Long Deluding Poems
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Sin is so very an attractiveness thing
our flesh bows to its allurements
believing its suttle words so suggestive
its power holds us in its amusements
The Bible declares sin so dangerous
it corrupts and corrodes the heart
makes it deceitful and desperately sick
totally blinding us in no small part
This evil all came in at the garden in Eden
Eve rebelling from all that was good
persuading herself the tree was fine food
then convinced Adam both misunderstood
Sin dresses attractively in our fallen state
luring us to think that all is going be right
deluding each of us to our own folly
no wonder God says stand true to fight
Paul warns us speaking to the Ephesians
be strong and armed against devil's cunning
for our enemy, the devil uses sin to blind us
look to the Lord to send Satan running
TRUTH OF MY LONELY TRUTH
Alone in my own lonely world
I see the truth hidden inside me
And the lies that has kept me company for a long time
Deceiving myself of my own deceit
Making a fool of my foolishness.
The busy times that never gave time for thinking
Providing time to busy my hidden unbusied time
Covering the future truths with the present lies
Abandoned truth…Accepted lie…
The world is not a bed of roses I hear
Yet never heard it is a bed of thorns
Though thorns surround roses
Lonely and deep in thought
I see my future clearly as in a big screen
I see the world as it is
Not as I believe it is.
I realize, I have been deluding myself
With past and present illusions
Uncovering many things in the process
Especially responsibilities ahead
I see in me the man I will be
Not the boy I am nor the child I was
I see the rugged roads to be taken
Not the smooth illusionary roads thought
Sometimes, I get afraid of the future
Sometimes, I get motivated…
It dawns on me that am alone and on my own
Knowing that every decision I make now
Will affect me in whatever way I made them.
Most importantly it reveals the real me in me
And dawns on me to tread my paths carefully
For unlike my counterparts, am already in the world
But assures me of the success to follow
The truth of my lonely truth…
…Lordvip…
Title 2/ BAIT
Quote: Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare. William Blake
The transiting sun shines on you deceptively,
spreads shifting spectrum in chameleon sky,
the masked faces designed by innate ingenious craft,
walk you baited on the golden garden’s blind pathway.
In the deluding dim night of deceptive dreams,
their footfall is unheard in trance of tranquility.
Their sneaky eyes probe to capture you to consume,
as the masks melt in the misleading depth of darkness.
In the fatal desolate domain of feral fright,
under the ebony sky on the gloomy ground,
the conniving creatures of night creep unsuspected,
stalks the unwary prey, you can’t escape the hunt.
With the desiccated life in forlorn desert,
you chase the misleading mirages of deceit,
while you’re seduced by their delusive enticement,
your heart breaks in the debris of false temptation.
The alluring animals slither in illusive wilds,
cast the designed bait with bated breath.
The cunning artists perform perfectly, a masquerade,
unmasked, they morph into prowling predator devils.
With arcane acumen of despicable trickster,
as silhouettes of menace they covertly crawl
into the quiet quintessence of your existential euphoria,
suck seraphic ambrosia from the sanctum of your soul.
The turning time’s deceiving show goes on and on,
prevailing spotlights shine on veiled visage of fraud.
Finding a fake place to survive in the archive of pretension,
you turn into antique lure in the museum of masked faces.
(The news of the death of dear and near ones reaching us on a daily basis has left me thinking of the transitoriness of life and hence this poem)
Is not our life a wave of energy coursing through ether
Just like flickering flames or fleeting gleams that fly
Which when stopped, like a weed scorched by the sun
Or a tree felled down by a merciless axe, we will die
Is not our life a theatrical performance,
Where we don the roles we are assigned
Some, playing the roles of tyrants or kings
While some act as meek minions consigned
Is not our life a voyage through rough seas
Where we paddle on and on over billowing tide
Never asking where we are heading to
Nor knowing through what currents we ride
Is not our life the footprints left on sandy shores
Washed away instantly by the incoming wave
Not able to measure their length or width
Or be traced as they immediately cave
Is not our life as illusory as the mirage of the desert
Staying beyond our grasp and endlessly deluding
Soothing like an oasis among the dunes of sand
Sometimes like a nightmare awfully distressing
Is not our life a little space lying somewhere
Between our infant cradle and our grave
Where we have struggled to secure our slot
But soon ousted by others who for our place crave
Still we live on, never in despair but in hope
That beyond this mortal life and its tangled ties
Somewhere for us, eternity’s mighty portals await
To harbor our souls when from deep slumber we rise!
