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Haiku Inspiration

Inspiration

late again -
even after I have readied
this white page 

today
even a clumsy moth
is too quick for my pen.

hope - 
beyond this silence
a haiku is practicing its scales

Movement is of moment'

Never still the mind of God.' continual motion
Growth of purpose' rythem of love, making..'
man and woman' comes from above.' Growth of grass
Errosion of cliffs.' Waves upon oceons work
To shift..Grit in oyster, kernel growth.' Denotes
Wisdom and tears..Indeed; my oath.! Wind that moves
Emotions to change; sadness to elation such
A range.. Snail or Eagle slow or fleet Earth and
Universe.' Of all such I speak..Can you feel the
Intended.? Do you reach? Do you yearn? Are
You commited? Such is helpful.  If of God 
You would learn.' satan apes God even as he dies
A burned out relic with rhetorical lies.' Who
Offers most often (that which you have!) yet to
Rob is his intention...I'll call his odds.' May I
Talk the Truth.? For it brings him down.' His
Is a tawdrey glory..His is the volatile crown
Dry as paper..If i may.? He readied he is basted and he will climb in the tray..Be seperate from him.' Always seek the Lord by
The way of His waters upon His holy shores
Travel through the ' red sea ' turn not aside.'
The Great God of all motion.' Intends to take
Him, HIs bride.!

As we metamorphose

Physical and soul’s eyes entwine
The head ovoid begins to glow
Orbiting heart all nodes align
As boons of grace God does bestow

Light of Self pulsates in our chest
Spine acts as a seamless implant
Breath by breath we are by God blessed
Within resounds the cosmic chant

The soles of feet and palms glisten
Readied for action when ordained
Silence speaks, we gently listen
One without oneness, our soul’s unchained

The light of Self now drenched in love ~
Is the symbol of God’s peace dove

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles – 3-14-25 Dedicated to my Grandmother Pickel and her famous pickles.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blue Cheese and Old Pickles

Forgotten in a tapestry of shadows
Woven in long twilights and long rows
Of blue cheeses, tomatoes, daisies and flying salmon
Shelves, birthing dust bunnies,
Give up the last jar of her pickles
Sealed in clear mason glass
Still smelling of dill and garlic and her hands.

Her handiwork still looks
As fresh as crisp cucumbers
Gathered in fields wearing sunflower bonnets	
And the scent of new earth readied
To grow round again 
With new seeds
Not to forget the children she gave into angel’s hands.

Brought into the light, her love shimmers
Through the artistry of her hands
A rhapsody, sealed and sung across decades,
Plays as I ladle jam and new pickles into her jars,
Savoring my harvest with gorgonzola on toast
And raspberry sherbet on a waffle cone.

Zen mode

energised palms are readied for action 
but with ego having long since vaporised
and recognising God in-dwells all forms
there remains no desire to rock the boat
save poised as a conduit of divine energy
attentive to spontaneous will of the universe
to perform a loving act here in this density

Morning Hawk

Morning hawk tears through the land 
like a lightning bolt direct and true. 

Morning hawk screeches like thunder
her voice echoing in the canyons.

Morning hawk finds a higher perch
her eyes sharp and her wings readied. 

Morning hawk feels strange in the light—
no one sees her, no one seeks her. 

Mourning hawk watches the light 
leave the sky like a dream fading from the mind.

Mourning hawk does not build a nest,
for the night has decided, and her heart is respite. 

Mourning hawk knows tomorrow is no more
and how soon will she fly again, alone and free?

Zen mode

energies converge
at the third eye
as God caps our head
with His hand
wherefrom life force flows

the instrument readied
bows down to heart
connected by
an ethereal cord 
radiating magnetic heat

completion is 
becoming omnipresence 
of potential and kinetic energies
in singularity and duality 
conjoined with love

War of any kind

ROSE dear, in you I see my control gear						
RISE from your doubts, feel not any fear

HOT looks of yours, makes me totally wet
HOP and hug me, for you I readied a jet 

WAG to me you become, to have my kith and kin
WAR of any kind on earth, for you I will surely win 



10th place

The Night Before Christmas

T’was the night before Christmas,
When we all joined a Christmas Vigil Mass;
We're caught way back home by a traffic jam,
We starved and stopped at a nearby store for a ham.

