The Universe corrects itself
Each and every time
What seems to get out of hand
To be too much
Extremities
Always reach a breaking point
And what is dark and bleak
Will eventually see the light
Though it comes in varying forms
It will arrive
No matter how far you have gone
No matter how high you have risen
No matter how deep of hole you dug
No matter how bruised you have gotten
The sun will rise
The moon will set
The storm will cease
The fog will lift
To fix what is broken
And reset what is fixed
All the while
The Universe keeps breathing
--
"Nothing but the truth"
The truth is not located in the left, the center, the right or the extremities.
It is above politics, ideologies and dogmas.
It doesn't care about my or your opinions and perspectives.
You can believe in leprechauns all you want. You are incapable of altering the truth in the slightest.
The truth is one, objective and universal. It is found above my or your subjective beliefs.
The truth is a sacred ideal of the higher planes of existence.
Like an untainted holy grail of blinding astral light that no mental perversion or falsehood can defile.
The truth cannot be approached by faith, but through true logic with common sense or by personal experience of it.
In life’s lowest moments, it is challenging to gather the strength to rise again.
The hurt and pain decapitate your reasoning. Your functions and extremities are paralyzed, it's like falling into an endless pit. Nothing in life matters in that moment, even the wind on your face exacerbates your grief and agony.
In that moment in time, there is nothing to look forward to or to live for, and you feel like you're trapped in that timeline forever.
The hardest thing to do is to take that first step. To know in your heart that you deserve to move toward the light and heal and go through your metamorphosis, and to embrace your reality. That is true strength from within. To transform and evolve and to become a new and better version of yourself.
“taste” …
she whispered
making sure the “s” lingered on her
tongue like syrup …
I needed no instruction,
but her plea was proper music, nonetheless
prelude to pleasurable murmurings from
both our gullets,
though I put the vibrations of my low,
rumbling moan to good use
(as any obsequious scoundrel should)
her squeaky sigh wrapping
my core like a vine,
saturating my extremities …
another whisper - “tell me … pleeease”
I knew exactly what
and she knew I couldn’t speak,
my mouth being otherwise engaged,
so I sounded the syllables
letting them rumble slowly … again
and that …
brought the bloom -
both her hands weaving their way
through my hair
pulling me tightly to her
holding …
crying out -
the sounds of bliss that I lived to hear
the sultry song that slayed me …
and I?
an enormous smile on my face that
she couldn’t see, of course
but I think, perhaps,
she could tell …
all the same.
The scent of wood smoke in the chilly wind
almost brings the remembrance of warmth.
My extremities no longer feel the bite of Icy air,
numb, asleep, even as the fire in my belly burns.
Each season has its way of touching your senses,
like past lovers, so different but still familiar.
Spring is energetic romping and first time surprises.
The lazy caress of summer leaves you spent and aching. The playfulness of autumn tickles and chases and laughs.
But winter, winter is frantic and bitter, dramatic highs and lows. The quivering, shivering, shattering cold of a turned back, and the melting comfort of embraces.
Each snowflake is frozen joy, bursting out from drops of water, and freezing.
Turn your face to the sky and taste the joy on your tongue!
There is something miraculous
and magical about
walking on water.
TELL ME WHY NOT YOU
It has always been you
Looking into your eyes
I wonder what good I did in my past life
Tell me why not you
You embody perfection in your imperfection
I see
Nature must have had a hand in our connection
Tell me why not you
I feel a surge of happiness
Me with you is a powerful force
Standing against the extremities of the world
You question “why me”
With a smile that lights my face
Staring into the eyes that drowns me in love
I ask, why not you?
Baby, there is your answer.
Men, especially male men are macho,
weirdos always less concerned and
thoughtful then women are. Take a look.
happens and rolls downhill.
So what! Who cares! Could care less!
What the hell. Not my fault. Had nothing
to do with it. There is nothing I can
do about it. Have been same all
of their lives and will never change.
Shortcomings exceed their attributes.
Dangling chads. Key pinch cards.
Full time job trying to be kind,
courteous thoughtful and sincere.
Chop off problem and throw away
like extremities in Civil War. Pile
becomes higher and higher.
Go to church, listen to what God has
to say and then go home and apply it.
That is the Trinity I know in my mind.
Migration is a problem that exists.
It has already happened so what
are you going to do about not condemning,
criticizing and complaining about it.
No action. No reaction or results.
Do nothing and nothing will happen.
You can listen but do not have to
do anything about it. Your choice.
God set standards for you to follow.
Never follow and suffer consequences.
Who cares what you think about problem.
What are you going to do to solve it.
My heart is freezing cold
Like the fine ice of Antarctica
For I've uncovered the secret to life:
Live today for today—tomorrow will tend to itself.
I've felt the cold sting of expectation
Even sorrow knows my affirmations
Reciting them backward, from end to start
For I can't separate living from death.
Yet like the Penguins of Antarctica
I've relied on fearlessness to endure
To keep the cold and pain at bay
As I navigate life, day by day.
