Having recognised we’re not body-mind,
stuporous awareness yet drags us down,
so though we know the truth, we remain blind
and in dark swamplands of fear and doubt drown.
Each offered experience wanes with time,
unless reinforced again and again,
so attuning our heart to bliss beat’s chime,
in vibrant silence, fears to rest are lain.
The master appears and then disappears
but our heart always knows that he is close,
since our destiny God Himself so steers,
so in childlike trust, we wait in repose.
Here now in this life, we’ll reclaim soul’s light,
garnering with God’s grace, spherical sight.
Why for push and pull,
akin to a bull
just raging away
by night and by day?
Illusions confound
and its dark forms hound
but our joyous soul
sways not from its goal.
Slow down now, slow down
or in swamplands drown,
blown away as dust
by lust thrust unjust.
Oh monk, hush that blush
that bliss throbs may gush,
bursting forth as joy,
without thought form ploy.
That soul’s light not dim,
sing to God a hymn,
doing what is right,
transforming as light.
02-January-2022
Lipogram Poetry Contest (vowel omitted ‘e’)
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
PS Grammar, HMS, Rhymezone
The prophecy came true in the swamplands
She rose from the bowels of an alligator’s belly
Disengaging herself with the hands of a sorcerer
Those who saw were struck as if by lightning
She was confident and unhurried as predicted
The storms are coming for sure, an old timer said
Alligator wrestlers rose from the bottom of the swamp
Following their queen through the jungles toward town
She is coming! Some of the less fearful were screaming.
The town began to shutter itself. Storm Ali was here!
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling
those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the sea and sun
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
my mind in wonder -
ivory pearls, like roots,
surrender to the soil of wafting sea
my pinwheel irises whirl
swoosh in waters?
climb vainglorious bark?
play with the suns?
the artist tempts me with his brush
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
8/17/2021
Feeling within consciousness contraction
We recognise its origin as fear
Arising from desire borne stagnation
Fearful to lose illusions we hold dear
Ghosts of our mind grips us thus in terror
Avalanche of arrows feeble form spears
Fear type any, it grows like a creeper
If unchecked, envelopes us in darkness
Permeating our form like a cancer
How may we then, liberate consciousness?
What may we do, to rekindle our joy?
Beseeches thus hermit in earnestness
Attachment to objects, an ego ploy
Miring our attention in swamplands deep
Hypnotic stupor has us therein buoyed
To transcend our fear, the climb is not steep
We just let go of fleeting illusion
Plunging into the void, in one swift leap!
We are free, upon vaporisation
In but not of this world of forms fleeting
Flowing nonchalantly in elation
We disappear, there is no more fearing
What is, is a bliss mist, celebrating!
28-November-2020
(syllabic Terza Rima)
Lotus beauteous blooms with joy in swamplands
Vibrant bliss throbs within wherever we stand
27-November-2020
(syllabic couplet)
As we look back at life journey thus far
Freezing the frames of whirring memory
Our soul within etched by many a scar
Borne of ego urge delusionary
Upon slowing down sway of attention
Ego borne fears and desires vaporise
Exiting thus swamplands of stagnation
Aglow in the now, each throb a surprise
Fundamental learning is simply this:
Ceasing grasping, shifting to connecting
Feeling within rapturous bliss caress
We abide in hues of love delighting
Lower mind yields, melting in surrender
Vibrant thus; all hearts one, none asunder
16-November-2020
Doubt
contracts
our being,
as also fears
and ego desires,
in realm of illusions,
thereby stifling aliveness,
anchoring us in stagnation,
making us captive to lower mind,
enmeshed in dark swamplands of delusion.
Doubts, borne of urges, rooted in doership,
we surrender instrument of thought,
resting in awareness alone,
uncaring of all outcomes,
content in blissful peace,
in the here and now,
as a witness,
delighted
in the
play.
08-November-2020
Pull
innate,
to align,
with the divine.
The geometry,
chakras in symmetry,
draws us magnetically,
into pathways vibrant with love.
No doing to be done save shifting,
from head to heart, throb of love embracing.
The blueprint is clear, yet strangely we err,
slumbering in swamplands of stupor.
This is the enigma baffling;
cause of human suffering.
No sooner we exit
ego narrowness,
instantly free,
each entrée
joyous
bliss.
21-October-2020
It is everywhere
Swamplands stagnative
The sticky substance
Binding blinding glue
Cause of resistance
We may exit
The Maya web
By detachment
In contentment
Vaporised
We imbibe
Love current
Pure bliss
Unstained
Throbs
08-October-2020
Spiralling thoughts and specious logic repeatedly reinforce their affirmations rooted in swamplands of delusion with the singular aim of nurturing lower mind, continuing to shroud the self evident truth of our luminous divinity. As such, the shift, so to speak, is a journey without movement, being simply stilling mind-body identification and with it, resting cravings arising from attachment to maya borne illusions.
Lazy is better
With attentive mindfulness
The nightmare now ends
Reminisce
Oh, to go back to the Woodlands.
To the woods that I love so.
That sheltered my first great sorrow.
In that shadowy long ago.
Oh, to go back to the swamplands,
Where the gentle breezes blow.
And the dark waters hide the catfish;
In a place the raccoons know.
I want to go home to a quiet place;
To a soft and gentle breeze.
Where the dew shines just like diamonds,
On tall magnolia trees.
Where the Whip-o-will sings in the morning;
And the honeysuckle grows on the vine.
To kind old Mother Nature,
I took my restless mind.
The quietness of the forest;
Soothed my troubled brain.
I found solace in my sorrow;
In the cool silent rain.
Oh to go back in my sorrow;
To the balm of yesterday.
Where I found sweet peace and comfort;
Alone in the woods to pray.
everglades
the slicing sawgrass sways
paradise to the "gladesmen"
the caterwaul of a panther
swamplands
The mad masquerade is a vile and venomous and villianous thing
Masks in front hide bad beasts within...while wearing their smiles and their innocent
grins
Thoughts and ideas turn into iniquity and sin
Held together with needles and pins...their false facades start to rip and tear
Best beware as truth starts to win
The mad masquerade is nearing its end
Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light...confusing and confounding...
Making wrong seem right
Sweating as time slips away like snakes in swamplands
It slips through his fingers like grains of invisible sand
Deceiving and devouring every single soul he can
The mad masquerade is his last and final stand
Disguises,devices and insanity inventions...in the name of medicine,man,and science
they make deep and dark indentions
With evil intentions the masquerade keeps marching on
They're leading to perdition as the band plays on and on and on...
But soon the lightning flashes from the east into the west and their masks all burst
into flames
God watches and He waits...truth kills the lie like torches in the night
Tick tock the clock stops on a dime
The mad masquerade is running out of time