Long Inky black Poems
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in the inky black void
we are as we are therein
bereft of senses we see nothing
and yet know we are herein not alone
our awareness thus in formlessness
communicates with the absolute
as a child speaks to his father
there is no apprehension
all that that is is playfulness
all our questions are answered
and our innermost desires resolved
albeit with a pregnant pause if we err
by interfering with prior soul agreements
in this unfathomable bardo of no-thingness
the enigmatic living darkness of oneness
we may liken to being within a womb
wherein we feel safe and tended
suffused by tenderness of awareness
having full freedom to remain thus forever
or to feel again realms of colour and contrast
donning veil of ego to reenter deep hypnotic trance
as time goes by in repeated immersion and emergence
the underlying truth of the dark void becomes clear
being in truth a singularity without any reflection
and thereby to mind appearing as darkness
for once our core is caressed by The Holy Spirit
and illusionary identity conjured totally disappears
we find that all that is, is self-existent eternal living light
which we always were, are and will be for all time
Mindfully aware of desire flicker
Time stretched stillness held in love flame’s wicker
Cognisant that ego is in pursuit
Vibrant soul presence remains resolute
Resting attachment to the external
Seeking within, love and light eternal
Paradox is that we need to dissolve
For it’s soul, not body, that does evolve
Poised in wonderment, awaiting the leap
No trace of fear, of inky black void deep
Innocence offers love no resistance
Thus the seeking too, is sans insistence
Be watchful hermit, of each thought spiral
Behold then how, bliss within goes viral
18-July-2022
candles ...
ten thousand flames
floating on a glass lake, tender
each, a drift its own ... a cadence
a pattern, divine, rhythmic
intended for its purpose
a million million years hence
lilies of light, plucked in perfection
to bless the gaze ...
calm in consideration
the water kisses its inky black from the night
cool to depths and actuality
stolen from the reach
at twilight ...
but, were I a child
with a heart of hopes
and a garden of dreams to spin upon
it would surely be the heavens
and a trembling sea ...
of suns.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Completely New 24, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
God's beauty shines so brilliantly
in the light of the day
but what happens when the sun has gone to sleep?
Mystery lurks, shadows befall us
so how is it possible to see God?
Coldness envelopes my soul
and I don't feel Him, only an emptiness
or maybe I just refuse to see?
The glory of the velveteen sky,
the twinkle of the stars,
the soft glow of the moon.
It's all a matter of perspective,
now I see.
God allows for darkness to come
so we can see clearly
that amidst that inky black tapestry,
Heaven is very much there,
peeking through the holes, shining brightly.
So where is God when Darkness falls?
Why, in the stars, of course.
**02.22.2010 317pm written for Laura's Beyond Nightfall contest :)
A molten moon marks the end of the day,
while a spectacular scarlet sun sets.
And as scant sunlight slowly slips away,
subsequent shadows, swallow silhouettes.
Brisk breezes blow, swaying the tallest trees;
their gilded beauty, bestowed by moonlight.
And as Luna's golden glow gilds the leaves,
green, conceals itself in the dark of Night.
As twilight triggers flickering fireflies:
innumerable twinkling stars; blink back.
And while ebony engulfs seamless skies;
descending darkness dyes dusk, inky black.
Somber, sullied shades, saturate the Night,
encompassing every ebony crease.
And though brazen birds balk; dusk dims the light,
till ubiquitous utterances cease.
A legend in our time,
Nessie lives in Loch Ness.
And while monster to some,
he is loved by the press.
Moonbeams gilded the waves,
like golden filagree.
And it’s beauty was such,
that he just had to see.
His head broke the surface,
leery of stray yachters.
And small ripples stirred,
in the placid waters.
Snout out of the water,
he soon started to choke.
And exhaled puffs of mist,
like he was belching smoke.
But it was well worth it,
to see the moon and stars.
And glimpse other planets,
like Jupiter and Mars.
His eyes aren’t use to light,
his world is inky black.
And after surfacing,
he now dreads going back.
