Upon realising we are the Self,
in as the one appearing as many,
life continues to flow on by itself
but this knowing has now dropped the penny.
As to why we are here is a moot point,
which signals the rabbit hole goes in deep,
so until clear wisdom God does anoint,
we must await the next consciousness leap.
With each knowing that in our heart does dawn,
new peaks seem to appear for us to climb,
wherein our past dies and we are reborn,
even after we’ve transcended space-time.
Oh worthy hermit, rest not in applause ~
Animate attention, dwell in the pause
The death of ego
With its many faces
that seek to limit and define
Awaken from a self imposed slumber
Listening to the hushed sounds
Of the authentic voice of mine
Your observation a moot point
as seen through those
Green filtered cataracted eyes
We are in this boat
together love
It should come as no surprise
August quickly approaches
A month I've long held dear
Illuminating the possible or delight the improbable
Perhaps because it's the eighth month
Infinity on alert opened ended
Alas not for the indocible
A month of miracles
As I filter through these items stored
Within my mind and heart
Am I to just pretend
You never held a part
Held so loosely in your hand
Without restraint or guile
Made my spirit take to flight
Uplifted by your smile
Why must I hit delete on
Memories held dear
A moot point at best,I simply can't
They always reappear
It is a fact you left a mark
No superficial wound
Cut to the core forever more
Flight feathers permanently pruned
The first cut IS the deepest
All that follows but a scratch
Trying as hard as was possible
I would not take the patch
All in my life incurred since then
I hold no one to task
As I honestly gave all that I could give
Putting on my happiest mask
So........I will always be your Buddy
You will always be my Pal
And if any have a problem
They can also have a cow
Excuse me; I can't hear you
My batteries must be flat
I am not sure I have my hearing aid in
As I am as blind as a bat
What did you say? Feel
Feel? that won't do any good
I would have done that in the first place.
If I felt I could.
Could you repeat what you were saying?
I still can't hear.
Please speak up and make it clear.
Any deaf person would have heard the caller shout,
With my mouth wide open, I tried to work it out,
I screamed back; what did you say I've done?
Madam, you have won the lottery, a tidy sum.
I was speechless, struck dumb.
There is more to this law than just saving a child’s life.
It’s the governments control of your daughter or wife.
My thoughts on abortion will always be a moot point.
Morality is something only God should anoint.
In an ideal world, our children would be raised right.
There will always be evil that lurks in the night.
There are perverts and rapists, and those who seek power.
We also have the righteous in their Ivory Tower.
Imagine your pregnant wife had a complication tomorrow.
Would you do all that you could, even beg, steal or borrow?
Think of that doctor who just gave you the bad news.
Abortion is against the law, so you must pay your dues.
Your wife and unborn child are now both doomed to die.
There are no exceptions, it’s illegal and that’s why.
Our government shouldn’t dictate, what’s morally right or wrong.
It’s the woman’s choice, and that’s where it should belong!
Impossible mission to uncouple accountability,
(no matter minuscule - veritable drop within
figurative bucket when quantity contrasted/
compared alongside industrial waste courtesy
major corporations), yet helplessness prevails
survival (mine) inextricably bound trappings
twenty first century allow, enable, and provide
exploiting even dollop so called nonrenewable
resources, I could sacrifice corporeal entity -
body, mind and spirit within eyeblink exhales
last breath before becoming repurposed - inert
cremated ashes randomly scattered across all
points encompassing terrestrial world wide web.
