Long Dividing line Poems
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i was eight
the first time-
i saw Yin-Yang Mountain.
the height of it’s peak
contrasted by
the light on one side
dark on the other.
as the sun travels
from east to west
the color of the slopes change-
the light becoming dark
the dark becoming light.
i stand on the peak of Yin-Yang Mountain
watching the shifting
light and dark.
the line dividing the sinuous halves
is my being.
am I dark or light?
a white line or
a black line?
i am the curve between.
i am the difference.
i am the deciding factor.
i stand now
beside the River of Life.
my feet bare-
i step into the cool waters
observing the shifting reflection
and shadow.
the current swirls the dark and the light.
this life giving, fluid filled gully
brings darkness when one is consumed
by its waters.
above the light is reflected-
below it is swallowed.
soothed i sit-
resting below the shelter
of the Tree of Constance.
the trunk is thick
made of layers of living matter within-
dead matter out.
the dead bark surrounds
the living core-
protecting.
from this sturdy core
branches shoot towards the light.
from those branches shoot buds-
which contain life-giving seeds.
the seeds fall to the ground below.
laying upon the dark
mineral rich earth-
i imagine.
below my body burrow
insects and roots.
they depend upon the fertile
ground for survival.
humans have turned this earth into
a burial ground for the fallen.
the rotting bodies consumed in darkness
feed the creatures who dwell
in the earth.
these departed whisper
knowledge to fallen seeds.
imparting wisdom-
to ensure growth.
I return to the peak-
of Yin-Yang Mountain.
from this peak i observe
the mixture around me.
here on this peak I know
the answers.
i am the wisdom.
this knowledge has paralyzed me.
with this gift i have been silenced.
i am the dividing line-
i am the question.
with faith I fall-
from the peak of Yin-Yang Mountain
into the icy waters of the
River of Life.
it’s turbulent ebb and flow
fills me with life
and destroys me when dragged upon its floor.
i wash upon the shore
gasping for air-
clinging to the root.
I succumb.
i begin to rot-
feeding the earth-
that feeds the tree-
that thrives beside the river-
which dwells upon the slopes
of Yin-Yang Mountain.
here i will remain-
until discovered-
and then understood-
this
my Youth in Asia.
Do I trespass if I knock at your door
Would you be frightened to see I also have a full cup
And call the cop because I am black and you are white
You were none of this I would believe
We had no dividing line except that within our gender
And yet for all, our words could climb from bed to bed
And I could against their promise lay my head.
I am not threatened by a woman revolting against history
And fear the dumb traditions than more than I fear
The truth liberating our different poles to embrace the center of our love
There is no dividing line between the poet and the word.
What then shall we make for a facade of difference
The absence or presence of the sun
For day and night only describe the inadequacy of the eyes
Stars are liquid boilers and builders of atoms into dust
Nothing solid in the bright space of it my mass would trust
Atoms, cells, male, female, lovers and distinctions
Deceivers all, we made them to be the delusion of us
Endlessly we yield
To the giving we are receiving back again
This coming and receding
Pounding in our hearts, wrapping us in swaddling tides
Nursed by lactating time ... this is all we have and kiss
Time the imitator of eternity by persistency
Have fooled our hearts with vanity
Now we are not so rich again without your words
Rolling, rocking, to and fro
The pendulum of our illusion is a dry breast of milky way
We are ahead by the words wings beating in our brain
The cage flustering the feathers in their flight
From trees, herds and people, rocks edifying the rigor of the stream
Life moves backward while standing still
From the seat where imagination changes gear
I hear an engine groaning up an hill
Across inflexible landscapes, and the many distinctions of our selves
The illusion of difference is a solid wall.
Let us like children blow our bubbles still
And seed the air with its own vapor
I love them coming into being, and suddenly popping out again
And for some pretty ones felt the weight of love's despair so
What is the meaning of morning here if night is always there
Waiting at the curving of the sun?
Who left the door open for the milk man coming up the stair
He picks up the empty bottles, leaving apples in their place
You must bring down to him milk again
To nourish my famished tears among the ladderless world of stars.
My heart waits for you so that our dreams can come true .
