By any thing discernable to man
This metric indiscernible at best
Only noticed gathering as dust
Upon a shelf somewhere back in the stacks
So we invented something that could count
While we attended to more important things
Caught up in the distant space between
Knowing and not knowing the unseen
As if the only sense that can appear
Is the only one which matters in the end
It ends up as collection in the glass
And measures what is now, and what is past
I could say i come to you our Father.' Yet you are everywhere, even inside us..In every living think and all creation, you are
There.' As humans we consider you.? Yet
Cannot comphrehend enough.' Definately
Not all.' We have learned some of us at least..That you are a jealous and angry God
I do question the ( idea of an angry God?) Is it more.? That when you are concentrating.? Focusing.' Your sheer power is more discernable? Is that what
Other Chistians and myself discern of as
Angry? Becausr seeing your power
un-veiled is
Awe-some.) Is it more true?
that you will motivate and
Bring your plans; ventures, here and all
will be just fine..If we accept it will happen,
In your timing, all blessings.)
The blank field is a whitewashed wall
between
eyes and incipient thought.
A neatly printed line
emerges out of nothing,
fingers sleep
as they plant words in inky rows.
Meaning searches for meaning,
each symbol is a cracked seed
shed from a blacked-out window -
brain particles blindly seeking.
There is meaning here,
but it is as yet formless,
what is seen is slough and spillage,
mind-molt
struggling into an appearance
of notion and idea.
Now the word is flesh, a glossolalia,
a mute speaking in tongues, yet
breathless of any spirit.
At once the painted parody of self
is free to wriggle forth,
to sew and bind together
discernable images,
it must surface above the silent page,
lift up the emblematic
as the hammer-arm
of the insubstantial, until deciphered
by other necromancers
who then speak
for the dead-voiced word.
This then is the tipping point:
the space between sight and seen,
a place to speak into existence
the once immaterial
or surrender all coherence
to the un-lettered reticence of God.
Soul Fingerprints
By Mark Stucky
From the midst of multitudes,
elusive, unique fingerprints
identify individuals
as owners of their surface smudges.
Beyond their barely discernable
two-dimensions on smooth surfaces,
memories of casual causal touches,
ethereal fingerprints possess power
to unlock phones storing private secrets
and to solve whodunit murder mysteries.
God’s mysterious, stealthy fingerprints
invisibly mark creation and our lives,
at the core, below the surface.
No ridged whorls outwardly appear,
but those uniquely hidden codes
identify their covert Owner.
Distinguishing fingerprints
requires crime labs no longer.
My fingerprint unlocks my phone.
God’s fingerprint unlocks my heart.
(First published as “Fingerprints” in Agape Review, 6 April 2023. See also my poems "The Invention of Love" and "Gloria in Eggshellsis.")
(Photo by ar130405 on Pixabay.com.)
In a world where a deep ‘voice’ over’
trailers future disasters
the top brass of a uni-party
(together with its
current four-star chorus),
gather to pump up the fear machines.
The machines are shiny,
and titanium clad.
Budget cuts
have left them empty of any
discernable function
except the line of the day.
The ‘line of the day’, today
is the same as yesterday
it is:
‘Obey and eat your soup.’
A Mickey Mouse blimp
sails over the embattled roof
of the Whitehouse
waving behind it
its glorious unquestioning symbol
of freedom.
Freedom costs less nowadays
for no one goes to the theater.
At home they make-up
their own horror movies;
future shocks confirming
hosts of endlessly bad scenarios.
The silent and compliant
pace back and forth
in their virtual lock-ups
where every cranny and nook
has its own tiny camera
that records every tick
or shudder of dissent.
most days i feel parched
a longing inside
much too much to bear
a craving that only grows
the clawing at something
that's there beyond
out of my reach
barely discernable
helplessly unattainable
if only i could stretch up
extend my sweep
as i dare hope
for the caress of a sunray
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
HINDSIGHT
radiates
focused
to illustrate
perfection
a
discernable
visible enigma
so dreamlike
a dimension telescoping
the spectrum
an animated attempt
a catchall
even
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
The one absolute, the primordial light
illuminates perennially the existent,
the one ultimate, the elemental energy
drives constantly everything created.
The awareness light flashes from infinity beacon,
life energy is sourced from the realm of eternity,
all flow to the divine ocean within each of us,
the manifestation of the only One, That Thou Art.
He is the universal consciousness suffusing the soul
with immeasurable perception of mindfulness
that transcends the essence of everything discernable
as the cosmic spirit of God (Parabrahma), That Thou Art.
As the ever surging flood of tormenting time
drags my soul into the maelstrom of abysmal agony,
I begin motionless journey to the enlightened within,
identify me as the Absolute (Brahman), That Thou Art.
