Long Wayward Poems
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Written for the contest, ‘Epiphany’
sponsored by Constance La France
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Trapped in a routine, not of my liking,
I saw my life spinning out of control,
through highs and lows atop fate’s Ferris wheel,
wherein outcomes any, my soul’s light dimmed,
on recognising conscience stood betrayed,
strangled by none else, my wayward ego.
Something deep within my heart was broken,
needing healing but I did not know how,
so poised in the dark dungeons of despair,
stepping back I became a mute witness
to labours of mind and my troubled heart,
looking at their movements with dispassion.
Relinquishing ownership over thought,
polarising consciousness so to speak,
my body-mind became an instrument,
used by us to experience earth life,
so in a mindfulness continuum,
my fulcrum slowly became void-centric.
Having discarded conditioned beliefs,
resolving to remain still forever,
it came to pass on a sunny morning,
my form was suffused with bliss magnetism,
felt within as rapture ineffable,
paving way for kundalini to rise.
In a single swoosh, liquid light then rose,
from the root, all the way up to the crown,
passing through a small orifice therein,
so to pass through, I had to choose to die,
by dissolving myself in this torrent,
whence my formless self went into the void.
In inky black darkness, I felt alive,
for within no-thingness, energy hummed,
wherein the voice of God spoke, loud and clear,
imparting wisdom known to very few,
at the source of life, outside space and time,
wherefrom all manifestations arise.
The following day, I invited God
to dwell in my heart, making it His home
and as I wished, so it was, instantly,
as spirit pervaded each cell of form,
in a manner clearly cognisable,
illumining me with love, light and bliss.
I will build an art center for those who like to play
Hope to have it finished by next April or May
Will invite youth and others who are merry and gay.
Will throw out contenders who are bullies like Ray.
Will give hospice nurses ten thousand dollars each
letting them redesign the hospital rooms in fuchsia or peach
also handing them five thousand just to have in their hand
will give six thousand dollars to the high school band.
Will give teachers who follow the golden rule twenty thou.
And purchase 4-H youth a pig, chicken, horse, mule or cow.
yes, I mean each one in the state, why not?
this money was gravy, not honestly sought.
My children will be whining, so I will toss them a bone.
Twenty-thousand each year, if they stay in their home.
And share the wealth with others, less fortunate than them.
Then I will buy a comfy chair for my Uncle Jim.
I like my car, and my husband likes his.
So changing vehicles is not part of this biz.
We love dogs so much, I might go back to the pound.
And bring home a poodle, Pekinese, collie, Rottweiler and hound.
We will end up with an orphanage for dogs and wayward moms.
There will be restraining orders for nasty Freds, Dicks and Toms.
A lot of the money will go to my bodyguard crew.
Who will guard us all nightly, and they will benefit too.
Cleaved from God’s light, we wished to be as He
but one day we ate the forbidden fruit,
whose toxins caused dread and in heart envy,
darkening our luminous soul with soot.
Though tempestuous and wild, as God’s child,
we asked Him to restore aura’s pure hue,
to which He counselled, be loving and mild,
learning by burning, beginning anew.
This translated as descent from heaven,
ensouling organic form, doomed to die,
where working our way through chakras seven,
ego erased, we again wingless fly.
Our mission being to board God’s bliss bus,
how long we dwell on earth, is up to us.
How long we dwell on earth, is up to us,
because choices we make, in time will shape
soul, that when dark desires do not nonplus,
in timeless time we’ll imbibe love agape.
We were fearful to let go of God’s hand,
so He assured us He would dwell within,
speaking as conscience, that we understand
how to uphold truth and be free from sin.
We would return to our home, in deep sleep,
that our soul be comforted all is well
but the waking state would be when we leap,
embracing love and light, feeling heart swell.
With the table laid, for joy readymade,
pure of heart enter God’s heavenly glade.