My heart aches for you, so remove the guard so that I can be with you
Days have passed and I kept working like a horse, cleaning the barn
Emptying garbage bins and meddling in the dirt oh what a terrible sin
I did not go to school to become a Janitor, but I became one over night
I also spend hours working my brain working with my intuitive mind and the spiritual oracle that originates from the divine.
My heart aches for you when no one is there to watch my back, my heart aches for you when no one is there to buy me a new frock.
Sometimes the days turn cold and I can feel you wrapped up into my soul with just a tiny touch of heat to warm your cold feet. It’s the kind of courage that we share that kept us floating in the air and when the weather is fine, I usually get what is mine.
The road is extremely long and the curves and turns are singing a wonderful song, the guitars strings are strumming and the people are marching on. The work is not yet done so I have to continue this journey until the battle is won.
I have to change directions, angle, and dimension and make the circumference bold and the dividing line whole; you must multiply the radius by two to get the diameter that is true, and then multiply the result by three point one four for a good estimate before you walk through the door.
I have to work with some new people and a new set to obtain some physical and spiritual depth. The location is metastasized with anger, hate and greed and the bald eagle is strangling the sisters and they cannot breathe .
I have to change location to get variety and a better proportion; I have to close in on the inner world with a linear distance and the radius pulling from the center or the sphere intersecting on something that is dear to complete the formula.
My heart is waiting for you to share the story of an unseen glory and ride with the wind in the south and break the wings of the North without a doubt.
My heart waits for you to complete this battle, and when it is done we will publish it and stand on the mountain top and shout with all that we have got
The birds will come raining in the sky for every direction and my heart will be pleased. I will hold your hands and embrace with thee. My heart aches for you.
Points Above and Below the Line
(Enea Canonises Catherine of Siena)
It's not a thing we go for any more,
that hierarchy malarkey, but in fact
the medieval mind set mega store
by stairs and ladders. All things interact,
and therefore can be neatly classified.
(There's endless fun in drawing up these lists!)
The lowest rung is "is", all pride aside:
a rock is "est", because it just exists.
Your jellyfish can breathe and reproduce,
so up we go: it wins a badge named "vivit".
An antelope can feel, get scared, hang loose,
so "sentit" is the title we can give it.
So living, then, is better than existing,
and feeling better still. Take Esther Blodgett.
She's capable of pouting, outing, twisting --
so humans come out tops again, with "cogit".
So all these so's, I hear you say: so what?
Well, what if humans almost reach "divine"?
Suppose there's something Esther Blodgett's got
that takes her over life's Dividing Line?
"Sublunary" means "underneath the moon".
"Diurnal" means "divided, night and day".
(Now, please don't chafe: the point is coming soon.)
Below the line means "subject to decay".
The moon was key for medieval man,
because it marked the mortal azimuth --
Above, eternal, there since time began:
below, corrupt, unwholesome, marked for death.
And now we come to Pius, making saints.
There's Catherine of Siena, looking flirty:
They must have used an awesome box of paints -
The chick had been a corpse since thirteen-thirty.
Above, the Pope, the Cardinals and Kate.
Below, the groundlings watching it go down.
Above, all spirit, high, inviolate:
below, all bulging groin and earthy brown.
If Kate was Sienese, that's nepotism?
Why ain't he canonizing Capistrano?
It's all to do with black and brown and schism.
Dominicans are gold, the others guano.
Franciscans are Heart,
Dominicans are Brain.
Franciscans use Love,
Dominicans use Pain.
Franciscans are Italy,
Dominicans are Spain.
May Australia consider such better times.' When the drumbeat of politics is being played, right into your minds.'
When the radios are sqawking.' And beuracrats kiss
Babys.' Then get up; onto their stages to hiss.' Each at
The other though they all promote the same bizz?
Can you hear echos of the lash? The clink of old chain
Rings? After one hundred years hard and long there..