I've reduced my extremities
To make more room for warmth within
Traded fleeting pleasures for more
And freed myself from the weight of unnecessary thoughts.
The fire in my heart is ignited by the sparks of your charm
I love the serene atmosphere of your calm
Your smile, sincere
Your personality, revered
Pure intentions rents free in your eyes
Your heartbeat, speaks affection
I am immersed in the extremities of your attention
Do i break these walls of Jericho for your triumph?
But yet my mind remains parallel to the heart
Reminisces of that one bullet, that left a mark
Do i make haven or take flight?
Either way, will i be doing right by me?.
“taste” …
she whispered
making sure the “s” lingered on her
tongue like syrup …
I needed no instruction,
but her plea was proper music, nonetheless
prelude to pleasurable murmurings from
both our gullets,
though I put the vibrations of my low,
rumbling moan to good use
(as any obsequious scoundrel should)
her squeaky sigh wrapping
my core like a vine,
saturating my extremities …
another whisper - “tell me … pleeease”
I knew exactly what
and she knew I couldn’t speak,
my mouth being otherwise engaged,
so I sounded the syllables
letting them rumble slowly … again
and that …
brought the bloom -
both her hands weaving their way
through my hair
pulling me tightly to her
holding …
crying out -
the sounds of bliss that I lived to hear
the sultry song that slayed me …
and I?
an enormous smile on my face that
she couldn’t see, of course
but I think, perhaps,
she could tell …
all the same.
First buds emerge in velvet cocoons
As dank, dark mornings transform
Into frost clad, bright, clean-aired dawns.
Grass laden heavy with dew,
Nectar of nature to sustain awakening creatures.
From deepest winter slumbers,
To drink deep the anticipation held in each drop.
Static in the air, in our hair, as crunched grasses
Make way for warming days, milky moons,
And pearlescent sun shards melting
The cold of winter soil.
Grass, long since recoiled after long summer
Parching, burnt and bruised,
Now tender and sweet, shoots pushing
Up through the loamy layers of frost bitten ground.
The scents of spring, almost imperceptible
Yet nonetheless I feel them set my belly to flight
The excitement for some unknown event,
As though a celebratory feast,
Honoured to be invited to.
Tingling in extremities, no longer from cold
But now in joy, in pleasure,
In the fruitfulness we know to come to pass,
When spring finally announces her arrival
Once more.
Written: January 25, 2024
_______________________________________
Time eludes us as a cryptic puzzle.
This is our opportunity to seize it.
Spaces have a distinct sequence.
We must sustain our life pattern.
Shaken extremities.
It is scarce to start a fire with obsidian.
Still, it's worth lingering in the night.
Murmuring shards from an aloof past.
highlighted the impact
of our says a few weeks ago.
and the deep impact it can wield.
Yet, we must aim to define our souls
Let your voice billow amid a pool of views.
thence, it's crucial to stay vigilant.
even when progress is slow.
Life seems a scary puzzle conundrum.
But we must never lose our goals.
It may appear such a mundane day.
yet one day might alter everything.
Several ideas may whirl in the mind.
We are obliged to strive forward.
spreading our thoughts globally.
even amidst the perplexity.
or if our ideas are running dry.
It is crucial to bear in mind.
All us are crucial to a larger target.
Let us manage our time well.
Embrace each fleeting moment
in this state of discombobulation.
From my experience anyway
the face of a clock is generally
the face or faces of loved ones
hands~ our contribution of little
extremities that grow, fingers into grips,
arms into outside reaches not limited
to 12 -- like Christ~ the 13th
hearts, from single dwellings,
into villages, worlds and universes
from knowing self and significant
others, into intimate knowledge of
living Catechism...a personal, relatable
Thesaurus of God….
Let the pendulum swing
the gears turn
the crystal vibrate its warmth
the heart pulse from instinctive
memory toward the greater science of
eternal spirit
one is the journey to many
and all
the limitless truth of
Our Being One….
Strangers but loved
aged pianist's hands
don't die in silence...
The old pianist watches
his hands ... learned
a secret... the music...
Even injured and with strength
touch still finds.
In silence his tips
dactyls hurt, suffer...
But the silence knows that
will speak in his ringtones...
dying toes
suck the last ones out of life
sighs...
The old pianist sweating,
cry dry tears...
But the blessed sound
the piano plays the music
holy, torn from
heart...
Homage to pianist João Carlos
Martins and his extreme pain in the
extremities hands and fingers...
Life can be a struggle
Yet still we have those highs
But for many there are low points too
And that’s where sadness lies.
The ups and downs are standard
Part the tapestry of life
However for just some of us
The extremities are rife
With feelings of elation
And of depths of dark despair
So still through times of empty
We’re expected to be there
For others who need succour
And unconditional love
Just need someone to be there
Like the hand fits in the glove
In time we come to find out
Who is there for us to hold
Our dear supporting network
Who can be our true scaffold
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