Pure of heart enter God’s heavenly glade,
simply by choosing to align with love,
whereupon in a stream of bliss we wade,
as benedictions in-pour from above.
With the veil of ignorance now lifted,
the light of our soul, glistens in our core
and from our wayward past having shifted,
we’re a peace in the boa, God does oar.
Looking back at our past, we are aghast,
at our fallen stance but right here and now,
with love imbibed, destiny’s die is cast,
whose reins are in God’s hands, which we allow.
In truth all our soul desired, was to be
cleaved from God’s light; we wished to be as He.
I voted tonight by the Supermoon
I asked the Man which I should choose
He whispered, "Well if it was up to me
I'd tell you just how things should be
But I've seen them come and I've seen them go
And most times there's no way to know
Most times there's no way to tell
Which outcome will serve you well
I'll tell you just what I would do
I'd call the birds to find a clue
Somebody said some time ago
They neither reap, nor do they sow
So check with them, that's what I'd do
Cause I tell you I have seen a few
Say this or that and sometimes lie
About what they'll do, by and by"
I wondered if I'd take a stand
In this line while time slips through the sand
If any difference would occur
Or if it all ends up a blur
Where right and wrong are somehow lost
And we can't even count the cost
Of what we thought the end would be
When we fought for democracy
He checked to see if it was clear
That he still had my mind and ear
"The birds aren't checking with the wind
To see if it blows out or in
The birds are smart and they all know
Which way the wind is going to blow
I move the tides, and hearts now and then
But the birds are smart, they all know when
And where the wayward wind will blow
They know if they should leave or stay
And how the branch is going to play
In which direction they should fly
They're smarter birds than you and I
When they line up it's on a line
Not in one, waiting to define
Direction best fit for the flock
Election by each hen and cock
They vote not with their feet but wing
And though the wind might help them fly
It's not what life is measured by
What works for them might work for us
If we would learn to leave the fuss
And fight behind and trade the lead
Ensuring what each one will need
Is what would satisfy us all
No matter who might make the call
The songs may differ, but they'll end the same
They all will end on that last note
In spite of where and when you vote
The songs may all have different words
But they all come from… and are for the birds"
On Memorial of St. Dominic
We remember that man who sought to teach the truth in service to Father Christ
The Master Teacher
Every age has its errors
As Dominic encountered with Albigensian heresy over 800 years ago
In our time
We are likewise called to proclaim the truth both clarity
Charity
No matter our state in life Eternal God calls us to serve within our own unique capacities
Circumstances
Talents
The closer we grow to the Lord
The more dispenses the grace to persevere in holiness
Just as Saint Dominic followed Eternal God piously to lead the wayward to repentance
So
Too
Should we look inwardly and then outwardly to embrace the Gospel
Heavenly Eternal Father
Our world is full of confusion
Dissent from the truth
As we seek to live Your holy will
May we look the example of Saint Dominic
Who only spoke to You
About You
We pray this in Father Christ’ holy Name
Justin McClain, O.P.
Turned to Poetry: Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Poetry Form: Free Verse/Narrative
Date turned to Poetry: 8032024
Time turned to Poetry: 9:18pm
Each measure of bliss lets you think home sweet home
Each climb you climb bids surrender, two become one
The air is fresh and light, it invites slow reveling
The summit of gem entices, it makes you want to sing
Tender melodies so silent and slow, all else is soft cloud
The messenger goddess smiles, though invisible, not yet allowed
You do savor night's perfume, suffusing everywhere with myrrh
You will hear heaven's earnest tunes floating in while she purrs
So breathe...
When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old
And takes you to her caves, glistening like pure gold
Forget about questions, cupid won't hear of it, you breathe
Yes, you'll simmer like a king newly crowned, still breathe
Upon each tender move, each solid round of tunnel love
All heightened to incline more twinkling stars to show above
You sure find yourself drenched in pools, kaleidoscope blue
You will reach heaven. Her footprints with yours are overdue.
