Around this time of year
the cats play with the ghosts.
Wondering what they see
you watch them, curious.
Tails bolt frantically.
Around this time of year
floors creak more than normal,
it makes you pause mid-step.
A glass may hit the floor,
sometimes you cannot prep.
Around this time of year
soft wind whistles a tune.
That sense of foreboding
saved for spooky season,
the song’s quiet in June.
Around this time of year
pumpkins will don a mask.
They guide the departed
while warding off evil.
Halloween kickstarted.
Fragrance of love lingers,
enriching heart’s vibrance,
as a benign bliss burn,
recalled by memory,
in our mind-body urn.
Fragrance of love lingers,
with which we forge a bond,
that as rapture does rise
and our ego dissolves,
heart claims bliss as its prize.
Fragrance of love lingers,
caging our consciousness,
where thus both free and bound,
in magnetised stillness,
we walk on holy ground.
Fragrance of love lingers,
to which we contribute
by becoming the flame
of bliss effervescence,
which our mind cannot name.
Stop wasting all my time,
please don’t leave the light on.
There was never a chance.
I’ll deal with that title,
the patsy of romance.
Stop wasting all my time,
I won’t follow bread crumbs.
Snipping the yarn in two,
now you cannot track me.
My mind’s stronger than you.
Stop wasting all my time,
this hourglass is precious.
Make the most of the clock,
that’s what I tell myself.
I’m not bought with sweet talk.
Stop wasting all my time.
I’m content in the dark,
where I can truly breathe.
Any taste of shallow?
Let it remain beneath.
Heaven or yet beyond,
where do we wish to dwell?
Heart’s desire is soul’s aim,
as we seek, so it is,
fulfilled in life’s end game.
Heaven or yet beyond,
is the question we’re asked;
‘beyond’ meaning no form,
where all that is is Self,
deprived of love’s bliss storm.
Heaven or yet beyond,
concept unknown to mind,
so let’s first discover,
the light of Self within,
as God’s ardent lover.
Heaven or yet beyond,
left the Buddha perplexed.
He chose to bilocate,
as the vaporised Self,
yet poised at heaven’s gate.
Soft like velvet roses,
strong as surgical steel.
Clamor from the inside,
never to be mangled.
The afterclap of untied.
Soft like velvet roses,
be tender when you touch.
Thorns are not delicate,
they grow larger with time.
Baseline reigns elegant.
Soft like velvet roses
raging in thunderstorms.
Perfect dichotomy,
passion is rarely clean.
A gift laudatory.
Soft like velvet roses,
a match for toying cheeks.
An outlandish display
for the world to look on.
Love’s a timeless bouquet.
Detecting deception,
our eye nonjudgmental
and blissful heart tranquil
but saw a weary soul,
slowly trudging uphill.
Detecting deception,
in a drop that rebelled,
we but saw its soul’s light,
seeking greener pastures,
to feel bliss beat’s delight.
Detecting deception,
by egos gone astray,
driven by dark instinct,
all we could see was their
yearning to be love inked.
Detecting deception,
by poets seeking praise,
all we saw was their dread,
resisting love and light,
head not by conscience led.
each effect has a cause
be gentle and mindful
as we sow, so we reap
poised in the void let us
take a consciousness leap
each effect has a cause
settle all debts of love
ensuring heart is pure
forgive, forget, move on
in tranquil peace endure
each effect has a cause
though this life will roll on
if we be nonchalant
in state of surrender
twists of fate do not daunt
each effect has a cause
yet karma is burnt off
once cravings are released
our suffering then ends
since ego is deceased
To attain quietude,
first things first, thoughts must cease,
that thus, free from desire,
wayward ego’s consigned
to the funeral fire.
To attain quietude,
nonchalant to outcomes,
present in the moment,
staid stillness invokes grace;
bliss magnetism potent.
To attain quietude,
round the clock, all the time,
our choice of cessation,
epitomises our
soul’s orientation.
To attain quietude,
shifting from head to heart,
truth search prioritised,
be assured oh hermit,
God will be realised.
We dwell as God’s bliss hum,
the flame within burning,
being fire without smoke,
birthed when eye be single
and head and heart we yoke.
We dwell as God’s bliss hum,
current all pervading,
pulsating day and night,
exhuming the ego,
bringing gift of clear sight.
We dwell as God’s bliss hum,
heightened rapture unbound,
transforming feeble form,
wherein vibrant presence,
is centred in love’s storm.
We dwell as God’s bliss hum,
source of all creation,
the flow of life itself,
magnetism that in time,
reveals the light of Self.
Sip from a chipped teacup,
the glass is still half full.
A grin frowns upside down
framed by two twinkling eyes.
Her brilliance lights this town.
Sip from a chipped teacup,
just turn the rim around.
Press on and work it out,
beauty and bold en force.
Pure gold in a blackout.
Sip from a chipped teacup,
no need for something new.
When it’s bountiful? Share.
Give a bit of your gift,
it is no worse for wear.
Sip from a chipped teacup,
taste once in a lifetime.
Lingering on stained lips,
settling to a fine scar.
Real and a wish eclipse.
who are we, pause to ask
in as the very source
that causes breath to flow
which makes us feel alive
and plants in heart love’s glow
who are we, pause to ask
by resting lower mind
yet remaining aware
softening attention
that head and heart may pair
who are we, pause to ask
by befriending silence
and surrendering will
that upon ego death
we see voids within fill
who are we, pause to ask
by first making heart pure
that God may then be known
and once we see His light
we come into our own
Having been, seen, so known,
truth of our true being,
why would we then debate
definitive knowing,
when poised at heaven’s gate?
Having been, seen, so known,
this world is but a dream,
silence then is our friend,
ushering bliss rapture,
helping us to ascend.
Having been, seen, so known,
God’s energy is love,
blissful touch that transforms,
imbibing it we feel,
surge of magnetic storms.
Having been, seen, so known,
God’s ethereal light
and how He held our hand,
the truth’s for us alone,
since none can understand.
She swoons atop a berg
There air water bullets
On midnight's face cross low —
While then besides the dark
Brims in Gemini froze.
She swoons atop a berg
We try for scraps on ice.
She is yours within me.
Of these miles between us,
This sea's the outer ring.
She swoons atop a berg
The Mercury has sank —
Only a lichen's mum,
A last bob underneath
For Saturn's interlove.
She swoons atop a berg
Without a jogging stance
To explain to us where —
That midnight neither melts
Air in ice, ice in air.
A vine in winter weeps
for the loss of blossoms,
for the loss of summer,
for the loss of laughter
like a music's strummer.
A vine in winter weeps
for the wind's soft blowing,
and the song birds calling
while children are playing
in meadows entralling.
A vine in winter weeps
as loneliness engulfs
a snow white and frozen
landscape with dark shadows
of nature forechosen.
A vine in winter weeps,
as a lonely figure
wanders a country lane,
a wayfarer in search
of a balm for his pain.
A storm in a teacup,
whirling silvery clouds;
Caffeine is cuddling you;
It’s so hard to deny
that sky devoid of blue;
A storm in a teacup,
howling turbid beauty;
Gloomiest glitter drops
lick at a murky spoon;
The stirring never stops;
A storm in a teacup
sweetened a little bit;
Lit up smile’s peeking out;
Something of a striptease,
steered by the slightest pout;
A storm in a teacup,
everyday is my time;
Focusing blinking eyes
that tall hill now lies flat;
This fight is paradise.
Specific Types of Monchielle Stanza Poems
Definition | What is Monchielle Stanza in Poetry?