I suffered double the heartbreaks
For the way I left those two behind.
I also suffered so long for their sakes,
So I wouldn't be alone with my mind.
I suffered double all of the pain
That I caused for everyone I know.
I also suffered so much for their own gain,
So I learned we all reap what we all sow.
I suffered double the regret
For the mistakes I made in vain.
I also suffered so many years of shame,
So now all I want is to be me again.
I suffered double the solitary time,
For all the time I wasted waiting for others.
I also suffered from losing loves so sublime,
So now I am choosing one from many lovers.
How can I read when I have no eyes?
No sight to behold
No thought to provoke.
How can I hear when I have no ears?
No sounds to bare
No tone is fair.
How can I speak when I have no tongue?
No lives to swear
No way to dare.
How can I move when I have no limbs?
No direction worth traveling
No path worth riding.
How can I think when I have no thought?
No purpose is clear
No life is here.
Ill fate I call, luck lingering on chance,
Others may call it law of seeds and sprouts,
And yet others, destiny's dappled dance,
A thing when duly happens what use doubts?
And karma clings to catch up with the life
To dish out platefuls of pickled fortune,
Or life of frustration, of sour fruits rife,
Dark rainy clouds or sunshine of mid June.
Life has to learn to live with Providence,
Which, like a river flows as is meant to—
To meet ocean— how making little sense,
For, destiny leaves blueprint nor a clue.
Life traces no straight line in curvy space,
Rejoice still, no atom seems out of place.
____________________________
Sonnet | 05.11.2011 | destiny, life, luck, philosophy
Note: If something happens, how and why are matters of philosophical debate. But something happens, we see it, where are the doubts? Remember, even chaos has at its core some method in madness. One has to live in a curvy-linear world of no straight lines.
A Monk With No God
Delta wave slumber, healing and pure.
Nothing the subconscious cannot cure.
All-in-all essence—creation’s force.
Impossible to name life’s true source.
Permeating worlds beyond count,
With grace, those cosmic numbers surmount.
Divine illumination within,
Consciousness eternal, without end.
“I think,” and thus prove that I exist—
Such an argument can be dismissed.
Unmeasured thought: no length, breadth, or weight.
Nothing to quantify or translate.
Cosmos expanding faster than light;
Humankind struggles with their own plight.
If nothing is greater than one’s mind,
How shall eternity be defined?
A monk with no god Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
9/22/2025
Who are we beyond the distance
Beyond the ears that fail to listen
Amongst the shooting stars
That fall and burn through the sky
Lingering souls left alone in the dark
Meerly a scar to a sea of sharks
Thirsty for someone elses pain
73 years ago
A kid my age steps off a curb.
And, in the motion of falling, he believes he can reach heaven.
He has the thoughts of someone
with an inverted ribcage
And he’s sick on cigarette smoke and hypocrisy.
A kid my age, 73 years ago, calls me a pervert.
Through the thin veil of time and space
We lock eyes.
I say “I see you.”
He says “You’re sick.”
But that’s wrong and he knows it.
I am not the sick one.
He is the kid with the killing hat
And the giving hands
That despise the people he gives to.
He is the kid with filthy thoughts and phony smiles
Who sees the hollow spaces between his ribs
In the innocence of a child’s eyes.
And despite the filth beneath his tongue
And the alcohol stinging his throat
I cannot bring myself to
Feel anything for him
other than
Pity.
The ledger reads:
a plethora of umbrellas—
though it hasn’t rained in weeks.
Six bowls of ripe fruit rotting simultaneously,
four calendars all agreeing to be ignored.
Noise catalogued:
dogs barking at metaphors,
telephones dreaming of purpose,
the surplus of answers
none of us asked for.
On the opposite shelf:
a paucity of receipts for kindness,
one cracked mirror,
a prayer half-mouthed then abandoned.
They say memory is selective—
but it always chooses the same omissions.
In audit we trust:
to weigh the overgrown
against the almost-forgotten.
