Short Turbid Poems

Dark money donors
Opaque Senate owners...

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It is what it is, is it not ~
Turbid thought forms, ego begot

20-August-2022...

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Truth simple, if we but rest turbid mind ~
Leaving all deluded knowing behind

15-May-2022...

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on waking from sleep, we discard dream forms ~
we should do likewise for life’s turbid storms...

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In the rampant wave’s roar
Turbid, murky  and furious 
I see the cosmic light glows
Surrounding everywhere.

Nel ruggito del'onda
Torbida e furibonda
Brilla la luce cosmica 
Che ovunque mi circonda....

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when faced with unjust ugliness
we forget the truth of oneness 
we react but then soon recover
swathed once again in bliss shower
momentary is our weakness

16-August-2021...

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turbid thoughts leave us in the lurch
end then the search, on bliss beats perch
the past is dead, future unknown
‘tis here now where love seeds are sown
rekindle then, heart’s innocence 
beholding soul’s luminescence...

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Too many kabobs
to skewer
plus bone-dry ribs.

Me?  I’ll stay
with pink lemonade

and watch 
       the turbid sky
and watch
       the stars reload

And so study 
serious stockades a
stick up their collective...

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She may or may not
have sensed her ovulation;
neither did the men
whose heads
capriciously turned.
Their eyes pursuing
as she opened a path
through the turbid smoke
in the shadily lit club.
She sat down slowly;
her dance card empty....

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If only I could be, 
wiser,
to chaos,
before it catches wind,
& takes me with it's tides. 
As an aside... 
would you be so kind,
as to send out a searchlight,
for it appears I have delved, 
haphazardly,
into the deepest ends
of my turbid, little mind.
...

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Cyclic joy and pain
Caused by attachment
Manifest as fear
Mirrored by desire
Spawned by turbid thought

On cessation
Head melds with heart
Heart lotus blooms
Rainbow in view

Path now known
Surrender
Stoop to rise

We be
As we

Choose

10-March-2021...

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Palate of my art
A blank page
So dark
The velvet blackness
Of naught
Caught my frustrations
So fraught
With turbid 
Thought
To free oneself
Of constructed
Tort
To feel
My self
My pen
My thoughts
Express it
With self-colour
An Echo
To bounce
Upon
This page...

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Feel each flicker, as heart contracts 
Owing to aversion
For desires too, feeble form reacts
Turbid agitation

The mindful eye sees all
Nestled in a bliss squall
Responding to His call

Subtle whisper
Feel each flicker

03-October-2021
Quietus...

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ripples in an anticipated sequence
in as a mismatch in time
if causing thoughts to go viral
are quietened betwixt bliss beat’s chime

such facilitations that are granted
require our eye to be single
that turbid winds impact not the flame
in heart of Self where pheromones mingle...

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It seems
A sadness creeping in
An errant breeze
Bereft of ocean scent
More an idle odor
Mercilessly meandering
Tingeing all 
With its turbid touch
Recalling
From the depth of joy
A hidden angst
A faded scar-like distress
Painless
Yet
Somehow
Calling attention
To itself 
...

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Self-fulfilling prophecy dawns
Misaligned heart’s desire
Do we know not yet, ego cons 
We face then outcomes dire

We did spawn Frankenstein 
To destiny resign
Now our choice, laugh or whine

Turbid thought cacophony
Self-fulfilling prophecy

01-December-2021
Quietus ...

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Ferality 
Brutality
Remorse

Gratification 
The gains
Illusionary 

Repression 
Sublimation 
Ego games

Specious logic
Self hypnosis 
Delusion

Web of thoughts
Gluey desire
Myriad fears 

Habit patterns 
A limitation 
Self-imposed

Fear of freedom 
Thus keeps us
Bound

20-May-2021...

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I stood at the center and
Started to draw a circle,
Moving along a circular track with my moon
That grew from half to full, day by day.
And everything that was muddled with
The smoke from the pyre of dead fishes
That used to play in the turbid water, stored inside that circle,  is
Clear again in that full moon....

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The turbid octopus
arises from the depths
of the heart,
as from the sea.
The affections were distracted
a day before, laughing,
and dreams, sensing danger,
steered around the hollow,
as a snorkeler avoids
a treacherous shelf.
But the monster,
often stronger,
becomes more intense,
sapping life and hope,
immobilizing its prey....

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Quiet flows at dawn the turbid river
Thu’ the trenched terrace of thicket
The morning mist of mystique aura
Rises from sunshine splashed water.

In wobbling water wades weary angler
The fishing line flung for the rare catch
Hopes a trick will emerge out of his hat
Hook a fish soon for company at dinner.

May 7, 2019
Photo chosen : # 3....

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Stroke Victim
Time is Brain
F.A.S.T. learners gain

Bleeping Busy Bees
Busy Robo- apians
Censoring Homo- sapiens

Turbid Transparency
Dark money donors
Opaque Senate owners

Turtle Hurdles
Baby sea turtles
Face huge hurdles

Take Responsibility
Stay in front
Bear the brunt

Checks and Balances
One man's solution
Trumps the Constitution?...

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as we journey through life
through many a turbid storm
silence and stillness ushers
divine bliss currents warm

oscillations gradually dampen
as we shift towards the centre
these are silent subtle shifts
bubbling bliss our heart enters

negating nothing embracing this-ness
as head melds into our heart
vibrant void of silence all pervading
fulcrum where bliss ignition starts

15-February 2021...

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In the country, we do not have city shine,
we have luster, 
we have the glimmer of voles,
the fumes of turbid crawlers
under the slow burn of iridescent woods. 

We who night-watch
see from sunken waters,
gather light from luminous cisterns.
We understand black;
how it sheens the clapper claw.

On the pitch of the concealed
a country ken leads us to a quickened vision,
we see as a horse sees
fleeing from a fire breathing barn....

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praying for opportunity 
to share loving feeling
immersed in turbid duality
delusion love concealing

illusion of separation 
of identity from the source
blocks divine illumination 
so we fall to urgings coarse 

the dilemma self created
indulging in the ephemeral 
stagnation has us sedated
our life thus tragic-comical

to exit the hypnotic trance
all that we need to do
is to flow in gentle innocence 
divine pulse within renew

30-August-2020...

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Don't laugh at turbid winter-wine brewed by farmers,
In an abundant year there is plenty of food for visitors.
The pathway along hills seems to run into a dead end,
There pops up a village amidst the willows and flowers.
Dressed in ancient simplicity, playing the flute and drum,
The farmers are rehearsing for the Spring Ritual Prayers.
I wish I could  henceforward visit the village anytime, 
Walking with a stick and calling on the austere villagers. 

(Tran.)...

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