I met a fallen angel on a bus ride to L.A.
At first he demurred, having little to say
After a while he loosened up a bit
spinning tales full of heavenly wit
I was bold to inquire, “Do angels play the lyre?”
“Oh no,” came the reply. “We don’t even fib, sire.”
Blue butterflies ballet in my tummy
Forehead swimming with my mind
Eyes red I feel funny nose is runny
Tangerine tingles crawl up my spine
If it isn’t love then I must be ill
For anytime I see you I blush
And red heart does cartwheels
I can never say very much
Like a bright firefly my eyes
Light up at sight of you
Your gaze could make me high
As a kite in the sky blue
What is your secret is it Cupid
An arrow shot my mahogany way
I try not to say something stupid
That I’d ruby regret one day
Don’t even know if you’re taken
I’ve no neon nerve to inquire
That thought has heart breaking
Setting silver soul on fire
Perhaps Cupid is an amethyst ally
Who works his magic in reverse
Next ill say hi this warm July
And try to make small talk white words
It’s funny how I miss something
That I’ve never hazel had
But I’ll say this for sure one thing
Thought of love make me glad
So it’s a rainy day in summer
So glad to see you looking well
I’m single so that’s no bummer
Showers of love may cause a spell
1 Corinthians 13 hints
Our understanding shall be full
But is it all at once
Or like a heavenly school
What happens when we get to heaven
Will we automatically know
The answers to the mysteries
From our time on earth below
Or will we inquire of the saints
Throughout eternity
And learn more, straight from our Lord
Going for our heavenly PhD
Time, you demented coot! You roam at night
Down hallways, hoping neglected rooms might
Remind you what it is you’re looking for
Though now forgotten in empty drawers.
“I know a something’s here somewhere, but,
Damn, if I could just remember what.”
You mutter, “Perhaps something I should wear
Though I can’t remember for what affair?”
Next morning, anxious, you inquire,
“When must I dress and what else required?”
I check the calendar, and to Time I say,
“There is nothing scheduled for your day.”
In playfulness, we created a dream,
within which just as an actor on stage,
to feel fully each ripple in our heart,
we chose to enter deep ambedo trance,
whence having forgotten our origin,
blown like a leaf in storms we had conjured,
we were compelled to inquire who we are,
in as that light which does not come and go,
not knowing that in truth there was nothing,
except wisps of smoke dancing in sunlight,
held in embrace by space, taunted by time,
being the womb in which desires are spawned,
which we saw clearly when thought mists lifted,
in the vast, vibrant void of cessation,
where poised at a singularity point,
recognising we were the magician,
knowing that there is nothing to be done,
we woke up in the dream as the dreamer,
employing power of bilocation,
deemed as a madman when we laughed at death.
prone to weigh and size
endless are labours of mind ~
knowing not the whole
pause the cause of thought flow dear
that light of truth may appear
we are not this form
although we do dwell in it ~
inquire who am I
I-thought arises in heart
that is where God-search must start
void of cessation
is where we now rest in peace ~
the false falls away
dissolving in bliss beat’s chime
we transcend both space and time
Neither body nor mind calls itself ‘I’,
yet saying so, our hand goes to the heart
without thinking and we do not ask why,
so it is there where God-search must start.
Our soul is more than the sum of the parts,
yet where it dwells is what we must inquire,
that doing so, as delusion departs,
we reclaim the light for which we aspire.
Silence transcends the boundaries of mind,
that as wisdom from the void is imbibed,
in stillness becoming divine aligned,
light of heaven is on our heart inscribed.
The path’s clear but we must walk upon it,
assured that in time we’ll reach the summit.
Musings I wonder by the river, dancing to the waves
and ripples of heavy winds so cold,
Inquire the purpose of the flow and road ahead
Where does it come from and why
Darkest hours at twilight, moon hears the howling
Of the canines from far off mountains
Visions of the shining ice fields at the top
Reflections of the curiosity of the contemplative mind
Injustice from the harshness of the sun,
That melts the ever growing glaciers,
Fight between the goliath of power and energy
Where the glaciers eventually give up
Unknown to the fact, the real source
Is the difficult phase that pushes
It to the real origins where it belongs
Unaware at the moment, state of flow
Once the glaciers accept the reality,
It shines through and runs down the valley,
It chose the freedom to flow
Large and loud taking all the rocks with it
Flowing endlessly and ferociously breaking the path
Paving the road to eternity and beyond
To freedom and oneness of the vast oceans
To the unknown deepness and stillness
My daughter met a recruiter who was immensely powerful.
