Long Insubstantial Poems
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A slow swim through clouds of consciousness.
My wife said I had lost a day,
but I was timeless, though as my mind moved,
so did the world,
I travelled by ever clearing thoughts,
over distant skies and far mountains,
the earth was beautiful and without fault.
I was weightless, but not insubstantial,
for gravity simply lightened spirit and will,
a gentle force
moved me to wherever I desired to go.
When the nurse appeared, her words were alien,
her angelic speech created only for celestial tongues.
My wife's voice was sweet and as musical
as a Sufi prayer.
I was told later that I just groaned loudly,
complaining that
my ass was sore.
Why does it
A N N O Y
me so
when i take the
T I M E
to read a poet’s words
C H E W
them up with delight
only to find
that they rudely (my opinion)
T U R N E D
off their comments
my brain shuts down
with no
I N T E R -
action
a subtraction
of friendliness
insubstantial
P R O P R I E T Y
S O U P
meaty
and filled with
carrots, celery and onions
S H A R E D
with salty broth and bones
L A D L E D
out into countless bowls
S I P P E D
and warmed by the heart
with light
C O N V E R S A T I O N
like two people
sitting across a table
the metaphoric table
states, oceans, countries
B L E SS E D
and bountiful
S U CC E S S
of twining hands
turn politics off, yes
or craziness, yes
that
A L P H A B E T
duress
we can give a rest
but when a poem
is a flower
its honey
its bumblebee
W H Y
hide from me
and others too
Don’t make me chew
and sup with you
when you’ve
left the the table
with S T E A M I N G
S O U P
3/14/2022
Incineration; it is his living wish.
The urn will be a plain oblong box,
He will be boxed.
The wooden package will be sent
as only a temporary accommodation,
not a place of rest or peace,
but something to be kept until poured.
This pouring will be an on-going
one taken up by a river
for carrying.
The current will winnow and permeate
sift and sieve,
fish will be his filtrate,
the river rocks a million headstones
that will grind his dust finer
until the water itself eats it.
Then the empty box will be filled
with saffron, sandalwood flakes,
and dried mothwings,
be taken back,
back into the flames
to be a thin ascending signal
of smoke
so insubstantial
that it will be no more than
a dissolving question
in an un-answering
sky.
A wispy waymark
just light enough
to ride upon the ever breathing
breath of the wind, and
always moving onward unseen.
9.1
“Opposing forces,
duties done and left undone—
when does it end
and for whom?
Considering this, be ever desireless,
let go of all things,
and to the world turn an indifferent eye”
9.3
“Seeing all things as threefold suffering,
the sage becomes still
Insubstantial, transient, contemptible--
the world is fit only for rejection”
Sacrilege but we beg to differ
Based upon what we do infer
Detachment not indifference
Why anaesthetise sentience
Celebration not rejection
Exuberance not dejection
Pain may be but suffering imaginal
If we feel it is real not conjectural
As for the rest and reading between the lines
We do divine
That being not the doer there is no doing
In dynamic stillness too the Divine alone is moving
If we are here it is of our own choosing
Let our stillness then be our consciousness so accepting
Surrendering the illusionary ephemeral to the flow
Erasing negativity within to reveal our presence aglow
In stillness slow
(20-August-2019)
~~~~~~~~~~~
Verse revisited on 29-October-2021
Earth life manifests sharp contrast
Leaving even fearless hearts aghast
We are here to energise our potential
That we may conjure our love parable
For in the domain of light our soul rests
Facing adversity triumph earth life tests
On reaching exhaustion get to recognition
That desire cessation pathway to liberation
So ceasing thinking, we meld head and heart
In the void of stillness we feel bliss ignition start
Our emptiness magnetised by bliss in fullness
In time time we merge with the That oneness
We are then in but not of the external world
In silence we celebrate as soul is unfurled
Spiritual heart, here now within our form
Enlivened by divine bliss currents warm
Layer by layer we see identity vaporise
In boundless measure does bliss rise
Negating nothing exiting stagnation
Flow of life itself is our meditation
On drear and endless nights
when the thunder in my head
is louder than
the thunder beyond my window
and sleep denies me rest,
I have to wash my eyes several times,
for her face imprints itself
behind closed eyelids.
The departed move on, travel away
from the gravity of this place and time,
they are unshackled from us,
we who may still cling
to our own emotional chains.
What does she want of me?
It was a short torrid affair,
why this lifetime haunting?