Ham was everybody’s favorite food,
Satiated... we slept in our car while on the road;
As we arrived home, we felt totally unawesome,
We all raced to two toilets, looking glum!

T’was the night before Christmas,
When we’ve readied for our fellowship at last!
We’ve finalized all foods and gifts, plus...
Oh, who’ll be our Family Santa Clause?

Before our elders decided for draw-lots,
Grandpa showed his money in big pots;
Children said, “Granda, you aren’t big and fat.”
So, he gave gifts wearing pink Teddy Bear Mascot.

T’was the night before Christmas,
When kids still asked for a fat Santa with a mustache;
A pregnant mom in our family wore it, all dressed in red,
Our toddler shouted, “That’s mom, let’s all go to bed!”

Sleep meditation

Slipping into dark night’s restful sleep
We trust God we will awake at dawn
Readied for a consciousness leap

Fearing not onset of stupor’s yawn
Recognising play of the Gunas three
Layer by layer ego cravings are sawn 

Upon getting head and heart to agree
Soul ascends as will to God we bend
No longer are we tied to mind’s tree

As our ear to whispers of love we lend
There remain no goalposts to defend

Zen mode

forehead glistens
as it often does
observed by Bindu 
at back of head

pristine presence
frolics in stillness 
heart’s toroidal hum
exudes a bliss mist

the jugular notch
connects energies
magnetised palms
are readied to heal

enlivened spine
an ethereal harp
God plays music
on its 33 strings

called upon to share
the play underway
we search for the child
who may understand

Zen mode

readied for influx of grace
orifice at the fontanel expands
as we open our arms in embrace 
pulsating, toroidal heart understands

The Fish Head

Once, this hollow
in a washed up fish head held
an eye. Now it's just a skull,
an escapee from a crab pot
where it hung as bait to attract
a wandering claw. 

I cradle it in my hands,
its flesh picked back to bone.
I see through its ghostly eye
into a submarine world of weed 
and waving fronds tipped
with leathery fruit, spiked urchins,
dancing sea worms
and teeth readied 
to seize unwary life.

All seems horror, hidden menace 
beneath sand or tucked away
in crevices. There, poison barbs, 
razor teeth, gullets big enough
to swallow whole lay in wait
and dream beneath 
moving shadows.

And then, cast down from above,
a barbed hook baited 
with subterfuge, sharpened
to anchor hard in flesh 
and be hauled up to drown
a victim in air.

Fish….forgive me for having
commandeered your eye,
but I have done so to honor
your short life
before I lay your head down
on the soft sand and let 
the tide take you away,
forever.

Zen Mode

our magnetised palms suggest 
there is healing work to be done
by energy transfer if so ordained 
by the will of the universal mind
wherein the palms are a conduit 
available in this realm and density
attached to an organic earth form
ensouled by essence of presence 
of Holy Spirit in totality of so being
individuated as spark of the flame

thus, there being no one here within 
all that is, is a holographic module
readied but not as yet employed
being but a resource under testing
being checked for ego interference 
which may yet be lying within await
for Spirit will brook no interference 
by narrow agendas ego precipitates
and so magnetised palms must wait
alive, vibrant, receptive, yet tranquil

Ellen and the Naples Pier

With the surprise arrival of the stormy might
Came to pass the long-feared fight
First standing proud and quietly brave
Then bled white by wind and wave

The ocean rose, there was no lee
Her trusted timbers stole by the sea
And as their initials floated away
Pained authors huddled ashore to stay

Her planks once were the open hand
That invited us to relief from the land 
A bench to rest, a rail to lean
The simplest wonders, untold serene

She gifted the site of dolphin or two
And delivered each day her readied view
Our walk upon it was one of a kind
That pier, that day, and you entwined

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