Helen's was the face that launched a thousand ships -
so wrote Christopher Marlow
to explain what spurred their haste to take that trip;
but, I would like to ask him though,
this poet and playwright, wise and knowing -
which way were they going?
You watch yourself walk a thousand miles in the span of a day,
All the while, the mind in motion, tearing through.
You feel the urgency—the endless paths,
The voices never cease; the noise is deafening.
But never within earshot—a fading love.
For you to hear it would hollow your soul.
I would dissolve if I could. Scatter across a thousand miles.
I would unravel if I could. One clean, last note.
Fear alone keeps me on Earth.
And the earth keeps me in oblivion.
Inside its host it fed.
lurking and undetected,
Yet blind to the fever of its creation.
Instigating incidentally,
It mustn’t prompt its fruit,
As mutation granted its idleness.
Upon which does blame lie
the fever,
Or the hunger?
I have grown old and slow and soft,
and my herd has all run oft,
but I still have my trusty friend the snail...
on the Colorado Trail.
Inhaled and exhaled
Freedom; its relief.
Higher, forth and back, higher; till
Felt have broke loose of
Earth. Not as this tree's
Flutter-sheddings brief;
As those feathered; of golden tone. *
Endless blown above.
* golden whistler
In the yard behind the house
There were children's toys
Some broken, some just discarded by time.
All forgotten.
In the garden
They had planted together
The previous spring
There were tomatoes still,
Hanging tenuously on the vine,
Their skins fragile and transparent
From the frost, the freeze and the thaw.
On the ground
The squash and the pumpkins
Lay where they had grown
Green and orange and gold
Unharvested, black and brown
Their hulls in pieces
And their seeds scattered round
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
could never get a date with Stevie Nicks.
ICE agents are detectives (yes, they’re dicks!)
They murder citizens to get their kicks:
their bedroom windows shuttered-up with bricks.
Don’t even get me started on Hope Hicks!
Enough, ye noble folk, of politics.
Vacation thoughts – the River of the Styx,
which brings forgetfulness, among my picks –
to let my worries lie, submerged, deep six.
Little Jack Horner
was put in the corner
for eating her curds and whey
what else was little miss Muffet to do
as he had stolen the bowl so she pulled it away
and said, 'What a bad boy are you!'
The gale battered the lighthouse, high up on the rock;
The lighthouse keeper shivered and double-checked the lock.
Tonight he expected visitors, the dreaded , fearful sight
That marked each anniversary of that tragic, fatal night.
The night he slept on duty and the lamp ran out of fuel
And the schooner, with no guidance, met a fate most cruel.
Now they clamoured at the windows, the ghastly zombie crew.
Bony fingers beckoning, “Now it’s time for you.”
They found him in the morning, stiff and cold in death.
Mouth open in primeval scream that marked his final breath.
Young Frankenstein was a straight A student,
but, he did some things maybe he shouldn't -
like that time in the lab
when he took a strange stab
at an experiment, most imprudent.
Had a sip of tea sat back
Closed my eyes now I can see
You are sitting by your deck
Speaking up to me
But I cannot hear a sound
So I say my darling, please
Check the mike, but then I found
You can’t hear me
We’re like fish behind the glass
Trying to display
What is clear to both of us
In a silent way
Then your face is getting blurred
I surmise, mine too
Since that day I haven’t heard
Anything from you
Then I open up my eyes
The first thing I see
Is the vastness of grey skies
Hanging over me.
19.3
“Where is past and future,
or even present?
Where is space, or even eternity?
I abide in the glory of Self”
Brahman or God, The Absolute
Luminous darkness, alone is
Motionless beyond space and time
Universe birthed by His bliss fizz
All worlds are then but mere bubbles
Reflecting God’s luminescence
Illusionary is ego
Light of Self is our quintessence
God is the light who lights all lights
Consciousness ~ one energy field
Each God-spark mirrors His heartbeat
Merging with source when fully healed
Holding firm awareness of Self
Thus immanent and transcendent
In but not of this dream like world
We are always bliss resplendent
1.18
“That which has form is not real
Only the formless is permanent
Once this is known
you will not return to illusion”
Brahman or God absolute unmanifest,
is luminous darkness, tightly packed and still,
pulsating with potent power, whilst at rest,
wherefrom all worlds are created by His will,
bubbles in space-time, where desires are addressed,
whence the love dove perches on soul’s window sill.
All that’s created, in time will disappear ~
Wake up and realise there is no one here
~ To the tune of Sam Cooke's 1960 hit,
'Wonderful World,' aka
'Don't know much about history...' ~
Don’t know squat about biology
Same is true of trigonometry
But in my heart is written, I love you
And I do know that my heart is true
I got an A, you see, in ‘Tautology’
C-oming
H-ome
A-gain
R-eally
L-ets
E-mpty
N-ook
E-xperience
P-ure
A-nd
S-olid
C-heerfulness,
A-s
S-orrow
I-s
O-ver
©bfa051725
Monocrostic (Birthday of Charlene Pascasio)
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