She flew to Las Vegas, Nevada to inquire further.
Called me and said “this is not for me, I’m not doing it.”
I said,”It’s okay. Don’t do it.”
“But the plane cost so much money!”
“We don’t care. Come home.”
The next day, she called to say “I am enlisting.”
I was incredulous. “What?”
“I cannot talk any longer,” she told me, “there is a line.”
I tried to get more details.
She said “Love you, Mom,” and hung up.
She had met another powerful recruiter.
She was twenty-one at the time, during the Gulf War.
I was terrified for her.
Hoping she would not be sent to the front.
It was horrifying to me.
She said basic training was awful, but she got through it.
We did not get to see her in person until after the parade.
Because she is tall, she was carrying a flag.
The Air Force was the best thing that ever happened to her.
They trained her for a great job; she is an epidemiologist.
She has had a marvelous career thanks to the Air Force.
She never had this kind of direction before.
On one of her bases, she was named “Captain of the Year”.
We are very proud of her.
if a person knows he knows not
and another assumes he does
inquire: to whom do such thoughts come
wisps of smoke in our mind abuzz
staid silence is the direct path
immediate and intimate
thought fog clears and we see our Self
pulse of light that does not abate
Self is That which illuminates
state of ignorance and knowledge
dropping vicarious knowing
light of Self let us acknowledge
save the Self, all else is a dream
where we’re both subject and object
we’re self effulgent consciousness
therefore world of form we reject
September babe, can I only sigh?
You have silenced me with twinkling eye:
Would you ask a siren why she should sing?
Or say, "Cupid, must you, your arrows, fling?"
To Pan, would you inquire, "Why play flute?"
So, why ask a baby why she's so cute?
getting your dog weighed and groomed is not enough
now we are brushing their teeth and taking them to a manicurist.
well, some of us are.
the ones who have way too much money
and friends to impress
there are now dog designers.
they charge six to ten times more than a groomer
but you get a gorgeous designer dog out of the deal.
I take out a loan, so my Woofie can come home in style.
the neighbors inquire as to the cost.
no one is impressed
and I owe the bank fifteen hundred dollars.
In vanity, we inquire into the empty heavens
And witness only birds hunting
In vanity, we dive into the sea and the earth
And discover just bones rotting
In vanity, we read the writings of the learned
And find their footsteps decaying
Within you, behind all the clothing of words
Look, and behold the eternal tree of knowledge
Whose fruits are mankind's untainted ideas
And rests within our hand's reach, beyond the world's edge
Inspired by a passage from "The Principles of Human Knowledge" by the Irish philosopher George Berkeley, near the end of the work's introduction.
Written: June 27, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote: "Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates. Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?" By Rumi.
**************
It swings, not with rust, but a ghostly dance,
a silence that trails each gossamer stance.
The gateway asks nothing, but still it provides,
“Are you willing to leave something besides?”
Along a path strewn with thorn and primrose,
The hum of unseen bees in solemn rows.
And trees with arms wide enough to clasp,
any grief your godforsaken heart may grasp.
You don’t cognize what lies in the grave,
Only a wall shines—as a duplicate stave.
You weren’t prepared to inquire—
grief-stricken and spent, past all desire.
Then softly, behind the gate, will lean,
with the subtle grace of a silver screen.
This soliloquy was told, times before,
but grants each soul one sail to score.
Intrigued, hesitant, and eager, clear field,
still, my vision was pulled to a bald shield.
Groaning past the gate proved to be fate.
Should I enter through a stranger's gate?
“may gifts of silence illumine our mind ~
childlike heart becoming loving and kind”
~ quote by poet
as we gather pebbles in our heart’s nest
we may do well to pause and then reflect
that all we hold onto death’s tongs will wrest
leaving our deluded soul here shipwrecked
play of life is in incessant motion
where we cannot cross the same river twice
a quiescent heart ending commotion
whence each moment in time is paradise
gifts of solitude strengthen fortitude
that poised in the void by thoughts not decoyed
our aura is with love and light imbued
revealing pure light of Self unalloyed
contrast desire with soul’s eternal fire ~
search for truth within, in silence inquire
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