awareness stream
intuitively intrinsic
channeled
in
tunneled time
navigates
cognitive impulses
rudimentary
ceaseless surge
of
uplifting waves
of acuity
across
timeless threshold
of
reflective perception
opens
floodgates of
bliss
pulse of time
vibrates
in
inner space
infinite
psychic vibrato
resonates precisely
in
halcyon harmony
with intonation
of
eternal transition
from
one articulation
to another
modulated
by edified touch
of
sanctified soul
illumined
life force
invincible
spurns vacuity
pervasive
propels essence
of
existence
through
elusive emptiness
filled fervently
with
resurrected rhapsody
innate
The drum of your heart, a frantic beat,
Against my palm, a captive heat.
Your lips ajar, a wordless sigh escapes,
Your gaze ensnared, you're just a prisoner to my shapes.
I've tunneled in, a subtle spore,
Planted deep within your core,
Lost in this intoxicating rain,
I’m a weaver of spells that ignites depths of your pain.
Your obsession blooms, blinded by desire,
Consumed by this infernal fire.
I'm the constant phantom, lurking shade,
Haunting even time and space, that's a promise.
That will have you turning each maddening, inner page.
A constant thirst, a growing, aching need,
For a deeper draught, a passionate deed.
You crave the touch, the whisper, and the chase,
Lost in the labyrinth of my embrace.
Addicted now, to the pleasures I impart,
You're a puppet now, dancing to the rhythm of my art.
I am the echo in your hollow space,
The constant phantom you can't displace.
I'm all up in your head, playing in this gilded cage,
Turning your sanity into an untamed rage.
Trapped and tangled, in this silken thread,
Forever mine, now and until you're dead.
All because I got all up in your head.
A symphony of madness, that is all up in your head.
We secured the dogs in a chain link fenced pen
I was gobsmacked to see the puppy ten minutes later
How had he gotten out?
Like a convict he had tunneled out
In ten minutes making a hole under the gate
Big enough to squeeze out his eighty-two-pound body
A space ship could have fit into this hole!
What is he doing now?
I turned to see; he was tearing up the driveway.
This is a black asphalt driveway!
We called a company to fix it;
They were gobsmacked that a puppy had done this!
flow of awareness
intuitively intrinsic
channeled
through tunneled time
navigates
cognitive impulses
basic
incessant surge
of
enveloping waves
of enlightenment
through
timeless portals
of perception
reflective
opens up
floodgates of
bliss
pulse of time
vibrates
in
inner space
infinite
psychic frequency
resonant
tuned precisely
in
halcyon harmony
with intonation
of eternity
transitions
from
one manifestation
to another
modulated
by edified touch
of
sanctified soul
illumined
life force
invincible
abhors vacuum
pervasive
propels the essence
of existence
through
elusive emptiness
filled fervently
with
resurrected rhapsody
innate
Wind-moles have tunneled
through the daffodil rings,
stems are uprooted or fractured,
Yellow bells and trumpets
fly in a tumbling sky.
The third month is a despoiler,
it scatters and stomps fiercely
upon the newly arrived.
Roofs are launched
to flap away on broken wings.
Yet the strong survive
until the lion yawns
temporarily bored with its play.
Like any cat, it yawns
and sleeps
while the sky washes it face.
If the new risen shoots persist,
if the tender buds
escape all runaway winds
if our lives can be nailed down,
only then
will the lion of March at last
lay down with its lambs,
but only to guard them
from its own rage and hungers.
I embarked on a journey,
In search of something that was not written,
If it was written, perhaps only in part,
With missing pages, if it ever existed.
I traversed meadows,
Sojourned across turbulent seas,
Tunneled through the night,
And walked through the heart of the deep.
I was relentless in my search,
Undaunted in my pursuit;
I encountered the strange,
Almost cloaked by the unknown.
In my exhausting journey, I met a sage,
Who understood my plight with just a few words.
He told me that mysteries are not found in caves or mystical staffs,
Nor at the distant ends of the earth,
But within humans and their chambers of secrets.
January 23, 2024.
Lay your feet in strawberry stream
feel the seeds red and green
Rushing flowing through outer space
Together bathed one sun one place
Burrowed tunneled between the worlds
Return to onesness is unfurled
In the shoot slide twirling smoothly
Eye's resting keep us moving
Journey destination all the same
feel you begin on astral planes
Inate nature pure untouched
Angelic inate cosmic dust
We are home
Time stood still
Silence sparkles
Intrinsic intuition tunneled through time,
drives incessant the central cognitive impulses,
surges with the sensuous waves
of enlivening enlightenment,
through the vacuity of amorphous perception.
