In scribbles on leaves an' wrongly pluck'd strings
To gentle lines and chimes without fetters,
Nights long with fine song and ably letters;
My voice, I'll find among heavenly things.
Under moon's light, my harem does sing
The songs of old in homage our betters,
And quill I hold and write words as whetters,
My voice, I'll sharpen as past penners wring'd.
To with that am I to become and endure,
The tenance of critique my lesser skill;
And be lost in the fray of brighter adore?
To that, I say, remain steadfast an' drill,
And let the judging halls of time find jure;
For there, my voice tested by string and quill.
Having recognised we are living light,
though for the moment caged in feeble form,
we feel in each node, bliss magnetism warm,
gripping us in rapture by day and night,
that as breath by breath, heightens heart’s delight,
mode and mood surrender, we just conform,
to the currents birthing this benign storm,
exhuming ego, bestowing clear sight.
Dwelling in the now, free from hold of time,
allowing kundalini right of way,
we watch our unfoldment in slow motion,
attention fixated on bliss beat’s chime,
one with light of Self that is here to stay,
enabled without any commotion.
A steady bliss hum is what we’ve become,
as our permanent orientation,
poised in peace in all time meditation,
cravings of ego having overcome,
presence synced with throb of the cosmic drum,
gong of Om in the void of cessation,
peak, the plateau of bliss beat’s sensation,
leaving no obstacles to overcome.
Present here in space-time in feeble form,
within which polarities tango dance,
viewing this lucid dream as but a game,
bliss transmutes as peace in love’s benign storm,
making thus divine aligned our soul’s stance,
fulfilling in staid stillness our life’s aim.
tho' I am but the sparrow's twining strains
the palette and the pen of whisp'ring souls
I'm sweeter still if dashed upon the shoals
or bleeding from the hem of day's remains
tho' I may weep from all a scoundrel feigns
for what each soldier's dying breath extols
it's grander even morning's meadow rolls
as spindrift tossed upon the grassy plains
oh I am found the coursing thru all things
as warm within your veins, as sunset's sky
my constancy to love and swoon and hate
to stir in hopes or see what passion brings
so guard me close or open me and cry ...
I'll bound and thrum and patiently ... await.
Copyright © 2020 Gregory Richard Barden ( rewrite )
Enticed, seduced, and speedily distilled,
stumbling dumbly, she trips into the arms
of decadence—(such hedonistic charms!)
—and finds her stubborn inhibitions spilled
in a puddle around her thoughts—and, stilled,
her mind is free (of any and all alarms (!) )
of worry, fear, and doubt—beyond all harms
she thunders for a fresh martini, chilled.
Teetering at the brink of another drink
she’s helpless against gravity’s stout
strength—down(and further still)into its wink
sinks the hopeless dupe into the abyss;
with more and more foaming from the spout,
she slips into a lethal, silent kiss—
silence cloaks silence as we dive in deep
into the void that holds all existence
and we do so by shedding resistance
that seeks outcomes causing presence to sleep
so we remain still and let God’s grace seep
into our core that thus blurring distance
our heart’s persistence without insistence
paves the way for our soul’s consciousness leap
moment to moment, all moments entwined
flowing with ease, mode embrace and release
be it dusk or morn, epiphanies dawn
simply by our being divine aligned
that thus flowing unfettered like the breeze
soul ascends even as we smile and yawn
Destiny any, there’s a common thread
in the unique journey of every soul,
going through life, playing their ordained role,
attachments gripping fickle heart in dread.
False is the narrative which we’ve been fed,
ego the villain, who inner light stole,
veiling soul’s sheen with thoughts as black as coal,
negating heart’s love by living in head.