You cannot dream someone out of your soul,
it's not about memory or forgetting,
if there was once love
it is a now only a torn rag
flying upon heedless winds,
a make-believe insubstantial thing.
Why does she paint herself before me,
and why do I disappear
when she looks upon my aged being?
I wash my eyes and often wonder
if it is really I that haunt
her.
1.
A red helium balloon
I float above myself,
Watch the ritual unfold:
Gather the sharps
Lay them out
Roll up the sleeves
Enfold the world in silence.
Then, with infinite concentration,
The Not-Me begins:
Draw the lines
Open the flesh
Let out the hot red
Pain and Poison;
Inscribe another testament
To survival.
Then the balloon drifts down
Sleeves roll down
The Not-Me steps into the balloon
And floats away,
And I become myself again,
Purged and Whole
Until the next time.
2.
A wraith,
I live on air
Insubstantial as the Winter's mists.
I am colorless
Blank as perfect ice, as cloudless sky
Yet I command all appetites,
Control my ghostly shape
Against all outside assault.
My Will is wind,
Invisible and Absolute.
A reed,
I bend but never break.
I may be fading, fading...
But the steel rod within the mist
Shines true and will not yield.
3.
Peel back the flesh
The flowing flesh,
And see the Void within.
I am large but I am empty,
Hollow as a gourd, a husk.
Tear me and the taut surface
Will collapse upon itself.
I hunger, ever hunger
For the things that fill others up
To keep them satisfied.
And so I eat.
I eat Love, Acceptance, Self-Confidence.
I eat Hate, Loneliness, Rejection.
Ultimately,
I consume myself.
After all,
Who else could stomach
The taste of me?
The blank field is a whitewashed wall
between
eyes and incipient thought.
A neatly printed line
emerges out of nothing,
fingers sleep
as they plant words in inky rows.
Meaning searches for meaning,
each symbol is a cracked seed
shed from a blacked-out window -
brain particles blindly seeking.
There is meaning here,
but it is as yet formless,
what is seen is slough and spillage,
mind-molt
struggling into an appearance
of notion and idea.
Now the word is flesh, a glossolalia,
a mute speaking in tongues, yet
breathless of any spirit.
At once the painted parody of self
is free to wriggle forth,
to sew and bind together
discernable images,
it must surface above the silent page,
lift up the emblematic
as the hammer-arm
of the insubstantial, until deciphered
by other necromancers
who then speak
for the dead-voiced word.
This then is the tipping point:
the space between sight and seen,
a place to speak into existence
the once immaterial
or surrender all coherence
to the un-lettered reticence of God.
Insubstantial
I opened the window in the door, one early morning.
and was met with a face that looked like a cloud; it
blew frost roses on the glass, they were so beautiful,
abstract, and oh, so fragile.
Years ago, by the cloister`s wall, I saw some miniature
Looking at roses, I replanted them in my garden, and they
disappeared, I thought they had died out, but this spring
They were by my wall, nodding shyly in the breeze.
As the spring turned into summer, they had no shade
and disappeared like frost roses on the window glass;
And that is ok by me, cause I know they are there just
under the earth, waiting for another spring.
Matthew Scott, Whar Art Thou *****?
Nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptize or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed
encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry hut overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle
as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipmunk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop
me notched noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,
whose earlier "talk therapy"
every Monday at 2:00 p.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
this admission honestly haint no bunk!
Alternate Reality (MJH 17 April ’18)
Maybe in an alternate universe,
Where good is bad and better’s worse,
I could be you, you could be me,
Together apart, sadly happy.
You’d pursue me, I’d flee from you.
Yes you’d pursue me and I’d flee from you,
‘cause I know that I’d be caught by you.
Perhaps in a wondrous macrocosm,
We’d share everything in common.
You’d finish things I’d start to say,
But we’d laugh about it anyway.
Time would not be our enemy.
No, time would never be our enemy-
I’d be part of you; you’d be part of me.
By chance there is another dimension
Beyond earthly comprehension
Where past, present and future blend;
Time has no beginning nor end.
I’d say “I love you” with laughter.
Yes I would say “I love you” with laughter—
Said so before, will say so after.
In some hypothetical reality,
Beyond conceptuality,
Where nothing is circumstantial--
Matter’s almost insubstantial.
Separate bodies, united minds-
Yes, separate bodies and united minds-
Our souls forever intertwined