It is the small things that matter most
Your heart sings fresh buttered toast
Family brings together a Sunday roast
Smitten a handwritten letter in the post
Jaunts or saunters down Britain’s coast
Snow balls glisten child’s mitten the host
Don’t be a Scrooge listen to every ghost
Best bet to forget regret but don’t boast
Entranced by happenstance engrossed
In the hub of a pub toast with mein host
Your flotilla through strife of life will coast
If don’t let get pushed from pillar to post
As God damn it our planet will soon roast
Foremost and utmost remember to toast
Little treasures that every day does boast
Teeny weeny pleasures our own outpost
Just make sure you are regularly dosed
With those small things that matter most
magnetised palms and tingling feet
collaborate with our third eye
moon and the sun bring forth cool heat
toroidal heart lets out a sigh
our breath outpost, tip of the nose
signals readiness for action
although we remain in repose
all nodes within form gain traction
present in the eternal now
the vast ocean observes the waves
each God-spark smiles and takes a bow
loving intent on heart engraves
“let’s ink the void with soul’s emote ~
at peace within in God’s bliss boat”
~ quote by poet
In heaven’s womb, during deep sleep,
soul poised for a consciousness leap,
shallow breath synced with God’s heartbeat,
we fearlessly swim in the deep.
Come the morn our heart is upbeat,
enlivened by magnetic heat,
being benedictions of grace,
stardust collected from God’s feet.
Staid stillness determines our pace,
mood and mode release and embrace,
mirroring the light of our soul,
which illumines vastness of space.
Love in love with love has no goal,
save by melding making hearts whole,
which then is the cause why we write,
fulfilling thus our ordained role.
To portray spiritual sight,
as words dancing in black and white,
penning a melodious verse,
needs no less than spherical sight.
There’s no cause for us to rehearse,
soft musings of the universe,
felt by heart, translated by mind,
for the better or for the worse.
With vibrations of God aligned,
we are led by scent of love blind,
an outpost to fulfil His will,
hoping soul’s light each of us find.
password to open the heart forgotten
we wandered earth like a deluded ghost
then one day we became a child again
meaning innocence was then soul’s outpost
cleansed of stain, we broke free from ego’s chain
reclaiming light by God’s love begotten
toroidal heart expands
immanent and transcendent
we shine as living light
making ego decadent
as an outpost in this realm
we play our ordained role
vibrance is our nature
transmitting love is our goal
This planet is the farthest flung outpost,
of what?
We know we are the verge,
the utter outer rim of everything else,
yet direction and point of aim
around the edge of the immeasurable
are as meaningless
as depth without surface,
The Center of the incomprehensible
has promised us
that we are the very pulse of all that is
or ever will be.
We are not lost in space,
or any construct of time,
we're just stuck in the mathematics
between beginnings
and endings.
Nevertheless,
thank you for showing up.
as form becomes an outpost of God’s light
and bliss pulsations resound with delight
both the subject and object disappear
when the golden glow of His heart draws near
mind investigates
singularity
employing thoughts
dualistic
thinking is an addiction
an impatient soliloquy
in which we indulge
then there is silence
wherein ego disappears
making room for awareness
to view life with spherical sight
melding polarities in duality
brings about boundless bliss
which transmutes as peace
when false identity falls away
we restart at the finish line
the terrain remains unchanged
all that happens is that we now know
mind-body is an outpost to transmit light
Out here in the outpost
I guard the borderland
“Over and out” – I lose the call
And you are out again
This is my shout out
From the hinterland
“Roger, Roger” at my post
But you are – out – again
You do not deem to call
While my receiver’s on
I fiddle with the dial
But – static – is the tongue
Cold the rime upon the pane
That crackles to the sound
Of Solitaire I muster out
– And the hand that I put down
Is a winner, at its best
– It seems the Ace is high –
– And here my friendly guest
Just winks an evil eye –
The creaking of my little hut
Is charged with energy
Buffeted by winds about
– thou art mine enemy! –
Cold the outer fathoms
And in the frozen stasis
White is in the noise
And silence in the spaces
The dark outside is deep
Did I just hear a knock?
– it’s just the knock, knock
Knocking of my beating heart
– Cornered as a winter mouse
Frightened from its nest
I startle to the voice I hear
And flee my inner guest
They were peaceful but were hunted for their scalps.
They ran long distances to escape.
Retreating into the heated lung of Copper Canyon.
(the last outpost of heaven).
Today they tend to be shy for good reason.
They mind their own business.
Sowing charred fields.
Milking parched goats.
Going for long runs just to have a sip of tea with a friend.
To maintain the runner's edge.
Cartels always on their periphery.
A rat-a-tat-tat is the woodpecker’s boast.
The walls of man’s home - where the bird has outpost.
The barrel of eye
does aim at the sky.
A rat-a-tat-tat and the woodpecker’s toast.
10/30/2022
A gray haze above
the mountain that blackened
Trembling birch in front of the cliff
The goose flies with haste to the south
over rootless stream
An outpost ... hunting and trapping time
Life on earth is fleeting
Death makes us thinking
on the meaning of life
30.08.2022
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
BASTION of TRADITION
the erstwhile
contemporary
surreally clustered
together
mellowed
to an extent
that
immortality
still appeals
driven by
an impulse
of
isolation
against still
prevailing
then
but
now forgotten
bourgeoisie
then
surely
antagonising
stunted
&
scandalous
outpost of
controversy
of
inverting imagery
errors in society
the motif
producing
a
furore
against
of moral
decay
&against
in mistrust
of in
authority
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
To an End
David J Walker
Carried in the wind
This lonely place
Carried to another land
Carried in the mendicants dreams
of
The sojourn
of sovereignty
Nothing as it seems
A lonely outpost to defend
The verisimilitude to pretend
A commitment to resend
And then
It
Comes to
An end
Hinterland
It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects kill insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.
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