Was a time when we considerd, better things' those evil times so
Long gone.! Times of being 'locked in' of breaking the
Rocks, to build our roads.' And all the other hardships
'Some considered to be our lot' i am a child of the 60s and in
The 70s I knew.' A country that was looking forward'
Where each man and woman, earned what was their
Due.' Great botanical gardens, in which to lunch at
Your ease.' 3Kz was rocking Melbourne taking a taxi
Was a breeze ' is silver top still the main firm?' Yet indeed
I digress.' I AM SHOUTING OUT FROM LONDON; U K.' you
Must get out of this mess.' For when your pubs were all
Shut down..And the Churches also too.' That was as was
In America.. Another dividing line from the very few.' also
What happenend to gun ownership? In the 90s I know'
I heard it from the U K.. Those radio stations sure did
Go.' Its more quiet on the 'jab injuries' ' well thats just a
Blip you know...? And all the freedoms taken.? it was 'one real. Real; bad
Trip' now find some time to get together' put away the stuff
Of it.' Like how much is my house worth? Look
At London.!! How is its health?? Now we can all see
The tentecles, of old europe trying to grow ' in evil stealth'
To a great entaglement..You have to get to work' how? to
Just say no.!! Say it for our 'sister from Werribe' who
Set fire to her car.' Hounded by (dan andrews) and all
Those little czars.' Say it for your dad; and mum now' for
Gran and grandad too.' Treat these pollo's worse than you did
That 'voice call' In greatest love I cry out to you.!
Chaotic peace, I describe it as what I need
my personality conflicts with the balance of nature
There is a clear dividing line between good and bad
but I walk the very fine line lackadaisically because I consist of both
Chaotic peace, the ironic poison keeping me breathing
keeps my mind functioning at full capacity
So what am I thinking now, how am I feeling
I'm thinking of the harmonous song of love, love, love
but in my current state of romantic soul searching fright
concern for a friend seeps in and I pray her tears dry quickly
and I pray someone erases those tears even if I'm not the one to do it
I feel so small like I'm two inches tall
I guess it's one of those days again where I don't matter at all
I don't mind it today although my goal was to reach out and be outgoing
this day, this week, this month, this year
I'd gladly take my seat in the unknown section
with my name engraved on it along with the many years I've spent
if it's the best for me
These feelings are indescribable, difficult to comprehend
well at least I could speak of it
yet I could write endlessly, effortlessly
about a strange world I have no permanent knowledge of
and now I can't help but question what life has in store for me
what in my life is meant for me to pursue gratefully
but I will cross the fateful bridge when I come to it
when I'm lost on a soul searching walk into a distant frame of mind
Chaotic peace...take away the chaos out of the equation
and only an awkward silence remains among an unknown face
Well what's left to say
freedom is scarce now for rules has forbidden movement
though the masses along with myself
are reduced to wishing things could change
How long...how long must we endure this torture
How long...how long are we to be treated like crying infants
Why not just fill the room with gas
quietly putting us to sleep till the day is won
Thinking about Sigmund Freud and his psychoanalysis theories
Albert Einstein, and his formulations upon the relativities
Playtos pupil, Aristotle.... Michelangelo-the sculptor, painter, architect and poet
An endless list written and rewritten, of lives within the pages of time....
Thinking of the human mind, with its boundless spectrums of possibilities
All the why's, the what's, and, the what ifs? A universe, yet to be discovered!
This amazing realm that we are in; at least to myself, of abstract truth....
For who can know beyond a doubt, the very core of any matter, the absolute!?
What mind can hold the ultimate essence, within infinities hands?!
Science itself is not even truth-but merely a shadow, at its very best....
And where does this leave me, as I return to this sphere of contemplation?
Grasping at particles, as if I could collect them all, while standing...."Amid a dream"
Gathering them into a manifestation, of concrete realities?
Reality it seems is a futile endeavor-more negative than positive, in the terms of
Mathematical economical equation-out of the black and into the red....
John Nash would know more about that-the structures of content, tranquillity and sanity
More to be lost it seems, than to be found....to complicate, to overwhelm!
It is true that we do need knowledge though, if ever we are to hope
To expand, to extend, to be better, to cure and to grow....But therein lies
"A dividing line," between knowledge and wisdom-a perspective of ones view!?
The big picture so to speak, of the here and now, and the forever to come....
Which leads me back again, to the beginning of this contemplative thought
For we must 'all' choose, what ground, we would most want to stand upon!?
