CHEMIN FAISANT
With every season I strove to stay on the lit path.
I tried the best I could, expectantly; at least I thought so.
Synclines and anticlines, chemin faisant, the Prize forefront.
I knew He went before, to light up the Way.
With smiles, groans modulating the smiles, I did follow.
The secrets of the Saints I wished I knew, for reassurance.
Some gains, loss at their heels; yet pressing on, quite determined.
I knew that by His grace I’d keep to His Way.
Swerving from pesky promptings,
I chose ma Verite´ et mon Chemin, la Vie pour moi.
The lit path, His very Way;
Net forward trudge along the perfect highway.
Le Prix; chemin faisant, el premio es el Sen~or.
He’s Love; He doesn’t fail; ecce *****who shows me the Way.
His arms outstretched for me; welcoming me with holy embrace.
Lucid invitation, nudge to embrace Grace.
Car nul ne vient la? que par Lui; gaping gate on Easter morn.
Slowed by the plod, yet heart pounding, and empowered by His Grace;
Gleefully, I made it there by following His Way.
The Perfection Way.
TO A NEVER-ENDING SYMPHONY
OF EMANCIPATION’S RECONSTRUCTION
Stomping cautiously
Along the erratic cadences
Of slaved-based racism
And its quarter-note overtones,
We groove from one oppressive
Barred-beat to another:
The scored freedom sojourn
Filled with negative rest stops,
Designed to decrescendo
Wailing staccato, rhythmic screams
Of jazzy, flowing notes, echoing
With rebellious metered sounds:-
Bypassing silent apathetic rest stops,
With a crescendo of rumbling faith
And sassy melodic hopes,
Renewed booming sounds of liberation,
void of waning half notes,
Loudly burst into vibrant whole notes
Of modulating fixed purpose:
Creating a never-ending
Symphony Of Emancipation,
Conducted by spiritual directing,
Exacting melodic notes
Of an ultrasonic pulse,
Echoing a never-ending concert
And its encore sounds of
Liberty’s total reality:-
February is a love song
composed on the mood of spring
in the tempo of a Christmas waltz,
modulating to estival embraces—
recapitulating vernal feelings
when autumn falls.
February is a pulsing heartbeat,
a twinkling eye,
a bold susurration,
here and gone in twenty-eight days—
an interrupted cadence.
The whole world would be stoned
should Cupid's quivers march along.
February is a bouquet of roses,
a box of chocolates;
goblets of a bubbly cherry wine,
threads of scarlet satin suited for ballroom romances;
two salmon swimming upstream undaunted
to birth the next generation.
Friday night is for rehearsal
sac in air, before
it breaks— breath out
into the soft dew
itching palms on our head.
Soon the baritones will arrive
stuffing music with tonic notes
for me to ride:
the terrors of solmization
& unbridled pitch sounds.
Boys says Sunday without your
mezzo-sopranos is like a
metaphor of plus-nine terrors
—pounded noise
cooked in a lour supper.
But the pontiff won't heed.
Please sing alongside with me,
the Lord's song is becoming
pitching and modulating
rock and pop
touring on one voice.
Excel Chinagorom Michael
Guru chakra throbs, modulating bliss
That thunder within, causes no duress
The masters seat here, is an enigma
In between Ajna and Sahasrara
Current humming with aplomb and finesse
Ida and Pingala, in ego fears hiss
Fiery fury swamps, those who are careless
Divine ensures our safe continuità
Guru Chakra
Oh hermit! Once illusions, we dismiss
Neither fears nor desires to reminisce
Free thus of fickle lower mind stigma
We ascend instantly, through Sushumna
Permanently entwined in love caress
Guru chakra
04-January-2021
The Guru chakra modulating
Flow of magnetic heat elating
It is the command centre
Of the sublime divine raconteur
Unfolding our journey within
In chorus with all nodes singing
The hypnotic love song
For which polarities long
Following melody of the pied piper
Magnetism rises higher & higher
Union within the heart
In renewal each moment restarts
As an ignition
In unending continuation
An explosion
Without cessation
Teleporting us in blissful rapture
An energy feeble mind cannot capture
And yet if we do not resist
We be to become the bliss mist
Instantly
Magically
In the bliss continuum we are home
One with the pulse of Ohm
30-July-2020
she wakes as a cello
in the morning not
high strung but
mellowly tuned
i run one of
my fingers
feeling her
f hole as
the air makes
her shapely
boxed body
quiver in
sound and
breath as
she breathes
vibrating strings
just plucked
slightly an open
g seizes the beat
of my heart as
it ceases to be
modulating to c
as i tightly wrap
her for a trip
Birds Eye
By Allen Hackett
On a wintry eve, the wind rustled and blew a chill in the air
Unknown and never felt before...Something strange...something new
A weary-eyed vagrant stooped in the doorway of a long forgotten store
The sign in the window read; CLOSED "We don't live here anymore."
The phones lines dangled the poles swayed like a melancholy barmaid in her sprier days
What happen to the future? It was here yesterday
Tomorrow blows a blue song with bent sour notes...
Deafening and modulating the senses to an untimely rhythm
Dancing a Tango with death!
What's a man to do?...Watch the animals they give you peace someone once told me
Bird's eye on the horizon...viewing skyward... with anticipation...watching and waiting for something to come...to fly away before the inevitable...
Watch and pray
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Thanks
Cupid's bow pluck's the strings of my heart
Sparking the prelude to Love's start
Bass desire trumps the opening part
Lust's anthem tears cadence apart
Discordant tone against symmetry flails
Passionate oscillations pure meter derails
Eros's periodic patter purpose assails
Opening, flat-pitch dissonance swells
Anon, cresting hope verse uplifts
Harmonious refrain across mind's page drifts
Spirit soars as chorus binds all rifts
Modulating bridge, in time mood shifts
Didactic ending (coda) through lyric's soul sifts.
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