After a brief illness,
some dry toast.
This is how we create the world;
with electrochemical reparations,
enzymes to melt monsters.
We chew moccasins supple enough
to travel on to evening,
One thought must be
hammered to another
until a scaffold is erected,
a bone ribbed archway
for onward journeys.
After the toast, a part of me
goes for a walk,
another part stays home
repairing a straw life, in case
the big bad wolf returns.
After a brief illness,
some dry toast.
This is how we create the world;
with electrochemical reactions.
Some enzymes melt monsters,
some chew moccasins
to make a morning supple enough
to make it to evening,
One thought must be
hammered to another
until a scaffold is erected
into mind-bones.
After the toast, a part of me
goes for a walk,
another part stays home
repairing a straw life, in case
the big bad wolf returns.
There is a potential so pure in your nature
that it be nexus between diviner and rapture
where freedom finds the fire of Prime Creator
deep in the brain's interior, a glandular mind expander
crossfertilizer of electrochemical ego and soul sorcerer,
the pineal pinnacle, receptor of solar miracle, regulator of the nocturnal wanderer
it is the tip of your spinal staff, the lituus which levies the chakra current into hypermatter,
33 skeletal sigils bridge the neural signals from root to bloom in the theta theater
as an inner vision of ajna becomes an outter creation of prajna in an unfailing future
with liberty being the law of wherewithal in a world wanting war with the philosopher,
passion becomes the parchment that your rights are riddled upon in cosmic character
unalienable imagination, undeniable in purification of reason unleashing the lotus tiger
into landscapes of raw physics where starry scriptures are alive in the instincts of an originator -
J.A.B.
Poetry in Mind
These lines from budding poet; look you!
They build in me a phantom castle,
Chosen words to each other a buttress,
A linking arch, a quoin of meaning,
Picking out the eternal essence of life.
Mark how this phrase prepares the way
For another; one word pregnant with memory
Giving birth to another with equal claim
To my inspection; cadences of phrase and
Verse nurturing my emotions in their turn
This word is the key to childhood,
Unlocking dusty rooms of my mind, stirring
Clouds of the past that settle, revealing
Doors that open into the present moment,
In anticipation of new memories, future promise.
That word sings to me, like music
Insinuating itself into the depths of my
Mind; into the lacy web of connections
Between cells, where it finds electrochemical resonance,
Songline to my being, cantata of joy.
Look you! Listen to the poet’s voice,
Hear their wisdom, read their flowing lines;
Let them seep into the very fabric
Of your mind, there to shape you
And give expression to sadness and joy.
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