An old Biblical verse, "We are in this world, but we are not of this world....". {Cont}
Form:
I sat up all night gazing at the lights in the ceiling, there was something in it that gives me greater meaning and a spark in the sky that leads to a different life, caught my attention. It is the spark that no one could see, it is the spark of a higher decree, and it is the sparks that leads to my destiny.
I ponder all night and I just could not get it right, the angle that cut through the circumference in the cloud was nowhere to be found and the segments dissolve in one round mass and there was no boundary from the east, west, north and south, everything was just one, that’s how it was from the beginning
Before the people starts to sing, the earth it its current form had no, owner or dividing line, everything was just one ball that could fit in the palm of my hand.
I searched for it all night but I had to put up a fight with my imagination, and it was just before day break, the power of the earth awake, and the sun had cross the center of the earth and it was shining directly on me.
I could see it with my naked eyes, I could see it from all angle
Bouncing like a ball, oh how it makes me feel tall.
There is a circumference around the sun and destiny cannot be undone, I will write this final chapter for that everyone to be free
Take a look at the sun and make the final run, there is something special for you to see and it is the part that will shape your destiny.
As the day becomes bright my heart becomes lighter and the pressure suddenly disappears when the spark in the sky appears and my long awaited dream come true.
Everyone gather around in disbelief they could hardly believe that the journey was complete, the circumference around the sun is real and the spark in the sky open their eyes.
"Happy Dads Day"
Most men can be a father, not requiring any skill
Beyond an encounter that will give them a thrill.
But here's where comes in to play the dividing line,
Since a Dad is someone special, planned by God Divine.
To be a Dad takes more than a roll in the hay;
Is more than what biology can ever hope to say.
A Dad loves his children, cares for them for life,
Sees being a Dad a joy and not burden laden strife.
Fathers are a dime a dozen, with plenty of them around,
But among the fathers, the Dads, fewer of are found.
Then there are the Dads where biology plays no roll at all,
Yet, step up to plate as Dad, to fill another man's call.
To be fair this holds true with women and also does apply,
Since most can be mothers, but many, as Moms, come up shy.
Being a father or a mother is a biological roll,
But without them as Dads and Moms, the children pay the toll.
Most any man can be a father, have this title given them,
But the role of Dad is reserved for a man who is a gem.
A man who fathers a child and turns his back is a cad,
While a real man sees fatherhood as a privilege to be Dad.
Being a Dad is much more than a financial liability;
Requires guidance of a man with principles and integrity.
A Dad encourages his children with Love and support,
Disciplines as needed but abuse NEVER to will resort.
Instead of Happy Fathers Day, let's make it more correct
To honour those deserving and may the day's name reflect
The true heroes to their children, through actions ironclad,
And so, I wish a Happy Dads Day to each and every Dad!
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-06-14 11:52:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
Bright lights, flames in motion.
Arms weighted with emotion,
as each carries
their burdensome torch.
Lit alleyways, littered by mayhem,
breached by commonsense.
Is it too late
to chase scintillating dreams,
to rid the streets
of the beast?
The mantra
had captivated mouths and memes,
seemed the broad path was in,
was easy. No one understood,
the following was satisfying,
it had treats, whistles and bells.
Pavlov would ring,
ice cream was melting;
drips and dollars,
indecisiveness.
The public fell for it.
Hypnotic, sliding
into each scenario
like colorforms placed;
placemats, paid off.
The scent of incense
scorching the silver lining,
anger the prayers of the masses
who had never knelt
to the unknown God,
only to reason and revery.
Oh yes, they dipped
into psychedelics,
thrilled by curt
and coarse language,
and irreverent motion
of the tall man.
Like any gang,
with any spark of disloyalty,
you’re out,
you’re beat -
tread marks identify you
as the enemy.
No one notices
because each member’s
given rose-colored glasses.
The storm of hail,
thunder, lightening,
frightening
but ineffective to disturb
the disturbed.
Torches light the streets,
attempt peace,
only propaganda distressed.
Occasionally,
one pulls away from Frankenstein’s monster
when the light
lands on the truth.
Proof. Glass house shatters. Gutter
full of bottles; hands through grates.
Dividing line. Blue sky and bluebirds
above the fray; fearless patriots.