The gong Om gently arises,
centred in each and every cell,
entwined with divine magnetism,
birthing delightful surprises,
releasing us from ego’s spell
through bliss beat’s unknown mechanism.
As but a humble receptor,
partaking of grace that inflows,
we bathe in currents cool and warm,
bliss piercing each body vector,
being the way our aura grows,
here and now in organic form.
Surrendering to God’s bliss burn ~
Soul transforms in mind-body urn
Partaking of the gifts of grace,
where each indulgence we release,
leaving no trace of love’s embrace,
we flow thus with nonchalant ease.
We have an unfair advantage,
being charged with bliss magnetism,
so we are free though in this cage,
of illumined mind-body prism.
As God’s child, each wish is fulfilled,
provided of course heart be pure
and the fertile soul of love tilled.
Our vibrant persona demure,
we seek nothing and yet we know,
divine entwined we are secure.
Sunday morning the church is alive,
Pews are wiped clean,
Windows are shining bright of stained glass of Our Saviors life.
Candles are lit as to welcome GODS children, sinners amongst us yet He loves us no different.
The young old, babies grandmas, brothers sisters all are lined up as to greet a Christian funny humbled young man with a smile and a firm handshake.
To welcome my children into HIS church, say hello, good morning welcome, simple wide yet to bring a smile to HIS flock, puts a smile in their face, entering into GODS HOLY place of worship to pray. Jerry will surely bring you into a sacred time of sacrificing your prayers up to the Lord.
The Lord’s Prayer we speak together as one, as our Heavenly Father taught his apostles years ago, if for one moment holding hands as he community in thus small town.
We kneel to give homage to HIS body & Blood, we are partaking in HIS HOLY sacrifice for us simple small town folks who yearn for unconditional love, “AMEN” .
Mass has ended go in peace”. May He lead us in this week ahead, to share his gospel with those we love..
Things that used to mean a lot
Don’t mean as much today,
Yet missing them can still feel sad,
No matter what they say.
In memory, there’s laughter
And there’s comfort, which surrounds
Friends and family partaking
In the foodstuff that abounds.
In reality, that picture’s
Filtered through a rosy lens,
But the past still seems inviting
When comparing now and thens.
As the world pulls taut around me,
I seek solace in the thought
That most often, all the yearning
Won’t reveal that which was sought.
We had two, enormous Black Walnut trees
That would shed every leaf in the fall.
The lawn would be blanketed, brilliant yellow
As the cold, north winds would call.
The task was foreboding to say the least,
The work would be hard, I conceded.
To prepare for winter and snow to come
Raking the leaves was needed.
Many years since, in a distant state
I find myself raking again
And a memory stirred my heart anew
And with joy I remembered when….
After toilsome hours of gathering leaves
My body sore and aching,
A ritual started that to this day
Brings fondness of raking’s partaking.
My son and daughter would anxiously wait
For the leaves to be heaped in a pile.
At my, “Okay!” they would dive in headfirst
And be buried alive with smiles.
Laughter ensued, and joy was the mood
As our mountain of leaves exploded.
Rake ‘em again! Pile it up so we can
Dive in over and over, with Fall overloaded.
By Tom Valles
with heart the root and head as the flower
our soul presence from the vast void looks in
as dew drops of bliss bestowed by Divine Mother’s kiss
cause at our core rapture ignition to begin
tempestuous yet tender is the caress divine
ethereal magnetism grazing feeble form
a slow seduction for which we pine
surrendering to this benign bliss storm
angelic butterflies perch on our head ovoid
partaking of soma nectar flowing through our veins
sacred pollination whence delusion is destroyed
allowing us to gently free soul from ego’s chains
such are divine secrets hidden in plain sight
transformative is God’s kiss which does so empower
internalising attention that we metamorphose
with heart the root and head as the flower
I slept at the foot of the mountain,
There’s cheese in the trap waiting,
Bait out the prey,
Counting out every second it’s taking.
Haven’t ate in several days,
In a week.
Listen for the snap,
Now there’s dinner in the trap waiting.
I forgot my second language,
Guess I have nothing worth saying.
Thank god for this dinner,
Practice patience by leaving my plate untouched,
I haven’t finished or even begun praying.
Blue meats,
I need my flames for American Spirits and Marlboro’s I’ve been partaking in.
Hush
the blush,
oh dear one,
feel heart soften,
as love weaves magic,
transforming feeble form,
with touch of bliss magnetism,
gripping us in heightened rapture,
being grace by God on us bestowed,
invoked by spark of childlike innocence.
