Long Attaining Poems
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This August 26th , 2018 rendition
regarding previous literary endeavor
Wick End Up Date, Snippet Sans...
...The Deadly Scourge
...One Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder
(Never abating infiltrating
writing material e'en superceding
the death of John McCain, where
Munster monster rears gnashing
undermining marriage with ambivalence.
Anorexia nervosa absent bulimia
nadir of onset schizoid behavior,
which agonizingly slow suicide
self starvation maelstrom within
psyche of self prepubescent lad
(particularly devastating
immediate family members)
emaciation pitted existential
ghastly revulsion unseen,
wuthering heights wrung death
knell annihilating fragile entity
christened Matthew Scott Harris
obvious preemtory imprimatur
yieldeing covalent bond to die starkly
horrified kith and kin helpless
Zorro slashed signature profound
perilous depressive psychological gouge.
Now at about two plus score years
attaining centenarian rank perfect 20/20
hindsight supreme advantage swift under
currents alluded drowning, when das
scribe juiced started to nibble puberty,
whence devastating emotional crisis
tripped, trilled, and tricked chronological
clock theorizing numerous educated
guesses within mindful middle progeny,
and sole son (of Boyce and late Harriet Harris),
why I willfully hurtled flesh at light speed
down abyss toward death. Literal and
physical lightness manifested within
nooks and crannies prior to full blown
symptoms to eliminate sustenance
drawing curtain on brief residence be
fore high noon of life. Metamorphosis
from boyhood into man found solace
attempting to keep at bay natural cycle,
which trans formation grieved me
pining nostalgic childhood’s end
(one fraught with romanticism)
vengefully interpreted attempt to halt
deadly tracks intervention of mother,
whose nursing experience helped fend
passive attempt promulgated silent...
Vocabulist nonalcoholic punchdrunk stupor January 1st, 2020
Unlike the vast population swath,
with painful hangover
average celebrant merely
doth confusedly blink,
who devoutly pledge
new year resolution
to give up drink
immediately fall off wagon
as he/she eagerly downs
shot after fermented shot
while forearms link
with family, friends,
strangers, et cetera
and immediately rethink
alcoholics anonymous pledge
gamely nod and playful wink.
Yours truly (me) never found
wasted, soused, besotted,
et cetera alone
and/or with round
of best buddies real,
and/or imaginary
nor got stone drunk crowned,
(cuz never did I make
friends - no lie),
plus never felt compunction
to quaff hard inebriant
(think booze hound)
life as extremely gawky introvert
(think long haired
pencil necked geek)
preferred company of books
with cute button nose bound
between pages, this theme
I could expound
till cows come home to roost
after bovines well rested
from their sound
sleep unready and unwilling
to confront battleground
(think slaughterhouse five),
thus beef rendered me, we clowned
and hoofed up memories
promising each other pound
for pound, we would stand our ground
never freeload, mooch, sponge...
nor EVER succumb to the bottle
no matter how hardbound,
especially when attaining rough-age
older not necessarily wiser
if necessary resorting and astound
ding farmer in the dell
to Diet of Worms smellbound
while reenacting Holy
Roman Empire called
back in the hay day -1521
courtesy Emperor Charles V
offering sobering admission
lips ne'er taste amber and/or clear
liquids of the gods, no matter
believe me you reader hopefully
aforesaid confession doth not dumbfound.
Agony is nigh ever-present in humanity.
It is the nefarious antagonist that unabashedly lurks in the shadows;
And With detestable malice, it strikes with a hellish wrath.
This abhorrent lash is the unintentional crafter of heroism.
It inadvertently forges a shield that encompasses willpower;
And from it, absolute fortitude inhabits its beholder.
To wield this hallowed bulwark, an adamantine resolve is vital.
For the wielder is bequeathed with the insignia of gallantry;
And with this newly reaped brand, one must also retain humility.
Inevitably, the herculean task of attaining leadership takes its toll.
It Will, unfortunately, weigh on the heart of its heritor incessantly;
Despite this, its proprietor must remain vigilant and compassionate.
What we affirm now, has been said before
but know dear soul, the word is not the thing
and so shifting from thinking to feeling,
being a melding of head with the heart,
in staid silence, negating all knowing,
ego dies and then we feel bliss beats rise.
Duality enables fall and rise
of vibrations our soul has sensed before,
repeated till we get to the knowing,
that all that is manifest, is a thing
but not the source, which in truth is the heart,
tranquil in repose, learning by feeling.
Mind of the heart relies upon feeling,
mindfully noticing bliss thunder rise
from down under, in spiritual heart
and it’s here each impulse is born before
becoming thought, a material thing,
which seen in slow motion, is our knowing.
We all search for the truth, by whose knowing,
we become the flame, cognised by feeling,
whereafter dear hermit, we seek no thing,
as in objects of desire, since we rise
to zenith like heights monks have gone, before
attaining God in the cave of our heart.
The sound of one hand clapping in our heart
is an unmistakable, deep knowing,
taking us to the zero-point before
our choiceless choice articulates feeling,
being but polarities that so rise,
manifesting as a this or that thing.
Let’s cut to chase hermit, this is the thing,
all that that truly matters, is the heart,
welcoming in surprise, descent and rise,
of reflections that get us to knowing,
transcending thought by deepening feeling,
reclaiming inner light, we had before.
