Short Circuitous Poems

The distressed damsel

A circuitous racetrack...

Sheer Liberation!


- Ansar
2/03/21...

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To believe it or not,
In my lifetime
Marches on
Or off with your head,
To toe nail,
The coffin close,
The open door,
Way to,
Believe it or not…...

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Often.
Sometimes.
I retract.
I crawl.
Like the snail
softly back within
Those circuitous silent depths
of my hollow shell.

Sometimes
The light be too bright....

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Life alas is a journey, 
No straight, a line uncanny, 
Nor straight, say from A to B, 
But circuitous and Zany! 
________________________ 
Reflections | 08.11.18 |Epigram...

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Processes

Are sometimes

Disparaged because

There is no

Immediate revelation

Of This..

Until..it seems

The process itself

Is found to be

Already This...


(This is a poem relating to what is called non-duality. As are most others.)...

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Here’s to Möbius and his strip.

Like some attitudes, it is a circuitous

one sided trip!

© 2010 John M.Trusty

*For the Grook contest. Dedicated to A.F.Möbius (et al) and the attitude of some people, 
which will never be as fascinating as his strip....

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cue words:

motions
to ebony tuned
rhythms
slicing stolen space
with sable 
circuitous undulations
to lexical intoxications
of syllabic tones
hip cupping
silent scribed screams
of euphoric meters—
hearts jazz bopping
hip hopping 
on tranquil winds
of peace and love:

words cued…...

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Let the distractions lie..

Know they are also made
Of that which we truly Are..
But for now..there is need
To surrender and quietly
Taste the Purity and the
Transparency of that which
We originally Are..before
The distractions seemed to
Direct our paths through
Circuitous and frustrating
Byways......

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Circuitous im sure
Who doesn't save to live?
Bet on the future
To ignite drive

let me switch gears
been idling in no man's land
Unapproved though prequalified (yarr)

Time to reside
but sentinals hawk my glance
Chance must be played
In a casino loft

Human rights im sure
To free trade agreement
What about squatter's rights?
To eat and breathe...

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Language of heart circuitous
Longing for cherished levity
Labyrinth walks ethereous
Leaden soul soothed of self pity

Listening to a chirping bird 
Let the looping calm sink inward
Lightheartedness morphs luminous



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on January 18, 2019 for STANDARD CONTEST 163 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

Originally posted on June 7, 2018...

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What a circuitous path you've made,
Is there a guide?
No. No, there's not.
You live in the skies,
Where roaming becomes the breathe of life.
So no need to cry.
Move your emotion forward,
Feel it rise,
Like swans out of the water,
Like something you could not have predicted.
You could not have predicted any of this.
And skies lay before you.
Dare to love everything in sight....

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Hare in the sky — supersonic planes.
One child waves, her brother sleeps on the saddle.
Reindeer, leopard and horsie - of course,
floating above the carousel.

A reasonable conclusion
nevertheless an argument ensues.
I only hear the music of the night,
nothing more
until the next time I close my eyes.



9/26/2020
Painting: Magical Carousel Dreams by Wendy Andrew...

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Bliss continuous, grace fortuitous,
renews it’s enlivening vibration
through pathways direct or circuitous,
entwining us with all of creation,
amplifying it’s joyful sensation.
As a receptor imbibing God’s grace,
all we seek is to see Him face to face,
being consumed by a burning yearning,
to ascend then thus at His chosen pace,
resisting not magnetic heat churning.

07-February-2022...

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On a ship of fools without direction,
Along a circuitous trajection, 
Sailors from every land and nation 
Drift not by chart, but hallucination, 
And their lofty voices, at once speaking 
A bit louder than the planks are creaking,
Floating forever on waves, so giggly,
Along a foamy blue course, so squiggly -
Or will their cruise end, as the surf goes splash, 
And they laugh madly, while on rocks they crash?...

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While volcanoes rehearse to show their teeth
lovers shouting from the well of the house
wave broken condoms rather than broken trust

conflate dissent on self-erasing slates
and prove worse than the old oxen 
long following circuitous ways

billowing opposition, discalced defenders

they all assert superior dishonesty
sell cheap what is most dear or make
offences of new affections

I carry the tomb of unburied days


--R K Singh...

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Mothers Day always trips sadness
in me since her death years ago;
impelling a circuitous
journey of memories that flow
within a stream of consciousness
always the same, unabated.
It’s queer how an act of congress
can regress a mind effected
in such a way as to cause tears.
I guess stranger things have happened
and will happen over the years.
Though measured in nanoseconds
these yearly memories of her
are all that remains of mother....

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