Sycamore tree, swing thee far?
On a crescent line?
Yes, sir. As I strive for par:
I think of the vine.
Due, friend, to its supple reach?
Twist and turn a-right.
Spark within me, I beseech.
Flicker, fly, and fight.
Well, young man, mythology.
Legends of the old?
Ancient is the redwood? Sea.
Lava makes the gold.
Sword, point heavenward and stand.
Enforce hell's command.
Fear severe, have you been planned?
Fire, forms frequent fanned?
Doubt, without? Tough taut to tout?
Down the waterspout.
Lily pad, repair or rout?
Flagrantly to flout.
Yet organized the strong ones step.
Each in rhythmic racks.
Soldier, load thy gun with pep.
Notes hang up with tacks.
City bells, alarums.
What message will you ring?
Plume volcanic, ply thy plums.
Blister as ye bring.
Crumbs. Chaos, thy star dances.
Dissonant its flow.
Fate and Fortune, white chances.
Black the broken bow.
“there is nothing dividing, nothing to be divided. I have nothing to know with and nothing to be known. How shall I then speak of coming and going, my child? I am free from disease—my form has been extinguished.”
God is one indivisible being,
resplendent in His light, outside space-time,
wherefrom dreams conjured instantly seeing
journey of souls in their heavenward climb.
All being one, there’s nothing to be done,
since the flame of love shines in every heart,
mirroring lustre of the central sun,
breath by breath sensing bliss ignition start.
The truth always is the eternal now,
the stillness point around which worlds rotate,
as love does anoint all souls that allow,
ego dissolution when heart is chaste.
Oh hermit, have the cake and eat it too,
delighting as bliss beats within renew.
Kings drained the goblet
silver and pearlescent.
A sweet odour drifted
coiling heavenward
to feathered cloud spires
where ancient muses chanted
in tongues of mystery
and offered blessed words
inscribed on filigree parchment
engraved with magic images
worthy of few mortals.
Silence with transmission power,
brimming with grace divine sublime,
which we feel as a bliss shower,
aids our soul to heavenward climb.
The ascended monk’s auric field,
by day and night oozes a scent,
inhaling which our heart is healed,
enabling our rapid ascent.
a spit for luck
On my travels along country lanes
This Sunday afternoon, I saw a tree.
On a yellow sun-burnt field, that had
A crazed axeman cuts off its limb.
A surgeon named John had put.
a bandage on the stump, but sap
Or white blood had seeped through
The bandage, and I could sense its
Their silent suffering reminds us of mortality, prompting the audience to reflect on life's fragility.
Wounded three.
So much death on a peaceful day, I saw an
An old oak, fallen silent from an enormous tumor on its trunk, stood as a somber symbol of mortality amid the falling leaves.
Tumour on its trunk, leaves had fallen off, and
Gray branches were seeking heavenward,
a gesture of futility. A car ran across the lane.
And I spat twelve times for luck, a superstition that connects us to shared beliefs about chance and fate.
In the suburbs, piles of leaves
Sit waiting on the street,
The blowers having gathered them
In mounds, all nice and neat.
A gust of wind may carry some,
Or possibly a child
Who couldn’t quite resist the urge
To tap his inner wild.
But once a week, a truck comes by
And with its giant hose,
It sucks that foliage from the road
To someplace no one knows.
When I was young, the leaves were raked
And then were set aflame,
That sweet aroma spelling “fall”
In memory’s acclaim.
They vanished in a dust of ash
As heavenward they’d rise
Along with childhood’s fading hold
We’d once romanticize.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The persistent Texas heat and sunshine have given way to several cooler, partly cloudy days. I step outside, making my way to the nearby walking trails. I gaze up, the clouds lifting my spirits heavenward; I embrace this cloudy day, for it brings subtle whites and cool silvers that accent the sky above. The passing white blossoms of the sky bring a transitory shade. Upon the sidewalk I see a lone butterfly beneath a tree canopy, passing from subdued sun to mellow hues.
partly cloudy days, soft-filtered light
soul song becomes louder, more confident
in those sweet moments
self-reflection
Two ways to live, love:
Dwelling on banks of Ganges
Heavenward to move,
Betwixt breasts where heaven is,
Forgetting moral judges.