Obituary -
Despite havoc primate species did wreak
from the afterlife I figuratively speak
and applaud millennials whose peak
performance accorded courtesy
your token "aged hippie,"
mild mannered and meek
and long haired pencil necked geek,
whose disembodied spirit
now volunteers as Halloween sideshow freak
incorporating gallows humor tongue in cheek.
she whispers
into
my ear
i whisper
into
her ear
and
soon find
that
this poem
visually
looks
like a piano
keyboard
sort of
missing minor
thirds and
i'm not
trying to try
to write
a shape poem
but the
black and white
keys of
our bodies
are leading
to a possible
possibility
of
crescendo
that has been
slowly building as
i am simply typing and
looking at how each line
is getting longer and growing
to where my heartbeat tempo knows
not where to go but following my fingers
that are heavily beating and pounding sound
out of a poem that suddenly has substance and
yes i am shout singing meaningless lyrical phrases that
daze and confuse me but knowing that it is you using me
to express what i want to impress upon you as if a mirror asking
itself who are you but knowing no one knows and so is a moot point
pointing in a general direction of south by south west from me to you to
find you at the end of this maddening once again meaningless poetry/music/or
directions
to the next
segue
that
will
lead
down
a hole
a hall
i can't
recall
if this
is
what
is this
all i know
is that it
led me
to you
Edna Purcell
1912-1930
Dying a virgin was the least of my regrets.
Dying a chaste woman at 18 seemed a moot point.
I remember watching my momma die.
It was in summer, and I was 16.
Hopelessly disconsolate, that’s how I felt;
How would I live without her?
Why was she so cruelly taken from me?
How did she get so sick?
My demise, then, was the anticlimax of my short sad life.
Oh cruel Fate, you!
I despise your insatiable appetite for shattered lives;
Indeed, I spit on you for all the ill-timings and bad luck.
I spit on your wry smile, lurking there,
Behind the shadowy trellis,
Of private episodes with flowers and silk;
You, with those arrogant knowing glances,
Those imploding muscular arms of private desperation.
I died a virgin indeed, never having you,
Died with an empty heart and a reeling soul.
Life was just a foolish grab for nothing;
Always seeming to have enough,
But always wanting much more.
That was life, my life in this quiet religious town.
So, I died a virgin in 1930. I was 18.
Too late for me, I guess.
All I wanted, was to spit in your face!
Oh cruel Fate, wrecker of dreams!
What "do you see"
"What are you looking for"
"Why"
Why "do you do what you want"
You know it causes Me pain
You could be "my everything"
"Are you determined" to go it alone
"Sure" you can rely on your own wisdom
"Each" "moot" point " you" "test"
"What you want you get"
"Just know" it will never satisfy
"Ready or not" the end will come
You have a "see through heart"
Lacking the "gift of eternity"
"See where you are going"
"To you" I say, do not grasp the "final straw"
"Ready or not" "it is you"
"Oh yes" it is your choice
You can "rest in me"
"If you want it you shall have it"
"Your Treasure" is safe in my hands
"Whatever touches you" will never harm you
"You are an essay" I wish to complete
"Wisdom" can be your companion
"I live" beyond simple imaginations
"See with my eyes"
"I will guide you"
"Oh beautiful one"
"Beautiful you"
I am waiting "for you"
"Peace" is but a "breath" away
"Ask and you will receive"
"Love, Lord"
All the words in Quotes are titles from Toquyen Harrell's poems.
Pome du jour
Rudderless and leaderless we will traverse
The seas and the trails
Of meter, rhyme schemes and tropes
(If we please)
And land on Moot Point - somewhere north of San Francisco.
The medium is, after all, the message (per Marshall McLuhan)
And a poem must need not 'mean' but 'be' (per Archibald McLeish)
Hence, loose the bonds of that inveterate evil thing - mind
And think tangentially, not crossing, not intersecting
(think in terms of a curve approaching its asymptote),
For therein lies the truly spiritual beings we are.
A god is immaterial here. But: Vaya con dios,mi amigo.
Question not the questioner,
for this is done in vain,
nor should we blame the blameless,
adding links to Marley's chain.
The defiant will not be defied,
their hearts are wrought of steel,
have empathy for the empath,
who took on this job to feel.
Don't second-guess the psychic,
whose visions she won't share,
and do not doubt the fairy-lights,
by woodland elves prepared.
See the magic in the magical,
this keeps the spirit young,
in innocence we hear the song
as it was truly sung.
©Danielle White
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