Poised in the void, we never were before,
imbibing that transcendental feeling,
here now in form, we get to clear knowing.
A candle burns deep, in core of every soul,
A sacred flame, an ethereal halo of intellect,
A guide heavenly, a mystique that educates,
Defying overtures of egotism and pettiness,
A beacon of wisdom beaming rays eternal
On passage to liberty that was always there
Yet, elusive to arrogance and ignorance,
Mired in obscurities and misguided fallacies.
Soul never rests, sailing vast oceans of life,
Whether upon apex or troughs of tides
Vying shores spiritual, buoying endearment,
Inviting apathy and hubris to temple of solace
Delivering words of sermon compassionate,
Teaching of awakening and enlightenment,
Liberating from beliefs narrowly defined
Toward empathy, enriching hearts, and minds,
Transcending to rebirth of happiness divine,
In harmony with salvation, an epic realization,
An epiphany heard through angelic citations
Emanating from influences beyond transitory,
Forever missives of attainment and peace,
Embracing serenity of solitude, clarity of being,
Achieving bliss of cohesion and congruity,
Set free beyond bounds of mundane, ordinary,
Attaining divinity in realm of humanity.
She conjured what she wanted
Visualizing it and expecting it
Others scoffed, but she blocked their laughs
Her dendrite field was in touch with a heart that believed
One chance in a million a grumpy chicken said in Chicken Run.
“There IS a chance then,” the optimistic chicken said.
As soon as she stopped laughing, she realized it was her mantra
There is always a chance.
It is the believing that brings it.
You can manifest whatever you can see
She saw a lot, and was not disappointed
Living her life with optimism, positivity and hope.
Not hearing the grumbles and gripes of those
Who did not understand or believe in faeries
or know how to visualize; she was too busy
attaining, loving, and being enthusiastically herself
to notice what others were doing.
My gardener says: 'flowers fade away,
Ones found yesterday, are not seen today'.
Tentativeness and simple temperance
Add true beauty to perfect permanence.
My father, mother, brother, sister gone
Will destiny leave me live long alone?
Completion of duty, a virtue, sure
Attaining perfection, yet, not obscure.
Meditation on death is essential
Makes our life, in truth, very substantial.
Persons, events that taught me - before me
personalizing, passing, are on me.
How long could I cry over my spilt milk -
Proprietor - dairy bubbling with milk...
Leave mind and heart free. Take up any task.
Tell Master anytime accounts to ask.
We all suffer from this annoying affliction.
Writers block can be challenging, like a junkie’s addiction.
A good garbage ink can do wonders for the soul.
Attaining perfection is not usually the goal.
Whether they are words of wisdom or a description of nature.
Some write about politics or their divine creator.
Try something different, try something new.
Keep forging ahead through the poetry blues.
Some words will flow and some will not.
It’s not the end of the world just work with what you’ve got.
Take a look around, soak it all in and grow.
Your muse will return and show you it’s glow.
When you least expect it, your words will just flow.
Don’t ever think that you’ve reached your plateau.
Your block will let loose of its stranglehold.
Your muse will come back with more words of gold.
Line of inquiry:
“I am not the body, which is but dust
I am not fickle and limited mind
To whom then comes the feral thrust of lust
Or for that matter, thoughts loving and kind"
I am not just the body which is a husk,
Which will wither and rot in no time.
I am the kernel inside that sequesters life.
Neither am I a jumble of thoughts,
Emanating from my fickle mind.
I know my body is brittle and will turn to dust.
Like a clam in its protective shell,
My body is just an outer covering
Where my soul is securely fastened.
I am a triplicate of body, mind and soul
I am meant to become whole…
I must become whole.
From the crippling outrages of lust,
From the strangulating chains of ego,
That bind me, I must set myself free.
Perhaps this resolve has come to me,
From incorporeal intuition and insight which hover,
Unchained above the regions of reason
And the cravings of lust and greed.
When consumed by hatred’s fire and demeaning lust,
I shall strive to make something new out of me;
Something that will spark a ray of hope
A flicker bright, a beacon in troubled waters.
I will seek shelter under my Heavenly Father’s wings,
Where his loving kindness awaits
To fill hearts with bliss and peace.
Within human frame, there is a constant war,
Waged between satisfying transient emotions
And for attaining immortal bliss and grace.
One, the body presses, but the soul rejects
The other, the soul presses but the body rejects.
When hatred and jealousy sow their bitter seeds,
Compassion and kindness bloom in quiet deeds.
When hearts are filled with love and empathy,
Weary hours shall sink to blend with quiet peace,
And we will begin to think that heaven isn’t far away!
Skin and Bones
I am you, you are me
We're one in the same.
Ashamed is the word that
comes to mind;
Comes to mind when you hear
my name?
Without me your nothing but
skin.
Your literally boneless without
me,
So why not embrace the you
that is me?
Why not be at ease with me?
You say you are, but not quite
all the way there are you?
No i am not there yet.
I'm quite far from being at
ease;
Quite far from attaining
comfort.
Does it suffice to hear the
answer?
Does it suffice to see, to know
that i try?
I'm pleased you try but is your
'try' enough?
Is your effort sincere?
Is your 'try' true?