________________________
Translation (Tanka, Senryu + couplet) | 32.08.2025 | woman, beautiful
Note: Here is a verse (in Anushtubh meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Where and how should one live? The poet offers two alternatives: Either on the bank of Ganges for spiritual pursuits or between two breasts of a beautiful woman in pursuit of passion. The verse creates here fine assonance with two pairs of rhyming words-- paapa-vaarini vaarini and mano-haarini haarini. Here is the transliteration:
Avaasah kriyataam gaange,
paapa-vaarini vaarini |
Stana madhye tarunyaa vaa,
mano-haarini haarini || 67 ||
Recognising thought and senses as veils,
to exit this maze where dream forms amaze,
we enter staid silence whence presence sails,
in the vast void, invoking grace that stays,
pastures of bliss, upon which we then graze.
Bliss too transforms as peace beyond space-time,
where we as living light, heavenward climb.
tarnished cup
of silver
family heirloom
wrinkled hands
all a-tremble
pindrop silence
in the room
eyes lifted
heavenward
will he remember
the words…
Blessed art Thou
O Lord our God
King of the Universe,
Who creates
the fruit of the vine
Amen
Smiles all around
When distanced from source we feel incomplete,
which involuntarily births intent
to be still, being our way to repent,
that thus by surrendering at God’s feet,
invoking grace we sense magnetic heat,
signalling God has accorded consent,
for our pristine soul’s heavenward ascent,
in bliss mists, leaving heart feeling upbeat.
The cause behind all causes, is this pull,
being simply stated, God’s magnetism,
rapture beyond measure pervading form,
which when we are touched by, makes us feel full,
rainbow of love shining in body prism
and we’re engulfed by this benign bliss storm.
for its heavenward ascent
each God-spark seeks love’s consent
first employing mind’s thought crutch
until it can learn by touch
spirit, a fire, grazes air
with all elements does pair
love the unifying force
shaping each earth bound soul’s course
when polarities unite
life in a womb does alight
a new born soul thus takes birth
to live life and prove its worth
without sense of ownership
the child is raised in worship
breath by breath embraced-released
that God in heaven is pleased
Melding with silence, formless soul presence feels,
soundless thunder, the sound of one hand clapping,
borne by bliss magnetism, touch divine that heals
each cell of form, be we awake or napping,
piercing veil of space, which light of Self conceals,
our heavenward return, gently so mapping.
Along with the thunder, comes rapture unbound,
breath by breath as we tip toe on holy ground.
To search for God’s bliss spark is our life’s mission,
His inner sound current pulsating within,
effervescence eternal, love’s emission,
seeking our embrace, so we simply plunge in,
fearless and vibrant, needing no permission,
to dissolve in the hum that erases sin.
Along with the thunder, wisdom is imbibed,
in the cave of our heart, by God’s hand inscribed.
Fear and desire are chains we wear,
until we become self-aware,
first of all inquiring, ‘who’m I?’,
which if not form, ego must die,
that with the false out of the way
and on making love our mainstay,
eye single, pheromones mingle
and we feel bliss rapture’s tingle,
at first a cascading wave form,
ushering currents cool and warm
but then over time, bliss beat’s chime,
assists us to heavenward climb.
We see there’s nothing to be done,
save breath by breath coming undone.
Uplifted by grace, soul breaks into song,
contouring mists of love and strobes of light,
creating a rhythm for which heart does long,
borne on wings of bliss, ushering delight.
Breath by breath as rapture refrains replay,
a sublime fragrance engulfs feeble form,
inking us with bliss hues, now here to stay,
where heart’s the epicentre of this storm.
Divine magnetism grips us in its bind,
that in timeless time we become the flame,
head and heart aligned, truth of Self divined,
fulfilling our soul’s aim in life’s end game.
In the potent pause betwixt bliss beat’s chime,
surfing sands of time, we heavenward climb.
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