Having granted bliss magnetism consent,
meaning we have agreed to be transformed,
there then is no end to rapture’s ascent,
as every bastion of our form is stormed.
We are the candle and bliss is the flame,
so we can no longer tell who we are,
as we metamorphose in life’s end game,
as God’s light, brighter than the brightest star.
The soul star chakra and the crown converse,
on how they may work for influx of grace,
pouring ceaselessly from the universe,
as pulsation of release and embrace.
The truth is this, in words simple and plain ~
We are torn apart, then put back again
Freedom abandoned years and years ago
Choosing to be your wife-partner for life
Packed suitcase with that which fit, but didn’t know
Some baggage slipped along just to add strife
Left behind schooling, leisure but didn't understand
Some might be needed including my ego
Days I wanted to dance but barely could stand
Unlike childhood dancing, believed in credo
The engagement ring a beauty, wedding ring plain
Home wedding, then our future lay before
Where dreams played a different life refrain
Brides can't drop who they are, forget past store
Memories, character blends have to take place
'Til she becomes a person God filled with grace...
Multiple God-sparks, each one with the whole,
are as He, with the life essence inside,
one without a second, thus free from pride
but when polarised, arises a goal,
to know the truth and what is its life’s role,
for which relying on God as the guide,
light realises it has been to lied
by dogmas and scriptures the blind extol.
Recognising we are spirit not form,
body-mind is then like a car we drive,
an interface, provided by God’s grace,
where all we need to do is to conform,
to strobes of silence, inner light revive,
that in this urn we may behold God’s face.
Invisible, yet strong like iron bars,
the conceptions, which I regard as sure,
as if they were recorded in the stars,
are like a prison which I must endure.
My identity, blindly adopted,
as a life sentence passed down by a judge
leaves me without choices to be opted,
inside four walls where I can't even budge.
Yet, today, I announce my prison break,
as I leave my predefined self behind.
To new possibilities, I awake.
It's in this moment, I decide my mind.
I will choose what I’ll do and be today,
and what tomorrow brings, I cannot say.
Is life not written on the passing clouds
Shapeshifting rumors on an errant breeze
Tailoring the moon’s mysterious cloak
The fire and ice of an unsettled liege
Is she not a master of words that deny
The meaning of heaven and earth and goodbye
Conjuring demons to lead us astray
An unending search for the why of the why
Wet sands erase the sun’s sepia smiles
Leaving us breadcrumbs of love and despair
The flicker of longing we no longer feel
An aching that asks were we really there
Clouds have no mem’ry save moonrise and tide
And life only moments in which they abide
The skull looks out with those cavernous eyes
My eye fell upon it this dark moonless night
What had it seen in the days when it roamed
Did it count this as home, arrive here at length
Day's sunrise no longer visits to bring it to life
What's passed before it now passes it by
Once counting for all it's now out of sight
What more can be said of these jaws clenching teeth
No lively tongue placed in that cheek turned to bone
Not a sight for the weak with no word left to say
And what of the rest of the skeleton crew
Who all did their best with what they had left
What separates them now from my contemplation
Is the flesh all that's weak... or is my spirit, too?
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.” ~ John Muir
The gently rippling surface of a lake
plays with the reflections of clouds and trees
and comes on to the shore to softly break,
urged on by the afternoon summer breeze.
Clean country air carries the smell of pine,
and sounds of hidden creatures in the wood.
Mother Nature's harmonious design
witnessed by me and a jay with a hood.
Knowing I'm in a place where I belong,
where the lake is refreshed by a cool brook,
and twittering birds improvise a song,
in my secluded grassy mountain nook.
,
I wish that you, too, could be here with me,
to experience sweet tranquility.
Life is your harvest
purplepeninportland
The combine drones in the field
gathering corn planted in spring.
The father holds the wheel—
his son pulls the wagon
to take the corn—
efforts measured
by what they yield.
The father bears his years,
his love for family and farm.
Branches of trees dance in winds,
a day of winter they will bring
silent moments under a cover of snow
reflections of sun as the year passes
over his spread of land as it rests.
My love for you is a Mojave Desert;
Twelve thirsty years without a drop of rain;
Twelve years of trying to decipher whether
You die from heatstroke or from my disdain.
You search for water, or for something living,
But what you find is only a charade:
A Joshua—the tree too dry for giving
Relief from heat, a semblance of a shade.
Who is your guide into the sun-bleached future,
Who cheers you on, for better or for worse?
A grimly-reaping heat-enamored vulture
Attracted to the prospect of your corpse.
And yet, this searing desert cannot start
To melt the iceberg of my frozen heart.
Because I forget everything
I forget what is my name
My name that is nothing
But just hungry for the fame.
I forget what is my gender
My gender that is physical
In the false pride, they wander
And the human, becomes invisible.
I forget my region - religion
My region that is limited
My religion that is just illusion
And all the marts are fully decorated.
Yell! Shout! Cry! Urge!
Don't say I, say the universe .
Form, a mirror in which we see our face,
reflection of living light drenched in bliss,
Cupid’s caress, gripping us in embrace,
as nodes within freely mingle and kiss.
Vibrance of innocence does not rehearse,
since God as our guide dwells in heart inside,
that we as He, one with the universe,
plunge into the void, where we wingless glide.
Empowered with gift of bilocation,
poised in a bliss squall, we become the all,
playful flirtation as our vocation,
a pillar of light always standing tall.
As we so metamorphose in repose ~
Divine love and light from our aura glows
Beyond fair reason, I shall think of you
in fallen grass or bloomed and flowered field
to see moments so fleeting fade to blue
with distant thoughts I quietly yield
this memory trembles forever soft
in mists and visions of a face I've kissed
when whisked to midnight moon and stars aloft
the sheltered afterglow I reminisce
the shadowed door in candlelight so still
an empty chair, a fading silhouette
the heart will not forget, the last breath will
when flame to ash can trace two who met
a hand that came to brush a cheek confessed
a kiss remembered when lovers caressed
Some folks I know achieve that beautiful approach
To compliment the fables they’ve been told
They’re able to fall down the rabbit hole
Which doesn’t mean they’re sleeping on the couch
Their Wonderland is always at the service
How did they do it, I don’t have a clue
This harsh reality, is it a wonder too?
If so, it’s not the book I’d like to purchase
Each wonder has its aim, so what is mine
Has never been occurred in my mind
I’ll be so very grateful if you tell
But I am in the dark, you cannot hear
And even if you do, you are not near
No wonder pushes me down through the well..
I am being watched in the witching hour
I know without knowing how I know
an ominous feeling Halloween night
ethereal entity’s superpower
east winds rise up, a blustery blow
magic is involved, I feel it might
entity soon materialized
starting out from a surreal glow
werewolf rose up to an unnatural height
my frightened blueblood homogenized
I never divulge this devilish sight
The fading moon looks upon the road
as the sun rises over a field.
Grasses dance in the wind
in a quiet place where life begins.
The first day of the week
a new place to stand
A road once torn must be rebuilt--
the weary heart bears its age.
Contrails in the sky of a jet plane
spread in the sky and disappear
another journey taken in time.
A lone worker stands in place
and a line of cars passes
people waving like friends he knew.
A breeze sings, the moon gone
never lost when remembered.
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