Melding head with heart, we exit the maze,
making in staid silence, our eye single,
whereupon by shifting into the void,
our inner presence wakes up from its daze,
rapture heightening as bliss spasms tingle,
revealing our Self, pure and unalloyed.
shakti faculty uncoils awake, rise
sacred kundalini life-force stream
connecting radiant spiral wheels gleam
ecstatic prana floods to paradise
creative energy winding serene
unifies with cosmic Supreme divine
sanctified exposed exalted benign
purified individual Soul seen
equal masculine and feminine poles
high frequency Source liberates powers
supersonic singular wisdom grow
gracefully presents fertility whole
hot bellied alert colour fruity hours
spinal heat euphoric consciously flow
~~~~~~
A couple soon to be said newly wed,
yet swiftly snuck behind the family’s back
to swear the vow inside th’old shack,
quick forgot’n, buried a secret dread;
A reek awaftin’ out a country shed
left long and fast behind by Spring-heeled Jack,
the stench o’ rot stinkin’ from a sack
discovers a soiled corpse ‘n’a mangled head;
Well…, they ‘was a murder in the red barn,
an absence none—nor husband—could explain,
’til—guess,—what befell the fair lady’s kin?:
’twas a strange dream th’unwound the twisted yarn.
On that farm, packed ‘nside a sack o’ grain,
a body lay stuffed deep down ’n’a storage bin—
I don’t believe ideal love is real…
Can castles in the sky be built to last
eternities? Or rather burn, as fast
as marriage papers (and melt the holy seal)?
Besides, I hate to think I’m meant to steal
the blueprint to a fortress from my past
to use to plan my future, to forecast
the whim of winds who caren’t for mortal zeal?
Does there exist a Master Builder clever
enough to build a home that neither rots
nor suffers,—which fever may never sever?
Apart from high upon the playwright’s stages,
or daftly dancing in a daisy’s thoughts,
soulmates live alone on a poet’s pages
“One being freed from the grip of Ahamkara attains his unmanifest state like the spotless moon becoming full after eclipse.” ~ quote from the Adhyatma Upanishad
thoughts seem to arise without volition
but mindful eye traces heart as the source
wherefrom vibrations emoted in morse
seek from mind as symbols, their rendition
desires of heart cause intent’s emission
but is the impulse rooted in remorse
ego-driven, prone to applying force,
unlike vast space that has no ambition
negating transience, our ego recedes
and yet object-free awareness remains
whence stepping outside space-time we then see
self-existent light within which love breeds
representing flame of heart free from stains
made in God’s image, vibrant and carefree
O’ Hell!…to step aside, to slink along
the new-found, unstrolled alley road
and leave behind a heavy, long borne load—
Who would not, grinning, breathe a sigh of song?
InDeed, to risk the chances, Right or Wrong,
to journey off the main paths, tippy-toed,
and dare the dirty sidetracks, blithely rowed
by dank needles, gross junk,—who, but one strong?
Our dear protagonist has found himself—
entangled—in most embarrassing affairs.—
The Many chuck stones to shatter his glass
words—(Truths he’s thrown into the gaping gulf
of public opinion—)adorning now his airs
with the plumes of the aristocratic ass!
I, looking in the mirror yesterday,
witnessed distorted eyes replacing mine;
and, too, the lips and nose, as if a sign,
seemed bent crooked, misaligned in some way.
And, as I, squinting, gazed on that display,
an unheeding hand groped at the outline
of the coldly reflective glass confine.
I watched it slowly mangle the red-clay
body which, lifeless, answered my dead stare.
Tearing tripe from stomach, and from breast
the heart, those fingers worked maliciously,
dismembering each inch of skin less fair.—
I know not who it was who flayed my chest:
I? or that demon called Society?
What makes me smile?—For one: the grin of life;
but, too, its touch of giggle grazing on
my ticklish skin,—Though soon again withdrawn,
yet long lingers in memory, full, rife.
This makes me smile—(the laughter of a leaf
fluttering through the airs of yawning dawn.
I think it now, though next I’ll find it gone,
but note the chimes of mirth and bells of grief.)!
But, most of all, the experience of love
—of that of other, self, or all of all,
precedes, exceeds, (impedes?,) towers above
every other need…—Question marks abound,
and, gently litling to a waltzing bawl,
re(sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound))))))))).
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.
Specific Types of Italian Sonnet Poems
Read wonderful italian sonnet poetry on the following sub-topics:
christmas, friendships, love, music, nature, petrarchan,
and more.
Definition | What is Italian Sonnet in Poetry?