Know that all manifestation is thought
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
We, as entity that seek, exist not
Let’s look at desires, that from our heart stream
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
In staid stillness, we’re not by thoughts decoyed
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
When we’re nonchalant, fears and desires cease
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
God search our quest, save that there is no goal
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Ego shorn, we’re reborn, granted clear sight
Know that all manifestation is thought
We, as entity that seek, exist not
It was my first journey by train all alone. When dropped at the station by my cousin, I saw a huge crowd waiting at the station. Like a drop in the ocean, I quickly merged with the crowd, and patiently waited for the arrival of the train.
Soon came the grating voice of the loudspeaker, “The Rajadhani Express from Delhi to Trivandrum scheduled to leave the station by 9 pm would be late by one hour’!
I went cold at the thought of another long wait in the sweltering heat of a summer night. Amid an undulating mass and deafening holler and roar, it would be hell tied there for one more hour.
The cry of babies fell in my ears like the squeal of piglets. Youngsters busied themselves on their cell phones, sending missives to their loved ones or chatting with their pals. I sat away secluded, inhaling the soot and the dust, and looking vacantly at the curl of smoke from the grumpy looking man’s cigar sitting opposite to me lazily. When his red falcon eyes fell on me, I withdrew more into cover, regretting once more, being a woman! Drawing a deep desperate breath, I thought of the risks of travelling alone by a night train, and it made my guts contract.
Finally, when the train came hurtling, elbowing my way through the mass of men, I got into the compartment somehow, and found myself, among total strangers. Shoving my suitcase between legs of people, and pushing it under the seat, I sat near the window. All my former fears resurfaced with ugly pincers. Being late, all readied themselves to sleep. Though I lay down with my eyes closed, I couldn’t wink an eye, every little sound and movement, sending chills down my spine. It was the most nightmarish night I can ever think of!
the sky, inky black
moon veiled by stygian clouds~
ants of panic creep.
I love it when Lisa and I take our show out and, on the road,
like this twilight helicopter flight, from New Haven to LaGuardia.
I’m so excited about tonight, it’s possible that I might implode.
The rotor blades started twirling, our luggage had been stowed,
the pilot asked Lisa. “Ready for takeoff?” Lisa grinned and said, “Go!”
He gave her a quick and crisp salute and the engine noise started to grow.
As we went wheels-up, the whirly-birds warning lights began to strobe.
Yep, It’s the start of November recess and we’re changing our zip code.
We rise like a balloon, at first, until the harbor comes into view.
The engines were screaming like jets, when the whole world turned askew,
I’ve done numerous take-offs like this, but it still feels like I might spew.
Above the rear cockpit window, there’s an air-speed indicator that looks like a clock.
With a quick turn over Yale’s campus, we’re going 90 as we steak over the docks.
As we ascend into the night, the twinkling lights of New Haven seem to shrink.
We’re swiftly gaining altitude, this quivering contraption, moves faster than you’d think.
As the red numbers settle at 260, the vibrations have all but ceased,
The engine noise is gone as well, as we race up, in the darkness and out over the sea.
I try not to think of the inky black water, how far we would fall and how quickly we’d sink.
Long Island Sound glittered, like fractured glass, under the waxing crescent moon.
The forever-blue sky was hosting a large, fake-star, because Venus was glowing there too.
That dark almost-orbit was prettier than the infinity-of-lights we’ll see on Park Avenue.
We’ll be meeting Peter’s flight from Geneva - a surprise - he doesn’t have a clue.
As the lights of New York become pronounced, so does my excitement that he’ll be around.
I’m sure we’ll get a moment of quiet intimacy at the LaGuardia international arrivals lounge.
In the beginning
what we may call noumena
from a singularity unfathomable
the very first outpouring of God’s breath
created what we now see as vastness of space
but what space is we yet know not
the boundaryless inky black void of nothingness
a bubble of manifestation came into being
occupied by God motionless in stillness
He then created a pulse, the Word
that duality may herein pulsate
the Word is Om ~ sound of the sun
The womb of existence is space
liken it to God’s manifest omnipresence
unknowable, within all and yet standing apart
within which we’re localised as individuated entities
although in truth being inseparable from the all that is
the truth of ‘who am I’ we must discern
as such, since we are not this decaying organic form
to know who we are we must stop the flow of time
for which within the pause of each polarity shift
our attention if fixated in pristine silence
discards false identity revealing truth
that we’re living light in God’s image
10-May-2023