And if balance exists,
it does so behind glass,
marked “for display only.”
Imagination and Evolution
Imagination is the human birthright, the spark that allows us to co-create with the universe.
Through imagination humanity has given rise to art, music, philosophy and science.
It is the ability to envision that which is not yet visible, to sense the possibility within the present and call it forth.
Our task is not conquest but cultivation.
We are not the owners of the Earth, but gardeners of reality.
Our role is to nurture the fragile shoots of beauty, truth and love.
To evolve is not simply to advance technology but to deepen wisdom, compassion and joy.
Evolution is as much moral and spiritual as it is biological.
Conclusion
This is the path: to live as heart-warriors, guided by love, anchored in integrity, awake to the sacred in all things.
To see science not as a cage but as a language of wonder.
To embrace death not as an end, but as transformation.
To treat sex as sacred creativity.
To live as gardeners of resonance, cultivating harmony in self, society and cosmos.
This is the manifesto of resonance and integrity - the way of being human in alignment with the infinite song of the universe. Heywah. Selah!
Swindlers and charlatans
strut the world’s stage
Decent folk beat a hasty retreat
‘tis the era’s outrage
'Time' and 'Death' are the only axioms.
Things you cannot manipulate.
Together, they eventually destroy everything.
Then, breathe life into the ashes.
Forgotten concepts, even gods who don't bleed.
I smile in Annihilation's face.
Life is an abattoir hymnal written as a Jisei.
A poem that always ends with a question/mark.
The mortician finishes your storyline, not you.
Punctuation through confrontation with both.
My job is important, I bring closure.
And I create monsters to negate certain fates.
How dare society treat me like a freak...
Every single time I ask for coffin options...
Each time I ask for lipstick preference...
Everyone reacts how you'd expect...
Now, ask yourselves, why do I write splatterpunk?
a 'mega' - seen...
of ideas called
a 'full - loss - of - why - now'
be where-in...
'free - will' is versus
endless 'deter - minisms'
stan
untamed masters, tame
their subjects, until they're tame
enough to follow.
Writing poetry is never easy.
Starting has always been hard.
Ideas rarely flow smoothly
Distractions leave the paper marred.
Thoughts confuse the writing
And never let me think.
Contradictions result from this
And drive me to the brink.
Meter and tone must be perfectly right
And rhyme must be even better.
“Proper Form” should be used,
On down to every letter.
The most difficult part of all
As some may quickly see,
Comes when trying to finish.
It is to end my poetry.
Jumping quickly
out
of known security
into
animation, suspended
above
hard reality
in
momentless time.
Gliding smoothly
through
unknown thoughts
past
unlimited dreams
near
unlived fantasy.
Landing finally
midst
broken dreams
of
desired wishes.
Reflecting quickly
upon
what could have been.
Knowing it never was.
(“The Longest Journey”, 2020, original encaustic)
All That We Dream
When George Harrison sang,
“Yesterday, today was tomorrow
And tomorrow, today will be yesterday”
He was making a simple observation
On the nature of Life as a flow
We attach our momentary labels of time.
But he could also have said this applies
To all of us simultaneously in the flow
While attaching those labels as if outside,
And that this simple shift in perspective
Is the key to liberation, at least
From the burdens of this Life’s stress and strains.
Each day we do things
And when they are done, tomorrow or the next,
We are not the same person who did them.
The beauty of this is the one planning
Is never the same as the one executing
Nor the one enjoying the result.
So plan away, aim for the stars
Take that step, take the baton
On the endless journey
The endless stream of doing
As time and being flow together
Effortlessly accomplishing all that we dream.
(9/5/25)
Specific Types of Philosophy Poems
Definition | What is Philosophy in Poetry?
Poems Related to Philosophy
system, thought, outlook, theory, viewpoint, thinking, idea, wisdom, ideology, attitude, truth, doctrine, logic, tenet, reasoning, view, conception, axiom, reason, values, aesthetics, beliefs, rationalism, ontology, convictions, metaphysics,