___________
July 17, 2021
Contest : Tat Tvam Asi
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
The wheel of time makes
the head drag the mind
on the winding pathway
of the confused existence
amidst the rising dust
of the senile summer of discontent,
but the heart still breathes
the young spring air,
like a flower blooming
in the flushing meadow,
swaying in the sunburst colors of joy.
The threads of mind and heart,
seemingly untwinned render
the entities of dualism discernable
in the intricate lattice of
the shrouding shade and the luring light,
weaving the tapestry of life
into seamless paired wholeness,
caught in the conflict of
twin attributes seemingly unaligned,
but harmonious in dichotomy
like the sparkle of joy afloat
on the rolling drops of tear.
Let the fulfilled life see
the setting sun sink serene
through the chromatic lens
of the crystalline mind,
the ecstatic heart aligned
will absorb the last spectrum of harmony,
the gleaming bliss will then suffuse
the sanctum of soul in the twilight hour.
___________________
Written March 14, 2021
September 7, 2021
Constance La France's Contest : "H"Contest New Or Old Poems
Poem 7: How to Write Good (Free Verse)
I begin
I press my pen to the paper
Ink flows out into a black smear on the page
A river of darkness trials out from the tip of the pen
Leading my mind into a spiral of words
of rhymes, of syllables, of meter
The only discernable thought being
Write
Write
Write
Seconds pass.
Minutes pass.
Hours pass.
Eventually when my hand is trembling
And my mind is truly empty
I stop.
Slowly,
As I retract my hand from the paper,
And reflect on what has been frantically scribbled on the page
I realize
It’s not how to write good
It’s how to write well
I pray my teacher doesn’t notice
When I'm with you,
Time stops.
The paradox: Time goes,
Like the thin web a dream becomes upon waking, barely discernable and then just a feeling it leaves a trace of emotion and then gone.
Those moments you can never get back and each moment and exchange of ideas, breath sending out sound waves to reverberate my malleolus, incus, stapes, and amplify in my cochlea, sending neurological impulse my cochlear nerve you reach me,
Some say words get in the way.
Your words, you, you become part of me.
And when your words stop, even when you are gone
I have them with me as if
When I am with you.
Forgive me if I seem imprudent
I am not trying to be impudent
And I am not trying to be impertinent,
I am just trying find some contentment
While trying to avoid any resentment,
Caused by me seeming aloof and unpredictable
I find life more exciting and irresistible,
When caught in moments of time divisible
I have no desire to be at all miserable
And every single present second is incontrovertible
And all I see is clearly discernable
In a world that is cold but is reversible
Existence without you would be untenable
Leaving me to being susceptible
With a motivation barely detectable
I am a person who can seem invisible
In a life that very rarely seems to ever care at all.
Cramped in dark seclusion
A little soul in wait to be whole
Like a fish in a bowl of ocean
Adrift but can gulp a lungful
It’s the beginning of an end
Chrysalis out from the sphere
Emerging from cocoon bend
Exposed to the atmosphere
Dry, arid air touching skin
No longer blind and invisible
Can see and can be seen
Can feel, now discernable
Free from shelled captivity
The caterpillar crept in the open
Predators lurked in anonymity
Waiting for its grip to loosen
Dodging all dangers on its way
Inspired for struggling on its own
Resolute not to give itself away
Waiting till wings make it known
Mocked for how slow it moves
Ridiculed for its weird ugly shape
Maggot with nothing to prove
Fluttering is its only escape
Metamorphosis took its form
A change sudden and so swift
A butterfly transmuting the worm
Flapping its wings in the air; it lifts
People who are losing hope
Slowly inching and edging today
Like caterpillars, learn to cope
A butterfly, you will be one day!
One day
I saw
Up high
Above, a
Discernable shape
Of a Golden Eagle,
Scavenger supreme,
Gliding solitary,
Amid a sky
Of cerulean hue.
Suddenly,
It veered left,
Diminishing,
In height,
Then sight,
Finally receding,
Beyond
The Mountain
Of Bennachie.
I traverse the oceans within a breeze
I light my way holding burning trees
Freeing my body, my heart, my soul
I talk and walk through miles and roads
I view the future with discernable need
Yet I succumb to my fate with noted heed
Do I lack the courage to go beyond my whole?
Do I feel the need to remain stagnant and tole?
I lack conviction in my sturdy brain
Trying to fight these excuses so lame
Solitary in my endeavours I so create
My weakness I continually berate
In my minds eye I spy this epic infused
In a twilight of colours I discover loosed
Yet I traverse the oceans within a breeze
And light my way holding burning trees . . .
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