There are pearly white flowers
that delicately sway
mimicking tiny dancing butterflies
within the lacy shrubs sector
breeze blown away
blooms of heaven-sent nectar
an attraction, an invitation
A meadow brown butterfly swarms to
its empowering rich white petals
resting, buckled, uncoiled tongue, sucking
scaled wings clasped, it settles
stupefied by scents, it feeds
bewildered by sugary sucrose
ideal prey for a spider’s capture
in its ampullate silk orb web
sticky droplets woven to ensnare
Asclepias incarnata, magnets for pollinators
Ice-ballet swamp milkweeds
amongst igneous rocks banding from foliation
rocks formed from cooled magma
gravy tones, an obsidian correlation
where white flowers string
In a momentums gain,
a brown butterfly takes wing
Pandemic
Deaths gaining power on a mission to devour,
Negative encounters. Chrysanthemum flowers.
Deaths dangerous, not slowing but growing,
The momentums mind blowing,
constantly going.
Death is mysterious, hooded, cold blooded.
Untrusted, never obstructed, working uninterrupted.
Cloak of black, megalomaniac,
never looking back
insomniac.
Death sees themself brilliant, highly resilient,
Extremely consistent, noticed we are coexistent.
Works smart not hard, little regard
Constant bombard
Leaving us scarred.
Cruelly placing death in our breath
We assess this mess then rightly obsess.
Death made segregation and a desperate situation,
Threatened civilisation, created isolation,
Next up vaccination.
That smile with those eyes all so bright,
the transparent soul with ropes of a kite.
Grace in artful hands and that erotic tiptoe,
sensuous words of wondering so.
Blessed time to foretell by pose in act,
when all men can feel free in fact.
Hymns, ohms and dance that never cease,
flowing silk in momentums grace of peace.
Incensed air in dusk of evening sky,
with a crisp tingling sense to spy.
Deep still to observe in that gilding stream,
her innocent meaning and playful teasing seem.
Sweet temptation and its shadows flying by,
racing temperature and startled eye.
Hearing your voice from other mental shore,
all fantasy and cold sweat no more.
Like the swell of some melodic song,
the smile of truth on my lips of being wrong.
The heart in dew of youth will steal,
leaving scars remembered long ago to heal.
In that smile, choices lighten up the heart,
horizons at shores of subtle definitions art.
The sum total of well being and self-hypnosis’s potential,
the bull eye and perfect timing existential.
The ball players reference to space and momentums reach,
or the weakest link of efficiency in breach.
Gifts and wrath given in time to individual charisma,
maturity of spiritual growth and wisdom.
The secrets of success by strength of conviction,
a seeming death and birth of soul in its friction.
When lack of patience starves virtue to death,
while wondering dreams holding all breath.
He who is the master of his own domain,
is the ruler of destinies and very sane.
Repressed faith is to suppress divine impulse,
spirits tangible and formless temple.
By wishing means and its breaking goal,
cosmic alarm clock and season of soul.
Reverse psychology and lubricating ignorance,
the self by self fabricated circumstance.
Not by self-realization that one realize God,
it is by God-realization to realize in oneself the odd.
Are we like pebbles on the bed
of a great lake when we are dead,
with fate that chose to give us breath
skimming us forward towards death,
gives our momentums skip and flight
in times sequence of day and night .
Propelling onwards, fading rings
marking the surface as each wings,
routing a common destined role ,
do nephesh, jiva, atma, soul,
sink into dark enfolding deep,
cold stone eternally to sleep ?
I don’t know psychic minder,
but I know you might wish
I was there to withstand
all the pain.
I might be rearranged and forgotten.
I might wish no harm,
I’m sinking, falling, dying.
I wonder where everyone goes,
After life ends on the physical planet.
Are there real phaeries?
Are there momentums?
Are there Hopes?
If nothing’s left,
How can I say I wish I was a pain withstander?
I wish I could forget everything said,
And carry on like anyone would in a real world;
Where lights only shown when the abyss was close
Do we know any secrets, or are all left out?
the big picture is always obscure
by lies and truths all mixed together,
where no matter where, anything’s possible.
I don’t know psychic minder,
but I know you might wish.
Hopelessly Gone
Hopelessly gone
Blue skies in the horizon
Sand on the shore
Homes on the ocean
Sandals at the door
Hopelessly gone
Keepsakes you were saving
Baby pictures and clothes
Decorations and momentums
Ribbons and bows
Hopelessly gone
Trophies and tokens
Rackets and balls
Kitchens and bedrooms
Doorways and halls
Hopelessly gone
Needlework unfinished
‘To do lists’ on refrigerator door
Laundry to be folded
Toys on the floor
Hopelessly gone
Neighbors and churches
Futures as planned
Ordinary days
Normal living at hand
~~~
~ Written for the victims of Japan's earthquake
As they struggle to rebuild their lives.
May God give them strength
Train
I pulled my bike up close to tracks
bells started clanging
fiery red eyes started blaring and flashing
as an arm came slowley down
the sound
the sound came alive and thundered all around
until the engines momentums pierced my soul
solid steel whispered by and by and by
hair waving in the breeze
I wondered if the angels and devils inside
caught a glimplse of what it feels like
to be breathing, heart beating and enfleshed
with eyes open wide
my God how good it feels
to be alive
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