I sink my telescope
into dew-heavy grass
and prop it up against
the inky black night
bathed in quiet
swirling with stars.
I'm hungry to map the celestial bodies
that dot the sky.
to chart the constellations
that let me get lost in them.
to see
and be seen.
beside me
you're silent
your own optical instrument
unused.
I've realized it's futile
to bring my telescope to your eyes.
it cannot sharpen wonders into view for you
the same way it does for me.
some stars only appear
when we tilt our eyepieces
so we must adjust our settings
calibrate our lenses
find a shared focus.
right now
we observe different skies.
it can unsettle me
and yet
I still want to sit with you.
to try to change my perspective.
to trust that
I'm not the only one
making sacrifices.
to have gratitude
for the gift of knowing you
existing with you
letting go of the future
letting the present hold us
as we are.
Free falling into chaos
always seemed like child's
play to me,
something so natural to descend into
I could call it
breathing.
To allow those inky, black tendrils
to seep into every pore,
every mark,
every imperfection.
I called to it like a master, of
my own darkness,
my own death.
I willed it at my command,
and while it has accompanied me on
a very long, and somber quest
I wish for it to leave me.
Only, it remains in the morning
after I am sick to my stomach from
numbing myself with shadows that cling to my skin the night before.
Have I made the mistake of turning
my affliction into an unrequited
love? Have I held too tightly onto
this thread of hope for a savior
when I know only I can save myself?
in ambedo trance
we wished
the sun of joy would never set
but it did
since the matrix
is designed to bind us with mind
remorseless
and unapologetic
as we decay … is the flow of time
as long as we dream
which in truth is up to us
at any moment, silence sets us free
there is a catch
of course there always is
sans thought, our ego, our identity dies
do we dare
to meld with the inky black void
if we do, then tip toe into heart unshod
embrace silence
where bliss magnetism beckons
our formless awareness to merge with God
etched …
into flesh …
into the warm muscle of my being
your colors … stained me …
each a story
each a passionate moment of unusual depth
from the reds of your hot blood,
coursing me
the warm ochers - your joyous spirit
cool sapphires, your eerie ire
sadness and hurt, the slates and grays
envious emeralds, (brief)
dazzled white brilliance, your smile
and the utter inky black of your quiet rage
a color that devoured all others -
that devoured me
choking
gasping for your grace
(always granted) …
you are the ink
and I am your integument
you have written your sins and supplications
upon me …
the stories they tell,
indelible and intransigent …
a bit of pain and bleeding with
each glyph and letter
wiped smooth by the sweet, soft
soothing of your spirit …
I am your carnal canvas -
your searing brand
immutable and love-deep
I am your …
tattoo.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 13, 2024
When glimmers of light are by us cognised,
it is for sleepy soul, a wake up call,
signalling that God can be realised,
if in staid silence we choose to stand tall
and the truth of our true being recall.
We are in our way and once we know this,
we fearlessly leap into the abyss;
at ease in the vibrant, inky black void,
where we disappear, yet nothing’s amiss,
since we’re living light, pure and unalloyed.
Know that all manifestation is thought
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
We, as entity that seek, exist not
Let’s look at desires, that from our heart stream
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
In staid stillness, we’re not by thoughts decoyed
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
When we’re nonchalant, fears and desires cease
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
God search our quest, save that there is no goal
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Ego shorn, we’re reborn, granted clear sight
Know that all manifestation is thought
We, as entity that seek, exist not
the raven strolls the campsite
slowly, unbothered
jet inky black
sans purple or blue iridescence
unlike their lower cousin the crow
in bulk alone
3 times the weight
and silent
less the squawking from rooftops
ambling with the ownership of a king
empowered by his birthright in the food chain
gorging on the deceased and left behind
taunting the living as he goes
the glamorous star of the carrion eaters
chasing his own ebony beak
strutting
just outside the reach of danger
consciousness that makes us aware
steering us safely through dreams
enabling discernment in the waking state
and facilitating emergence from trance
of enigmatic inky black dreamless sleep
what is the source of this consciousness
closer to us than our own skin, oh hermit
and how may we become one with it
without any drop in our flowing awareness?
