A MOON TUNING RAP
Peeping down
Through the closed blinds
Reflecting moon spy-tease
The created mind
Manipulating the running
Of ebony-hued time
Trying to canvass a poem
With lines that rhyme…
Now if you knew how to rap
This would be a snap
But it’s not so easy
In the wee hours
without a nap
Yet when you’ve survived
The trials of another day
It’s not really that hard
To scribe what to say…
Here in the home of the brave
And land of the free
We have to cave
Racism and abject bigotry
And while cold war debates
Continue their drum majoring runs
Sacred lives remain victims of hate
And it's free-firing, murdering, bloody guns…
No longer can we let the fearful majority
Keep us in such a dire calamity
For like the ancestors dead and gone
We too must fight against evil and wrong–
Rising up and claiming our prized liberty…
We can’t leave coming generations
Without worthiness and high hopes
And must not insult our ancestors
Who fought and won the right to vote…
And tuning of fiddle,your voice vibrate along the strings
The strums of lute echoes far beyond and rhymes
The songs of a praise flows and clings
With an autumnal bare bough of winters rimes
My poor heart creeps and you please let it sway
In truth the poets heart is small like leveret
I plucked you a flower from the redolent
bouquet
And heaven knows a flower or your face of claret
Here comes my lovely nymph inch by inch nearer
O'god heaven is mine eye seeing a lissome sylph
Ruffled and tattered and struck the mine answerer
Was she the mayan people a words in their glyph?
And what so more to expect for mine brow to hold ?
The dewes of eyes or the snow of cold
A rhythmic thrum against the fork,
A jack of hearts, a queen of spades,
We snapped them stiff with wooden cork
Or clothespins clipped in cooling shades.
The asphalt hummed a frantic tune,
A motor made of paper thin,
Beneath the white and bloated moon,
The click-clack-clatter would begin.
We were the kings of gravel drive,
With thunder trapped between the steel,
The cards alive, the spokes a-drive,
A roar for every spinning wheel.
It wasn't speed that made us bold,
But that percussive, plastic beat—
A deck of stories, frayed and old,
That turned our bikes to winged fleet.
And though the cards would soon bend,
Their glossy faces scarred and worn,
Riding into darkness, a bitter end.
When the deck ran out, we'd mourn.
You lost the signal, Thats all; It Just needs 'Tuning' back in...
use a tuning fork
when facing a dilemma
for the two prong shape
provides two preset options
for keeping progress in tune
I tune out the news
Just as much as I can,
So I won’t have to hear
When the s*^# hits the fan.
But I still read the paper
And catch little bits
From the radio as every
Story transmits.
The migrants, the pardons,
The Congress, the Court –
Democracy fighting
But coming up short.
The voters who quoted
The prices of eggs,
Now twice as expensive,
The question now begs…
Just when will you realize
You’ve made a mistake?
The heart and the soul
Of our nation’s at stake.
It’s hard to accept
Just how low we have sunk
And I wonder why everyone’s
Not in a funk.
The stubborn frog was holding tight to the yellow zinnia
She had abnormally long petals, so she kept him dry in spurts.
However, her stalk was slippery. He kept sliding into the wet grass
Let go! His wife said. “It is dry down here, under the mushroom.”
But he had tuned her out for so many years, he could not hear her.
you study the silences
I survey all THE words
each with their craft...
Peeping down through
the closed blind,
reflecting moon spy-tease
the created mind;
manipulating the running
of ebony-hued time,
trying to canvas a poem
with lines that rhyme.
Now if you knew how to rap,
this would be a snap
but it’s not so easy
in the wee hours, without a nap.
Yet, when you’ve survived
the trials of another day,
It’s not really that hard to scribe
what you need to say.
Here in the home of the brave
and the land of the free,
we have yet to cave
racism and abject bigotry.
While cold war debates
continue their drum major runs,
sacred lives remain victims of hate
and free-firing lawless guns.
No longer can we let the fearful minority
keep us in such dire calamity.
Like the ancestors dead and gone,
we too must fight against evil and wrong;
rising up and claiming our prized liberty.
Let us not leave coming generations
without worthiness and high hope.
Let us not insult our ancestral patrons
who fought and won the right to vote.
Moon Tuning…
Peeping down through
the closed blind,
reflecting moon spy-tease
the created mind;
manipulating the running
of ebony-hued time,
trying to canvas a poem
with lines that rhyme.
Now if you knew how to rap,
this would be a snap
but it’s not so easy
in the wee hours, without a nap.
Yet, when you’ve survived
the trials of another day,
It’s not really that hard to scribe
what you need to say.
Here in the home of the brave
and the land of the free,
we have yet to cave
racism and abject bigotry.
While cold war debates
continue their drum major runs,
sacred lives remain, victims of hate,
and free-firing lawless guns.
No longer can we let the fearful minority
keep us in such dire calamity.
Like the ancestors dead and gone,
we too must fight against evil and wrong;
rising up and claiming our prized liberty.
Let us not leave coming generations
without worthiness and high hope.
Let us not insult our ancestral patrons
who fought and won the right to vote.
'The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul.’
I'm scrambling up the crumbling cliffs
the Pacific ocean is raging below
it's heaving about roaring and thumping
then sucking back with strong undertow
It crashes and spits onto the shore
bubbling the sand as the sea sweeps by
high above me the gulls skirl and whirl
in scattered squall of high-pitched cry
close by I hear the white noise wind
whistle past me on route from the sea
blasting through the wild dune grasses
slapping my ears and buffeting me
my ears fully open and body vibrating
I am one with Earth, she thrills my soul
her music sings through me, and I remember -
I am Earth's tuning fork, and I am whole
11 August 2022
Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form poetry contest
Sponsor. Constance La France
When soul and heart together
together they hit the harmony
life and love adjustments
love, life tune together...
I
Why does the universe look the same no matter where we ( humans and telescopes) look?
II
The question is complex for this reason: an expanding universe from the Big Bang, has voids, columnar structure, and may be akin to the biggest sponge, between galaxies.
III
A possible answer is the theory of Inflation, and the role of theoretical.particles called inflatons. In the milliseconds after the big bang, inflation is said to have occurred. Quantum mechanics, Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, speed of light ... explain if a small start to the universe is true, "homogeneity" in the universe depends on particles behaving in unpredictable ways.
NOTES:
1. A finetuned universe from Genesis / START makes the most sense. The theory of Inflation replaces the Creator with Inflation.
2. This theory has failed to produce the required FLAT SPACE TIME (a la Einstein) in experiments. Spacetime is a coin with heads and tails likely; our universe landed in the edge! ( Fine tuned?)
When there be no inspiration
Shrouded in gloomy darkness
Upon our brow perspiration
We shift into tranquil stillness
Attention poised unexpectantly
No one within now searching
A throb within rises vibrationally
Identity with universe connecting
Thought rested limitations cease
Within the world internal we dream
Following the scent of love in ease
Inspiration divine begins to stream
We write although not the author
Of the wisdom that we did imbibe
Innocently embracing each flavour
With bliss throbbing deep inside
04-10-2020
When no longer self absorbed, as in with self serving goals, including striving for enhancing spiritual enableability, the body apparatus hollowed out, relegated to the role of a material interface to navigate earth life, presence integrated therein with lower and higher aspects of mind in alignment with the glowing heart, detached cessation thus of self aware awareness in the vibrant void of emptiness throbs with magnetic bliss energy in fullness, transfixing attention in rapture of ineffable ecstatic tranquility.
spontaneous yawn
ushering a blissful dawn
each moment reborn
28-August-2020
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