Today,
somewhere in this world,
without fuss or a funerary
prayer, a lifeform
has gone extinct.
It probably passed unnoticed,
its last lonely moment spent
bleeding beneath a log
or gasping in a shallow pond
with its gills clogged with silt
or sliding down the gullet
of a predator.
How brutal the path is,
the sheer waste,
the cruel experimentation
whether mindful or mindless
by something hidden
from us as it pursues
its pointless quest
for perfection.
Our identity within existence,
which reworded, simply means the ego,
pursues narrow goals, which is resistance,
to attachments we are loathe to let go
and therefore truth of Self we do not know.
Such a seeker ascends in vibration,
domain hopping across God’s creation.
Siddhis or powers imbibed and displayed,
keep such a seeker distanced from the source,
shifting roles, in different domains played,
until self-realising use of force
is of no avail, so then shifts life’s course.
Who God is we can never realise,
unless wayward ego we vaporise.
The day arrives with its light,
The stranger hides in the night.
Its tendrils linger within a chamber,
Sometimes trailing us in our slumber.
I seek the light, but the night pursues me;
Each day is a walk across a turbulent sea.
I tread along the paths of the Divine,
Grafted firmly to the Vine.
My chamber is a meadow of shadows,
Awakened by the cries of the crows,
This reveals what is unknown,
It’s a mysterious zone.
Alone in my room,
Oblivious to the lurking gloom,
I break free from its weight,
Embarking on a journey to Zion’s gate.
July 14, 2025.
As waves crash onto the white sands
of the Los Roques la playa
An angel w/ a coconut aroma, long tinted hair
and Bronze tan line emerges as the sunset glistens
Her beautiful curvatures
With one glance of her eyes
Radiant smile
The world slows down to capture
Her unique presence
As she glides up the coastline
As the sunsets
She sips on a fresh cut
Coconut Pina colada in hand
Palm trees swaying
Salt breeze in the air
Believes in his faith n guidance
Uses her strong, vibrant, Intelligent stance
She conquers all obstacles
Pursues her dreams and
Takes care of loved ones
Such a unique talent n beauty
Impurity
Where is the solidity of purity?
Where is the moral of solidity?
And the conservatism of life?
What do I see on the train at night?
Almost naked very young women.
The world has turned upside down.
Spirituality has disappeared from life.
The flesh pursues the soul, and light.
Women are more magnetic in long skirts.
He's the classic busiest bummed bee,
Work members close enough not to swallow,
Some business pursues far from his body,
Their thoughts cease, naught his, she always, follow.
She soar the skies as her duty's promise,
Perpetuity o'er her trusting beau,
White feathers sure faith like St. Thomas,
Stinger pleased tradeoff for wings, ... love to ... grow.
Since their first meet, a love story is told,
Distant and flighty, not really quite so,
Sweetest start, bitter end, somber bells tolled,
Never dare edit just best left to glow.
Romantic readers love its status quo,
Shakespeare best, “Juliet and Romeo.”
The child pursues melodies I’ll never understand,
the notes wallowing through my fingertips like grains of sand.
But in the distance a flute laughs, softly,
a zither weeping its baleful notes—
both distant, blunt, and foreign.
I fell here once,
at the border of sound and silence,
hit by a blade I didn’t see coming.
Whose shadow loomed, blade in hand?
The answer is buried deep in the night,
stretching long and wide,
refusing to end,
refusing to begin.
----------The Future from a Variety of perspectives and Disciplines---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He told a crowd of people
that his thought was the person in question
could not handle
the beauty of the woman he loved.
Not mentioning that he
had intentions on making
the mans life miserable.
He lacks what he needs to
be capable to secure and
keep the woman of his desire
there he cursed what he was doing
a demanding woman either
is against a thyme frame
in her head
or has been justified in why
she is allowed to treat a man
a certain way. The Obeoist is a
Strong willed woman. She lacks
compassion for anyone who
pursues her. Even if she
kind enough to be his freind.
Written by a Strong Willed Man
Steig Mi-ah Linagraff of Stoughtiey
His freind Varg refused to tell him
she belived in things that had no discription.
Hrafn Kiseer" You aint Man enough to do
what she needs".
"Try it, and it will be
The last thing you ever do!"
"I see your threats against me,
And it's you who should eschew!
Jesus became my Kinsman
The day I believed in Him.
Redeemed from the strongman,
Eternal life - when you're in Him.
My Avenger of Blood
Pursues justice for me.