*
(My collaboration entry in Mystic Rose's contest)
How can we guide our children right
When no goals end is in our sight
As our faults they show on the final mile
Have we turned our backs on Heavens smile
Which way is up which way is down
A bubble in a bottle a tear-stained clown
A cork in the ocean as we stray too far
Nearing journeys end with no guiding star
Each time you leap for to scale that wall
And the Devil smiles just to see you fall
What good a parent who has lost his way
A flockless sheep a wayward stray
Your fall from grace was a rapid one
Like a crippled crow who's race is run
Never walked the line on the straight and narrow
Trading chains of hope for chains of sorrow
Indelible truths on a soul you've stained
Does the lead you've lost beat the lead you've gained
Will a veil of tears cement your fate
While a rotting corpse lies in mournful state
We wait to hear His words be spoken
Our faith we bear our only token
For a way to clear a path to open
As nails to rust our crosses broken
Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Mrs. Claus’ pajamas on Christmas Eve.
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.
Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Santa’s ho ho ho sleigh preparing to leave.
Those wayward reindeers, he cattle calls thrice.
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice,
snacking on the pines — those peppermint thieves,
sticky antlers treading holiday ice.
Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice —
smart boxes and bows make children believe
and grateful parents are good with the price.
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.
A mischievous elf off the shelf named Steve
is pilfering cookies — they’re Santa’s vice.
One chill boss in a sled would not suffice —
the crazy entourage of Christmas Eve.
Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.
12/3/2020
Deck The Halls Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Joseph May
Checked with rhymezone.com
Blossom
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Road trip to Blossom
My growing up home
It is a farm place
In sunshine and
Fresh ozone
Lush and green.
I'm heading there
I'm going home
Driving on
Like running wonder
I'm going home,
I'm comin home
Run wonder.
Onward hill's break past
Heading on ..
Bouncing up and down
Little .. little behind me
Passing wayward streams
Dry winds blowing by
On the road again
Morning breaks
Grey to blue
Today is crisp .. true
I'm heading Blossom..
I'm going there.
I'm riding on
Run wonder
I'm comin home
I'm comin home
Run wonder.
There ! rise a shape ..
A solitary farm gate
Swelling great
Painted Blossom A name.
I ain't dreaming
No genie, no lamp.
Miles and metres pickle by
The birds tickle full of fun
They fly up and down.
Blossom !
Open your gate ..
I am coming in
Run wonder
I m comin home
I m comin home
Run wonder
Her roof A painted red
Her walls still standing tall.
The humble rafters looking fine.
The windows glowing glee
They greet me ..
I am going in
The big brown door
Invitingly in.
Carnation's are blooming
Red and white
A bubble burstling
It's buregeon bliss
Feeling touching picking
No leaf A broken.
This home coming treat..
This home coming feast.
Run wonder
Running for the gate
Where I was a child
I m home
I m home
Run wonder
Blossom !!
Home at last
Still fresh and sweet.
These things offend,
know I, tis true.
In these I've been schooled,
now I tell them to you.
An innocent touch, a wayward look,
a word or threat aimed anothers way.
Is today considered harassment,
and that party has final say.
Were not to needle, mock, or jab,
to razz, or quip, gibe,or jeer.
To scorn, roast or ridicule,
and whatever you do don't leer.
It's best that we not banter words,
deride,intimidate, or taunt.
Should you be one inclined to joke,
these too, you must not flaunt.
We must not rile another,
even though it be in jest.
Sneering too, is not allowed,
so put those thoughts to rest.
Anothers traits never mock,
nor offend with apparel you doff.
Find not within, reason to knock,
while daring not to scoff.
Belittling another isn't right
not take occasion to tease.
But other than these few things
treat others as you please.
In meeting, should I not extend a hand,
and appear to have little to say,
It won't be because I'm snobbish,
but fear a Tort Lawyer coming my way.