lonely heart tremulously beseeches
the inky black void
the universe responds, bliss fills us
delusion’s destroyed
a verse begins to be formed in mind
heart distils emotion
presence draws by resonance elixir
of love’s magic potion
lower mind would have us so believe
in attainments unreal
save holding God’s hand like a child
nothing holds appeal
within darkness too, we see the light
it’s glow self-luminous
we’re now way past the stage of fear
bliss rise is continuous
will, knowledge and action
as the threefold powers
are yet incomplete
if our consciousness be
bereft of bliss and creativity
that effulgence renewal
blissful, self-referral
as expression of being
rejuvenates innate aliveness
in all realms and domains
where we pause awhile
to ink the inky black void
with beauteous hues of light
20-May-2023
In the beginning
what we may call noumena
from a singularity unfathomable
the very first outpouring of God’s breath
created what we now see as vastness of space
but what space is we yet know not
the boundaryless inky black void of nothingness
a bubble of manifestation came into being
occupied by God motionless in stillness
He then created a pulse, the Word
that duality may herein pulsate
the Word is Om ~ sound of the sun
The womb of existence is space
liken it to God’s manifest omnipresence
unknowable, within all and yet standing apart
within which we’re localised as individuated entities
although in truth being inseparable from the all that is
the truth of ‘who am I’ we must discern
as such, since we are not this decaying organic form
to know who we are we must stop the flow of time
for which within the pause of each polarity shift
our attention if fixated in pristine silence
discards false identity revealing truth
that we’re living light in God’s image
10-May-2023
Empty carousels, windswept,
Echoes of pattering feet fading away in the dirge-like wind, mourning like doves.
Empty swings in the park, a waning sun looks mournfully at the little eddies of sand here and there:
All lacking the soft peals of laughter, the chuckles of the innocent...
Where have all the children gone?
The yolk-coloured sun, sour tasting,
signalling the end of a long, dreary day. The fluttering, whimpering,
weary limbs creaking,
the end of an era, only reminiscences of vigour
when hoary white was inky black...
Why, have all the children gone?
drawn to the light instinctively
we nestle therein, then pause
looking at the inky black void
which without doubt is a veil
concealing God's living light
but the fact we see darkness
signals we are yet in bondage
that silence alone can unshackle
23-November-2022
Mindfully aware of desire flicker
Time stretched stillness held in love flame’s wicker
Cognisant that ego is in pursuit
Vibrant soul presence remains resolute
Resting attachment to the external
Seeking within, love and light eternal
Paradox is that we need to dissolve
For it’s soul, not body, that does evolve
Poised in wonderment, awaiting the leap
No trace of fear, of inky black void deep
Innocence offers love no resistance
Thus the seeking too, is sans insistence
Be watchful hermit, of each thought spiral
Behold then how, bliss within goes viral
18-July-2022
Beneath the waves of solemn grey.
Invisible eyes wait patiently,
Whilst the mind paupers a soft religion
The Fisherman`s dance.
A scared vision.
Hopeless dreams in cracked mirrors – the pain.
Numerical factors – the “minorities” they say!
It`s not funny anymore.
She`s taken lives.
She pulls the strings.
A nation divides.
And I bend over backwards.
The Fractions and factors.
The Inky black and modest blue.
Now the spotlight fixes.
Its face on you.
Judgement day,
And all too soon.
Let`s have some fun,
Left - bible,
Right - gun.
The humble man.
Afghanistan.
Turns white with fear.
Lost man.
The homeless man,
Kicks the can
Gives up his fight
Lost man
Depths beneath the fluid sand.
A hidden city
You can`t understand
Glistening windows stand through clouds that gloom.
100 floors up.
The sun is rising.
At Midnight - Afternoon.
The floor. The carpet.
No clock on the wall.
The silence.
The view.
No end to it all.
It's sad.
It's peaceful.
It's inevitable,
A highlight!
One ceiling light.
At Midnight
Afternoon.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.