The rhythm of time pulsates relentless
in the inner secluded space infinite,
the fervent frequency in harmony
with the intonation of the void,
the transition designed unequivocally
from one articulation to another,
modulated innately by the motivating stimulus
of the illumined soul.
Undiscerned life force abhors pervasive vacuum,
propels persistently the existential essence
through the sense-saturated emptiness
of enigmatic equanimity of abandonment
to the self-suffused sanctum of fulfilling bliss.
Intrinsic intuition
tunneled through time,
drives incessant
central cognitive impulses,
surges sensuous waves
of enlightenment
enlivening,
through vacuity
of perception
amorphous.
Rhythm of time
resonates relentless
in inner space
infinite,
frequency in harmony
with the intonation
of eternity,
transition designed
unequivocally
from one articulation
to another,
modulated innately
by motivating stimulus
of the illumined soul.
Undiscerned life force
abhors vacuum
pervasive,
propels persistently
existential essence
through sense-saturated
emptiness of equanimity
enigmatic,
to the cosmic cauldron
divine.
Today was the first day I held
a sledgehammer with intention
Callouses connect palms to fingers
tiny fleshy boa constrictors.
There is no catharsis
I know this to be a hollow act
With a face smithed of iron,
a body lathed with linseed wood,
and a head full of nothing.
No I am not thinking, I am
in fact refusing to do so.
This is an act of refusal
I am choosing childish behavior.
The empty parking lot
execution spot greets
the glass bodied shelf
Which will no longer take
the space of memories it held.
What should be cold and angular
Void of anything aside reflection
is a monument of mourning
a future I shall never know.
Light refracts upon my cones,
my tunneled vision only to show
a mangled miscarriage of the man
I can never grow into with you.
She ran up his spine,
he turned to water.
A geyser of light spurted out of an artery
of unrecognizable thoughts
that tunneled him into her.
He was being opened up;
he began to look around
see only the him/her
of everywhere.
He felt like
an empty can of Spam.
He loved Spam,
it was a cosmic kind of love
that came in many flavors.
wind-moles have tunneled
through the daffodil rings
stems are broken
yellow bells and trumpets
fly in a mute sky
the third month
is a wayward despoiler
it stomps on the newly come
the strong survive and persist
until the lion yawns
temporarily bored with its play
one fine day
mild doe-eyed visitors
meander among cotton wool clouds
the lion dreams in his sleep
the next day arrives as his nightmare
here in the havens it is a time for tornados
the earth is burgeoning
greening so tenderly
a perilous time
if the new born shoots
if the new birthed and cradled
escape all the runaway winds
the lion my at last
lay down with the lambs
to guard them
from its own hungers
They trusted the tree, so they tunneled beneath her.
Knowing she would keep them safe during the winter.
The bear made his nest first, then the fox.
Lamb followed her mistress, loving her reading voice.
Gaia kept them warm, nurturing them.
The book reader had to come up for food.
As did the fox.
However, the bear slumbered on, listening to the story.
Neon lights outlined stalls
in braids of red and green
in the dim cavernous hall
of the railway station.
Muted drum taps of passing feet
and crisscross talk were pierced
by stabbing announcements
of departing trains.
A stairway tunneled upwards
to the street
where a wall of daylight
met squinting eyes.
Stonework still wore the soot
of steam trains long silenced
from impatient panting,
their age had passed.
My age was diesel with its fumes
pumping out incessantly
without pausing for a breath.
Guttural piston beats
pulsed the air with shudder.
Some of us still left home
riding dreams on train tracks
or else sailed them to England on P&O.
Most stayed at home
and waited for the ballot.
Out of step with the sixties
the railway station languished
in its nostalgic façade.
Newspaper banners headlined protests
and the Vietnam war.
Through its ageing concourse
young men moved in haste or haze
towards uncertain destinations
A slack jawed drunk
thugs his way toward
a down-town bar and grill.
Red lights over sizzling steaks
add flames to his eyes.
Cincinnati on a Sunday morning
trashes its streets
cold winds scatter empty plastic cups,
cigarette butts, sick spills
and the ash of incinerated dinoursours.
Once there were rattle snakes,
now high-rise
mark their once tunneled territory.
The drunk can't find the door
to the bar
he pisses himself
grins through a window
at the beer guzzling diners.
Happy hour
drags itself
through the night,
the Sabbath has to be swept up
made to walk sober,
resurrected.
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