It is the happiest of times
It is the saddest too
It all depends on your chimes
If they’re sunny or blue
Tying oneself to all that’s external
may lead to a life of reversals
While banking only on internals
can lead to simmering infernos
A poet’s not a psychologist, and yet
I believe this to be a safe bet
Smile at the world, it’ll smile back at you
Be patient and kind, others will too
The spirit or the flesh?
They are really one-in-the-same,
internals and externals of creation --
the face read-out of our
inner clockworks --
to review
man, his myriad of entangled
relationships, is to begin to understand
The Politics of Satan vs God
We can fool the Soulless press, often
co conspirators in illusion -- Truth
more likened to the quizzical eyes
of children~ amazed, confounded,
and then, lost....
I evacuate
sitting on a throne
of waste…
till something live
emerges – taking
inspiration, wherever
it comes from…
the writer strains
filling bowls
and wastepaper baskets
inspiration navigating
internals and beyond
I am a Literary Proctologist
claiming from recycles
deciphering bottomless spirit scents
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.
Eureka of Archimedes was part of his daydream,
Thomas Edison nurtured his dream in bright light like gleam;
Could sleep ever overwhelm Alexander Graham Bell,
Till he heard the noise from the other and fell in a spell...?
George Washington Carver, who found in peanuts and soybeans,
Utilizations, like treasures, hidden abundant gleans;
Eli Whitney's constant daydreams gave birth to cotton gin,
That separated seeds, hulls and wastes; hearts of all did win...!
Johannes Gutenberg’s innovative printing machine,
Or John Logie Baird's mechanical television sheen;
Benjamin Franklin's lightning rod and the iron furnace,
Or Henry Ford's ventures into automobile sternness...
No invention has found its sphere devoid of day-dreaming,
This should be coalescence of action-vision creaming;
Together with concentration-shift toward internals,
Should bring forth spiritually resonant externals...!
21 November 2022
Don't Quit Your Daydream Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
What's cooler and juicier
Than a long-striped rime of green,
Whose internals are fortified with
An explosion of mesmerizing desire?
Or a total circle of green without stripes,
Protectively enclosing the best of eats,
Thoroughly permeated by the color of pure red,
And speckled throughout with seeds of black?
Or if you prefer, no seeds at all to delay your treat.
And what's more tastier my friend, than a softly textured cut
Of mouth-watering goodness bite after bite after watery bite?
An oasis of succulence and sweetness to the taste of healthy Goodness awaits our sense of taste each summer with nothing To prep; nothing to waste. A watermelon sweet and cold is Like A free-wheeling bicycle ride along the countryside.
070422PSCtest, Watermelon contest, Mystic Rose Rose
I am guilty
I know
I killed a spider.
A miniscule tiny aspect of life
moving about its business
in my space.
It fled right
it fled left
it jumped up
it came down.
My godly presence
was everywhere
like a black night.
I smashed its plastic skeleton
its fluid internals popped outside.
The poor thing
just curled
and retracted
like a coil spring.
Then tears
rolled out, from my iron heart.
I thought;
Was it worth
whisking away life
to protect
this insensible fear?
What if I fail?
What if no one listens to me?
What if I'm rejected?
What if I learned to just let things be?
It seems the harder I try to escape my thoughts
The deeper into despair I go
There's no doubt the strength of my internal fight
Determines the depth of my cognitive hole
I worry and I worry
Fighting to resolve the emotional battle inside
But I find minimal relief
It only compromises myself, and all those dear in my life
What if I were to let the worry go?
I'm afraid I might lose everything
Yet im perfectly aware
Worrying doesn't change a damn thing
My fixation of worrying
Is a destructive fixation of myself
While focusing on external issues
I lose sight of the internals, and everything else
I need to be honest with myself
Are there things I can change?
What am I scared to look at?
Perhaps this is why we don’t change without pain?
What if I learn to breathe deeply
Acknowledge life, and let things be
Just relax and appreciate
Radically accept all of life’s endless possibilities
What if?
Locked, the fourth floor’s doored cubical
Inside the ghosts are lined up saying ‘hi’
Never is there goodbye: no living/leavin’
Did fear entrap? Is it power of the mind?
And who is to say, within, is not Nirvana...
Long roads taken, to nothing at all...
