As long as I can remember,
I have felt my mind was fundamentally different.
Unreachable.
It mirrors the terrifying abstraction of deep space -
an expanse defined by infinity.
The human brain is hardwired for boundaries;
we demand a genesis and an apocalypse,
a defined start and an ultimate end.
We instinctively recoil from the truth that something can simply exist
without precedent or terminus.
That nothing preceded the cosmic void, and nothing will succeed it.
To contemplate an existence without borders
is to stare into an abyss that refuses to be known.
My mind operates in that same silent,
unreachable forever.
Met you when I least expected,
Breezed past me like a breath of fresh air.
At the time, I didn't pay heed;
Now I drown in despair.
Sent to me just before my dark times,
The light that preceded my darkness.
The light in my life, encompassed by hate—
For myself alone, I must state.
Elegant in stature, I continue to pursue.
I have to give praise where it is due.
Don't choose me.
Don't consider it.
I'll only bring sadness.
I'll only bring boredom.
I truly eclipse your character.
Hate for myself I must endure.
No choice in the matter; I'm simply a flaw.
Cursed by the standards of society,
Failed to comply with the criteria of the world.
Who am I to search for happiness?
Truly a troubled soul.
You can't read a mind, but you can read a face
Just watch over time to see emotions that race
Expressions revealing rejection or jeers.
Enough to chill anyone, confirm paranoid fears.
There's the expression "We will crush you"
And "You just don't get it, but we hate you."
A face that can't hide a nasty plan
What can I do? I'm just one man.
There's the face that says I'm a cloying fool
Then there's tones I never heard in school
There's the tone of dripping contempt
How do I deflect that, even make an attempt?
There's the face rehearsing how he'll beat me to a pulp
I look at it and let out a nervous gulp.
Skeptics say I expect to see, then I fill in
But if half is true, my future is grim.
The are the words too, that sometimes come along
But the interesting aspect is the rest of the song
Maybe it's the brain controlling muscles, controlling eyes
That makes the inner feeling break through the disguise.
This preceded talking, in our evolutionary past
Another way of knowing, that some dismiss too fast.
You can know much about a man, just by the way he laughs
Know with who to hunt the wildebeest, with who to forge your path.
Is not creative impulse fed by need,
to give shape and meaning to a lost mist,
seeking solace for our heart that does bleed,
yearning to be by rhythm of bliss beats kissed?
Spontaneity is but a buzz word,
for is it not preceded by intent,
born of the unstruck sound by our soul heard,
to which childlike innocence grants consent?
We rest thought to transcend limitation,
yet in this realm it is the preferred tool,
to translate in symbols, each sensation,
refrains replaying on memory’s spool.
Renewal continual ebbs and flows ~
Thus in the pregnant pause, light of soul grows
It was likely lichen's provided the fuel
Evolutionarily leading to mortal and mule
They worked with the fungus that brung us to fore
Elevating our thought to what we thought was more
Than what had preceded, receded and left
We then reseeding, believing the best
It was what our creation and station now made
Us to invent cultivation and blade
Use in one allows us to grow strong and tall
The other decides what will stand, or will fall
It's best in the harvest when feeding us all
The test is the anger that comes with the Fall
My Dear Man, please step within and then, are you doing well?
Are you okay? What about the little ones and all?
After the casual conversational preceded for a while, the mounted photograph on the white wall
I showed the photograph to my enthusiasm , a paying guest
'This is my junior, no longer within us,
who drowned in our village pond
about three years ago from now, noontime on a busy summer with the caw caw of all these crows!'
Easy an utterance paved so easily
No inflection, nothing much in vocal modulation
no more deep sigh, no more brimming eyes
And the voice my own ,
came back to shiver say , shivers a , she verse a succinct staid , cold snow time
Three years, only three years
mesh weaved the intricate between all these
even then erstwhile, the cacophony, voice over
dragged out my mourning river to leave alone a speedy saga of depositing silt
Whence the invitees are all gone, stood once more to ponder
before the photograph, to face questions, suppressing sorrow
Behind the frame, my son gazed at me, with no anger, with no grudges at all.
_Shamsur Rahman
Thought is the cause of creation,
which in staid stillness disappears,
so in restful meditation,
banished are all desires and fears.
All that’s manifest is but thought,
preceded by our heart’s impulse
but if we be not in dreams caught,
all that remains is bliss beat’s pulse.
We’re living light, not body mind.
Truth of Self transcends time and space,
which we know not since desires bind,
anchoring us in life’s rat race.
