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
the plastic dickey husband was a braless menopausal clown !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • October 5–11, 2026)
staying as we are in a thought rested state
we notice all chakras in our head have merged
so as a globe of bliss we reshape our fate
in body urn where energies have converged
mirroring light of Self that does not abate
that we may anoint ourself having been purged
assigning no meaning to bliss magnetism
motionless yet vibrant in mind-body prism
right from the time we wake up till we sleep
we flow with tides as they arise inside
sensing bliss mists osmotically seep
each cell of form bridging every divide
that formless presence may then wingless glide
in the void standing tall as a bliss squall
responding mindfully when life does call
a disc of bliss is implanted in our spine
at a point which is parallel to our heart
wherefrom magnetism spikes making us divine
and so in this way as God search we jump start
in time dissolved stillness epiphanies dawn
here now in body urn where we are reborn
as pure living light pulsating with delight
as is-ness of being-ness by day and night
Myriad souls wander, lost and confused,
so whilst respecting the journey of each,
of that they are bemused, we’re not amused,
so share with those who pair but do not teach,
knowing God’s light in time, all hearts will reach.
Flickers in space reveal God is so close,
breathing us gently whilst we’re in repose.
Do the empty, balding patches on my head express it to you?
How I’ve stayed silent
just so you could heal?
How I’ve cried endless nights over you,
just so I don’t ruin you any more than I have.
How you don’t even care to look me in the eyes
at dance or to even watch me dance.
How you dare to even say
“I don’t want a hug from you.”
To my face,
mind you.
Something I would never dare to do to you,
because I would be scared if I hurt you.
What have I done to deserve such hate?
What can I do to reverse it?
What have I done for you to not even look at me?
What can I do to reverse it?
What can I do to help you?
nothing.
They say you can’t count hairs,
but you sure can count the friends you’ve lost.
378 hairs.
only 7 friends.
from the vantage point of stillness
we see the world going around
we view this dream with nonchalance
to no illusion are we bound
bliss drum beats with our heart gong
we are both this form and the sky
there then is nothing to be done
as are that who can never die
(with thanks to Sylvia Fricker, who wrote "You Were On My Mind" in 1961)
Well I woke up this morning.
Yes, you seemed to be there.
Just as it happens so early every day -
you were definitely on my mind.
And I remember those words from that song
that talks of waking up in the morning
with troubles and with worries,
with someone on my mind.
And I forget who you are.
Are you my troubles and my worries?
Have I wriggled in my sleep and not known it?
Does it happen every night?
Were you there, watching?
I woke up this morning.
I remember the song: yes:
you were on my mind.
So how much did I wriggle?
And how much were you there?
(written 3 Oct 2026)
accepting the unexpected
without our heart skipping a beat
in mood and mode embrace-release
is enabled by cool bliss heat
continuum of now-moments
leaving behind no residue
is the canvas we paint upon
wherein each rapture hue is new
each point in space is the centre
wherefrom we feel the potent pull
of magnetism divine sublime
heart is empty and yet feels full
Why it’s called ‘socialism’ I am not quite sure
Once lionized, it's fertilized ~ pure manure
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
we shamelessly affirm we will not trade
bliss rapture birthed by divine magnetism
since with each breath in streams of love we wade
with fullness in emptiness our lived ism
as tease of delight in mind-body prism
which holds us erect and becomes our song
in the timeless now taking all along
Crystallised light liquified,
within form begins to glide;
silent hum, the cosmic drum,
that light itself we become.
Seven hues of a rainbow,
are thirty three as we know ~
the vertebrae in our spine,
where we see bliss beats align.
Lost in love’s magnetic chime,
we transcend both space and time,
yet return on earth to burn,
in feeble mind-body urn.
Immediacy of bliss,
as Cupid’s lingering kiss,
is the music that plays on,
where with each breath we’re reborn.
Isn't AI similar to artificial vanilla extract?
Isn't the original better?
It went on and on with its' answer to me.
We should ask ourselves the same question.
We would come up with the answer more quickly than it did.
We would answer using one word....
Wouldn't we??????????
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