To be poised as such in the vibrant void,
is a choice each soul can freely make,
partaking of the boons of grace,
always ours for the asking,
if we choose to receive,
love’s tender caress,
as throb of bliss
reflecting
light of
God.
How the birds chitter chatter and the church bells ring.
Daffodils fill the graveyard and are picked by passers-by.
Families attend the spring fair where a florist sells arrangements.
The chided children are guilty of picking flower petals but are
Pacified by their parent’s sternness by partaking in a Spring dance.
Dancing deer dart away out of view in the village field.
Freshly hatched chicks are made victims of the foxes.
But not before the farmers so threaten their temptation by
A gunshot or two.
Another Spring rainfall, the grass greener and greener still.
Dogs are walked in the woods where children accompany wilfully.
They attend church with holy communion and in his honour bread and wine is consumed.
In his remembrance of his resurrection, it is such a ritual, and they are thankful for his offering.
One day in May, I sat nearby a stream
where a few mulberry trees were flourishing.
I rested my head against the trunk of one
where clusters of white comfrey grew nearby.
Beautiful yarrow were also scattered there,
with pinkish-purple bells; some were yellow.
I must have fallen into a dream
because I saw the stream was rippling
with fizzy sounds of bubbles.
The stream was pink champagne!
The flowers around me performed a ballet,
swaying delicately in the breeze
as the bells of the yarrow rang a dulcet tune.
I woke up all a sudden,
noticing that many leaves of my mulberry tree
were not leaves at all.
They were actually butterflies coral streaked.
I’d startled them on waking,
and a cloud of them fluttered all together
away from my tree.
Other bright butterflies joined the throng,
partaking of the nectar of the once-dancing flowers.
Although the stream no longer bubbled champagne,
the reality of mulberry trees and butterflies
was more breath-taking
than what I ever
could have dreamed.
This is not a poem; this is a piece of my soul.--by writer
Yes, I string words into poems--
At least that’s what I think they are,
In this language I was not born with but acquired.
Every word and phrase is a labor on my part.
You may say I’m too ambitious
To dabble in versification when I don’t even know rhyme.
Forgive me--I just enjoy seeing pieces of my soul
Inked on a page. Thus, if you find any imperfection
Know that they are just as I am;
And just as I am, they
Are all I have to offer. So when you read
A poem of mine you are actually partaking of myself--
My innermost thoughts, my most guarded
Emotions, my dreams--all displayed at your mercy.
8th Place
My Truths Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Awaken
Closed eyes shut, awakened
In the Beauty of Father Subconsciously while asleep; Partaking of His beauty deep;
Grace, Solice, Mercy speaks;
Beloved you are adorn His;
And in Him there's peace;
Awakened thankful
Awakened with His breath
Awakened in His love
Awakened embraced ??
Hallelujah ????
9/26/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
organic form asserts its need
partaking of the elements
there is of course no harm in this
provided we be void-centric
radiating light, drenched in bliss
Sold
To be sold by the people
Who were supposed to love you
To be sold at
Just 9 years old
For alcohol and laughs
To be sold
Day after day
Why fight?
To be sold by people
Who were supposed to love you
To be sold at
Just 10 years old
Fear filled eyes
Scared of the dark
But can’t handle what’s in the light
Night after night
To be sold by people
Who were supposed to protect you
To be sold at
Just 11 years old
Losing any hope of being rescued
They are to smart and strong
Know what to say and how to act
Facts aren’t facts
No evidence of abuse or neglect
To be sold by someone who
Was supposed to protect you
the worlds keeps turning
But your world is dying
The will to live is faint
Alone inside
Crying to be feee
But no one will listen
Or choose to s e
To be sold by someone who
Was supposed to protect you
To be sold at
Just 12 years old
Held down and forced to fight
300 lbs of weight
Breathing begins to shake
Arms pin down as they watch
Laughing and partaking
In the water torture
All for what
To be sold
Compassion sees souls bound to their mind tree,
insentient to touch of love’s moonbeam
and if it could, it would, set them now free
but cannot, so does not, as they so dream.
God’s breath that keeps organic dust alive,
waits for love within mankind to awake,
by partaking nectar from heart’s bliss hive,
ours for asking, when ego we forsake.
Recognising God’s light glows deep within
all forms, we clearly see we are all one,
so lighting the lamp of love, we begin,
relinquishing desires, coming undone.
Wake up oh hermit, we have slept too long ~
Let’s rise together, taking all along
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