He'll come in like a flood,
And judge my enemy.
You'll face Him as your Judge.
It's the Great White Throne for you.
Unless you drop this grudge,
It's the last thing you ever do!"
Allow me to share my news
About my defiant missing muse
She has the big time muse blues
I should have seen the clues
Though to discuss she did refuse
I told her ‘to put on her big girl shoes’
Make a decision …. ‘you choose’
With attitude she said ‘ well, you lose’
Walked away with a look that left a bruise
She is now whooping it up on a cruise
Heading to the land of kangaroos
Drinking way, way too much booze
I hear she’s sporting two new tattoos
Without her my poetry sits and stews
My flame softly flickers yet no fire pursues
So , understandably her behaviour I will excuse
If she just comes back and lights my fuse!!
God, in vengeance is jealous.
God, in vengeance is furious.
On the table of his foes vengeance is served,
For his enemies, his wrath is reserved.
Slow in anger,
Great in power,
He acquits not the wicked,
The guilty does not go unpunished.
The whirlwind and storm dance in his hand,
The proud clouds at his feet like dust gather.
The seas and rivers run dry at his command
And lush pastures of blooming flowers wither.
In his presence, mountains shake,
Haughty high hills crumble,
In his presence, earth's heartlands quake,
All spirits, flesh and blood tremble.
Before his fierce anger, none can stand;
He pours out his fury like a flaming fire,
His blazing anger none can withstand,
Aged mountains mourn and crumble to dust in his ire.
Into deep darkness, he pursues his foes;
In furious floods, he sweeps away his enemies.
Like drunken drunkards, they stagger; turning and turning and turning,
Entangled among dry thorns afire, burning and burning and burning.
the person I want to be
is certainly not to become ~ some idealistic wannabe
but definitely one ~ that pursues a legitimate fantasy
hinted a ventriloquist to his puppet ~ lost in soliloquy
Oh how I rue this deciduous time;
relentless in it’s passing year by year
while robbing memories we hold so dear,
and shedding yonker that was once our prime.
Through time we plod this monumental climb;
the cliffs of life we grapple fighting fear
while ever facing time’s relentless jeer
as youth is spent on chasing dreams sublime.
And yet we’ve heard it said that as we age
we gain more wisdom with each passing phase,
endowments mastered as life’s dream pursues.
But still with passing time the battles rage,
and loss of youth we shed as hopes abrase.
Deciduous time this aging poet rues.
September 3, 2025
what is born must die …
this we know but do not accept
in as embrace with vibrant nonchalance ~
no, let us admit it fellow souls
we are in truth truly afraid
we have seen birds in mourning …
majestic lions tear eyed when grieving
rain drops falling when skies are weeping
one by one fangs of death have wrenched away
family and friends who made us feel complete
we too will die, who then are we, we wonder
scriptures and fables offer not the taste
direct knowing of death that erases doubt
to imbibe truth we enter time dissolved silence
animating attention in the bardo of formlessness
soul’s eye then beholds dead leaf of ego drop away
reflect oh hermit, do we not die with each exhalation
at our core we know the next breath’s not promised
sleep is death yet we look forward to it each night
is not death then just waking up from this dream
why oh why do we cling to ephemeral illusions
shrugging off death of form ~ death yet pursues
we die when voice of conscience is subdued
when lust, rage and envy are fires we fan
or a girl child is abandoned at the orphanage
we die whenever ego opaques the light of our soul
Sleep escaped,
Without a farewell,
She had not the grace
To aspire my light,
She proved to be darker
Than her gaze,
Glaring, glowering,
Glowing with madness,
Bipolar’s destroyer – two sides of the coin
Despair, dread, doubt – depression
Delight, elation, wired – manic
Stages of dark and light,
Day and night,
A breath, a prayer, a silence
Flooded with fire –
Cold, brilliant desire….
Where she kindles a flame,
A feeling, a flavor
Peppered with light,
But pouring out – fight or flight,
Willing the spirit to mute
What is a glorious ruse.
Nadir deceptions in the form
Of acceptance, darkness and light,
Fading into day, then night,
Manic depression – bipolar like
The questions
That come to life
When there is no prescription,
Killing the sparklers
Within my mind, within my brain
Where bipolar is made
From two pieces of a maze,
A labyrinth who prays,
For God’s healing touch,
His endless grace,
Overflowing my cup, bringing
The chance to wake up
From the sleeplessness that pursues
Enemy of His truth,
Insomnia, the ruse!
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