How you doin'?
Why are you feeling
how we are doing
here in our unspoken thoughts?
Right now
here
perhaps far from our deep
primordial feeling
reservoir
Of what are your passions
doing?
Abundant warm regarding
spacious compassion
Or cold scarcity of time
to not thrive together
much less apart
From healthy Me,
polypathic
wealthy We
PolyPhonic Muses
deeply engaging
more wellbeing dipolarity
richly co-arising
Rather than merely LeftBrain amusing
choices Win/Lose ZeroSum deluding
We Win
so Other Loses
While entertaining linear cause-effective
traumas
of felt scarcity,
dark isolation,
somber anxiety,
anticipating dissonance
Pre/Post Traumatic
cognitive v affective disempowerment
violent internal reactionary
bipolar
LeftBrain monotheistic
Either DivinelyGood
or HumanNatured FailingSin
Deductive
reductive StraightWhite PatriarchalCapitalist
or Othering
not market ready
for optimizing AnthroSupremacist
predative opportunities
To re-evaluate how we
are LeftBrain and RightMind
doing
Responding to AnthroSupremacism
while feeling RightBrain
Both/And Win/Win
suppressed/oppressed
into seeing only Win/Lose risks
and Lose/Lose despair
Disregarding our shared
Whole Open
yet WarmWombed
Original Sensory/Sexual regenerating system
Integrally
fractally
octavely
dialectically
bilaterally
mindbody
time-spaced
identified/individuated
EgoSelf/EcoOther
overwhelmingly repressed
By what passions
doing?
Win/Lose ZeroSum
survivalist scarcity
suppressed
Subclimatic
monocultural duress
Deep and wide
anxiously depressed
Sometimes more
and sometimes less.
Thanks for asking.
And how are you
too a mess?
DARK ARE MY DAYS
My thoughts become perforated with pin prick holes, exuding darkness.
Darkness sucking some of the light, the life from my memories,
from my experiences - in doing so they rob me of the last vestiges
of any hope that your light will continue to shine on me,
continue to provide nourishment's to this life,
give reason to get beyond this season.
I fear that you will extinguish the light forever more,
and I will wither away behind that darkened door,
become dust on the silent winds of your soundless voice,
particles of, carried away on the remnants of your lovely light,
as it travels light years from, and out of my sight.
In this, I am left empty and without any choice .
I have this great urge to plug those black holes,
hope that all will come back, ( that radiant, beautiful light ,
light that harbored my heart, my soul, my spirit
in it's loving embrace ) even if love was not a part of,
it's light, it's life's blood nor a part of it's essence.
The heart, the mind know, yet the heart, the mind can not control.
You are the artist, your soul the palette, your spirit the paint,
paint that coloured all the scenes lived upon me, me the canvas,
a canvas that displayed all the images created by your imagination
and my ability to bring to life, your creations.
I want to be the expediter of all your precious dreams,
dreams that would never include me, it seems.
I look into the mirrors, reflectors of our history, see you,
you the artist, finished with your master piece,
-that illusion of mind, the deluding of my heart -
time to move on and do what you will do.
For my heart, my soul, my spirit there is no peace,
and the realization, for me, there will be no new start.
What is left ?, are my tears, tear drops from the pain
of heart ache, of loss, tear drops trying to wash away
the images, the colors, the memories etched across this canvas.
Efforts in futility !, for all there is, are streaks, staining the face,
of your paintings, the surface of me, me the canvas,
a canvas, upon your wall, has no place ?
B. J. "A" 2
APRIL 2nd 2011
In the manipulated incentive of compulsive being
The transmuting concept of uniqueness called color
Changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange
While conjured chameleon shapes the human entity.
In the ostensible performance of life’s amazing drama
Enactments perfected with the obsession of passion
Aureate the sequel created by metamorphic alchemy
The shift from one actor to another is a designed motive.
Out of spotlight the colors melt on the visage of the self
The unmade-up face turns into truthful mirror of actuality
Reflecting the real definition of shape with pristine hues
Of unaltered identity of innocence it embodied once.
When spasm of contrived discernment breaks the mirror
The shards of shattered facade splatter as discarded debris
Shapeshifting creates deluding creature creeping as chameleon
And completes the compulsive act of shape metamorphosis.
