Short Concentrates Poems

What's gone before consumes the now,
if he happens to allow it

What's yet to come torments his mind,
if he happens to permit it


He concentrates on uncertainties,
incites his own demise

Neglects the most important time,
until he finally dies


The end will come regardless,
of how he spends his time

Ignore the possibilities,
for instant peace of mind....

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Soil with sabrino, boil with babinoes white
Fire of witches, fire with switches bright
I gaze into your depths, feeling amazingly light
Wondering what dish you will bring me tonight

Soil with sabrino, boil with babinoes red
Fire of the ghouls, the ghosts, the goblins and the dead.
My mind concentrates on the powers you have over me.
I am ready to join you in the black cavern under the sea....

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Soil with sabrino, boil with babinoes white
Fire of witches, fire with switches bright
I gaze into your depths, feeling amazingly light
Wondering what dish you will bring me tonight

Soil with sabrino, boil with babinoes red
Fire of the ghouls, the ghosts, the goblins and the dead.
My mind concentrates on the powers you have over me.
I am ready to join you in the black cavern under the sea....

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setting mind at ease
                                  by extending pure consciousness to limitless
                                          mix self being with the infinity 
                         as inner sight concentrates to the whole at the same time
                                       Feel as one with all and everything

                          

                                      Date: 22/08/2016...

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The president extols his bravery,
praises his performance.
The media berates his mission,
questions his integrity.

His wife waits and hopes,
sends photos of the children.

Musicians write his story;
his mother prays for safety.

He dons fighting gear,
second nature to him now,
pushes away thoughts of home,
concentrates, focuses
on the present hour.

He's just doing his job,
defending the cause,
fighting for freedom....

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His hands are mesmerizing;
They move with easy grace.
With wide palms and long fingers,
He stirs this breathless place.
 
His melody is haunting;
It strikes my deepest chord.
His hands pluck at my heartstrings,
Touch regions unexplored.

I can't help but imagine
Just how those hands would feel
Playing tunes against my skin -
A world of notes unsealed.

He concentrates so deeply, 
Immersed in making art.  
And here I sit - Pathetic!
Jealous of a damned guitar!...

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