Entangled internals that never flee...
Eternity so vast; a door shut, finite.
(9/7/20: '05 Beneteau 373; KKMI)
I look down
Upon its frosty glass
And wait
For the internals
To settle
Should I
Move northward
Into the heat
And bulldust
Humid air
And all that is
Unfair
Among
The green and black
Do I go west
Beyond the setting sun
To beaches and tracks
To walk
Before
All is said and done
Or do I tread south
Toward a gulf
And burnt out plain
Where people believe
They are more enlightened
But really
There just frightened
Turn back east
And get back into
The fray
Add my shoulder
That rugby crunch
Where old boys
And new chums
Dook it out
There is
A fifth choice
One can
Look within
To find
That
Moral direction
Let’s dive into our mind
Look around – perhaps nothing is as it seems
There’s a unique perception
An amalgamation - of what we call me
Like rich fertile soil
Brimming with potentialities
Nature verses nurture
So grow the seeds
The roots grow deep
Manifesting in the subconscious mind
Breaking the surface
Revealing the crops – behavior becomes defined
The harvest can be bountiful
We truly reap what we sow
The health of the product
Contingent on the knowledge we know
Thoughts left undiscerned
The weeds spread like wild vines
Effecting the crops
Damaging – the internals in our mind
So let’s dive inside
Look around and take a mental note
Let’s clarify our perspective
Our humanity – our future will grow
If you don’t like the crops
Take action – not poetic hyperbole
It’s all in our mind
An amalgamation of you and me
Nature nurtures blooms and blushes
With redbirds, bluebonnets, and bulrushes
And peacock-curtained cirrus evening skies;
That unveil a Milky seine before our eyes,
Alluring our awed admiration
With magnetic, majestic fascination;
Easily eliciting an emancipation
To unparalleled faux freedom;
Fostering fleet-flying feelings;
Sending stunned senses soaring
Inevitably inducing intoxication
Which connects our inebriated emotions
That persuade our treasured, deeply hidden internals
Into exaltation of the high supernal.
"for contest FINETUNE THIS COLLABORATION sponsored by Line Gauthier".
Know thyself
Confusing – maybe?
The reality - we are all we’ll ever have
Personal awareness is of utmost importance - indeed
Evolutionary dialectical battle
Vociferous the subconscious mind
Perpetual synaptic reactions
Unexamined – troubled - unkind
Awareness precedes Transformation
Transformation – Holy Grail - life’s key
Rise above the ancient biological chatter
Peace of mind – pure ecstasy
Discard the externals
Internals – it’s all we can change
Situations will certainly challenge
Challenge self by knowing – knowing self minimizes the pain
Nothing in life really changes
Therefore we are challenged each day
Knowing thyself is imperative
Awareness of self enlightens our way
Now each time I see Bob, seems I make a new friend,
The externals are constant, internals though change
(And with scarcely a ripple)! Things 'now' feel so strange.
It's like watching a child grow, except the reverse,
Or a sun that's eclipsed by a moon. Seems perverse
That a source of such warmth is required to pay dues,
With no chance of appeal and no exit reviews.
I wish sick days not taken could future extend!
Life’s a business obtuse! Markets come, markets go!
(Oh, when one disappears, has it someplace to hide?
For the beach seems less cluttered! What left with the tide?)
Still, love's market is open, though softer in tone,
With a visible future, I feel more alone.
We sit more (there’s small talk), and at times watch TV.
Though his hand's warm, his dreams are less privy to me,
In his dusk, clouds of angels are hovering so!
Brian Johnston
13th of July 2018
Poet’s Notes:
This poem celebrates my opportunity to be present and participate
In the passing of a dear friend, Bob Lind, of Holdrege, Nebraska.
Love is not
man’s first impulse,
but what is left
when the world fails
and nothing better
than
to imagine…
the creator
in us all,
were I fearless
I would nurture
such possibility-
to cancel armies
and philosophies
replacing science
with driving spirit
too often thought
in the abstract
though internals
an on-going
self vs self
faith outside the church
seems hopelessly flawed
as love that is calculable
predictable
cannot not float for long
that which the proposed
soul craves,
a body sustained aloft
outside and above
its literature
the best of humanity
not what it can see and touch
but what it can dream
life transcending
our mortal sleep….
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