m not sure if I’ve woken,
even though I know
I tasted salt from my tears.)
Mother says we never got a dog.
But I remember—
the texture of his leather collar,
the white fur tickling my nose.
The sky runs—
watercolor pulled too far.
I check the time:
9:42 AM.
Then I open my eyes.
4:08.
She’s still there,
scorched
into my nightstand—
brushing mirage into my vision.
_______________
Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's sunflowers, which I cannot seem to stop thinking about.
Sheer sweet delights appear as gossamer nets,
unseen, unheard, not felt with no regrets,
floating on puffs of wind to catch in your hair
before you care to know that they are there.
The warmth of dawn at sunrise.
The laughter of glints in eyes.
The taste you get before you bite.
The jolt of cold feet bare at night.
The déjà vu clicks down memory lane.
The heartbeat lilt before you kiss again.
The wind foreseen in quiver of leaves.
The thunder felt before heard in eaves.
The stings on a cheek as snow flakes land.
The sneaky touch of child's hand-in-hand.
So let the sheer ephemeral delights come,
to see what taste, feel, hear and see, can become
when you set your awareness alertness on high,
to savor the kiss of bliss that floats on by.
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