__________________
May 10, 2022
Contest : Shapeshifters And Shapeshifting
Sponsored by : Anthony Biaanco
*(A Journey from Physical to Digital)*
Value of an asset, divided by cost,
In a world where wealth is constantly lost.
Inflation creeps, deluding worth,
Financial assets, tethered to earth.
Income tax grows with every gain,
The more you earn, the more you sustain.
But frustration brews, the chase grows thin,
And people seek what lies within.
A Ferrari gleams, but costs too high,
A house of dreams, yet funds run dry.
For physical wealth will fade, it seems,
As entropy drains our finest dreams.
Energy prices rising high,
Physical assets, doomed to die.
But what if there’s a way to flee,
A digital path to set us free?
Satoshi saw a world of light,
In Bitcoin’s birth, he found the fight.
From physical chains to digital skies,
Where wealth endures and never dies.
Infinite lifespan, beyond decay,
Bitcoin lives where time won’t sway.
No inflation can bring it down,
It wears a digital crown.
Trade wisely, shift from dust to code,
From currency to capital’s road.
From temporary to timeless flow,
Where wealth in Bitcoin starts to grow.
Digital capital, infinite life,
Not bound by inflation's strife.
Self-custody, or AI’s care,
Bitcoin's legacy everywhere.
Trade local for global, physical for free,
Trade what’s fleeting for eternity.
Satoshi’s wisdom, echoed today,
"Get some now, before it’s too late to sway."
For physical assets crumble and bend,
But digital wealth will never end.
The first to see, the first to rise,
Shall win the future before our eyes.
Wealth reallocated, a nation’s prize,
Bitcoin’s path under endless skies.
Print paper? No—buy what’s true,
A currency for the world, brand new.
The game has changed, a future untold,
Trade your dollars, your gold grown old.
For what lies ahead is clear to see—
In Bitcoin’s realm, we are truly free.
Man In My Head,
You live there–
(here I should say)
but I suppose I don’t need to tell you that.
You’re the one making your space.
You’re forever within the confines of my mushy, distorted headspace;
so I ought to pay you a visit.
Ah, Man In My Head, you’re quite wonderful–
you know that, right?
My puppet–you can’t hurt me if I’m the one controlling you.
You don’t make me sick with shame, regret, disillusionment–not like they do.
My shapeshifter–you morph into different beings, taking on whom and what I need most.
And, that, Man In My Head, is why you don’t have a name.
My comfort–you’re there when I need you; you disappear when I don’t.
But an idea can only soothe someone for so long.
You aren’t like them, Man In My Head,
You’re different!
(because I made you that way)
My guarded heart can open to your gleaming eyes (honey brown today), guaranteeing safety.
I’m daring myself–deluding myself–to believe in you.
Yet–you’re just a dream,
my dream.
And, here I am, waiting.
Working in solidarity with delusions, dreams, deceptions—
contentedly coping and waiting and pining
for you, Man In My Head.
AND YOU DON’T EXIST !
A figment of my imagination, guaranteeing the impossible “safety”,
but never enough to save me completely,
and that’s all that you are.
My single pill of ibuprofen to soothe the pain of a severed limb,
the pollution permeating my body could be purified by your embrace,
But, Man In My Head, you’re not real!
(please disagree with me, please be real)
I wish it were you that could
trace the soft palms of my fragile hands,
caress the warm plains of my forearms,
delicately dancing your fingers over the emerald and mauve running under my skin.
The Others aren’t so nice, Man In My Head.
Man In My Head, you always stay with me.
Thank you for that.
Yet, no matter how much I wish, I hope, I wait,
you are nothing more
–you can’t be anything more–
than
the man in my head.
In my foamy bubble there 's ample room for
free-floating and even, once in a while, submerging for a while
beneath the surface, where the wild things are and disturb
tranquility.
And when I free-float my head spins in only one direction, peace. It's quite
comfortable inside my bubble, and nothing can burst it, not even the bullets and bombs and, certainly, not the usual drumbeat of words, such as get a hold on your life and or stop deluding yourself. I've put a tape on my ears and, thankfully, am deaf to disheartening needles aiming to burst my bubble.
In your inner paradise find a priest to wed you to yourself and wish you eternal happiness. Barely I survive my own demons sometimes, and today there's no sign of them. Surprise, we 're off to a long vacation and you can come along, as long as you don't bump into my bubble and drag me to the real world, okay?
I have received many assurances and can rest now knowing my bubble is for the foreseeable future fully intact.
No need to worry about the day after, it will hit you unaware.