Whence unshackled from our mind tree,
our soul is instantly set free.
pandemonium preceded Paula Paulson’s painstakingly prissily packed
packsack. Pathetic poetic Parnassian provided paramount particulars,
a peep and a peek into Paula Paulson’s persnickety personality.
Whispers of an enchanted deer wafted through the oaks and the lilies
The exquisite forest came alive with new fantastical creatures
Roses are always doubters, so they disagreed with their thorns
But most of the flowers were open to the rumor, eager to see the deer
A gentle breeze preceded the deer into the thicket of florals
The deer was lovely, with scrolls, and beautiful nearly pastel colors
I love her, the daisies said/
A testament to the truth; daisies love everything.
The deer looked around approvingly, she enjoyed new places.
This forest was exquisitely beautiful; she could be happy here.
A brown stag with fourteen points looked her over pronouncing her queen.
She shyly told him she expected to earn her place like the other creatures.
The weeds were thrilled; a deer with integrity; this was a welcome relief.
like the full moon
seeking fulfillment
there i hung
dangling in space—
half empty—half full…
gradually
the tell-tale linking
of the gibbous moment
of truth’s awareness
came in the still of night…
then i realized
fulfillment is preceded
by life’s crucifixion
fulfilling resurrection:
it’s the emptiness
of life’s cross
that brings fulfillment…
once again i ink crosses
of words and pray
they empty themselves
and become
ascensions to the minds
of blessed children
anointing them with sacred
guidance…
we poets must never be
cocooned in non-metamorphosis
imprisonment of abject silence…
rather we must be evolved
liberated poetic butterflies
soaring life’s skies
pollinating them with divine
shared words of peace and love
and divine wisdom and guidance:
we poets must indeed
be ascended saints
of god’s cistern
sharing cups and saucers
of his shared words
nourishing seeking souls
with awareness
confidence and encouraging
inspirational spiritualization:-
Neon days are preceded by thunder.
Neon days didn’t warn me about success,
neon days are built from the struggle;
Neon days do not show your sacrifice,
neon days attract flies to your light;
Neons days never simply appear,
neon days are the result of grit;
Neon days color heat lighting lime,
neon days hot pink crackles the night;
Neon days no one sees the hard road,
neon days you must fight through the fog;
Neon days attract lazy poachers,
neon days are rudely disrupted;
Neon days tend to show off hard work,
neon days posers want just a piece;
Neon days there are vultures that wait,
neon days you must tend your garden;
Neon days just the strong are standing,
neon days you must fight to keep them;
Thunder is preceded by neon days.
The very first rapper preceded
Ice-T by aeons and eons
Though his rap-a-tap-tap
never earned him lights in neon
Humbly plying his trade in forests far
from billionaire rapper stars
The woodpecker taps out his tune on trees
~ at times nearby, have a look-see
A whispered shhh hung in the air
Tall grass rustled nearby
A slight sniffy, snorty snout sound
Preceded the crinkly crunch of dry grass
Sweat slithered across my brow
A large head appeared
Violently shaking
Hanging jowls jousting
Saliva arcing aimlessly
A growl ruffling the air
We ran
Screams scurrying ahead
Saliva spewing demon behind
Fear fueled our flight
Her hand thinly slipping from mine
She fell
The demon approached
We heard her
Breathlessly shriek
“DAD
….CALL THE DOG”
A sly inflection shifts the paradigm.
Rambling renaissance men without a clue.
Notable declensions; mismanaged time.
Skewing the truth and balance of value.
When paying mind to another's success.
Visibly worn down; a willful chappie
climbs only for eternal convalesce.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
No masterpiece ever preceded thought.
Do with that as you like; chase destiny.
Some of what you want. Some of what you ought.
None of what you’re not. Soon the world will see.
Narrative’s control the pen and the page.
After all, isn’t all the world a stage?
Monday blues are preceded by Sunday yellows
And I have always hated these Sunday afternoons
To me, they feel so lazy
I watch as the world turns silent and still
No noise except for the creaking of a fan or a radio in the distance
Listen closely, you might even be able to hear the ticking of the clock
I watch as the people sleep on cots or mats strewn on the floor
Their bellies rising ever so slightly and their mouths open, snoring
They are immersed in a slumber earned after a week's toil
A minute to ease up in the middle of the day, free from travail
For me these afternoons are different though,
As the world rests, I observe time stopping, taking a step back before charging again at the new week
Sundays feel like the warm sun on your skin as you sit by a river in the countryside
You watch the river flow past ever so lazily
Eyes glazed, lost in nostalgia and peace on your mind.
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