Mellow mantras,
daub my ear,
with rapt sultry
opal peals,
whilst entwining,
seamless sheath,
of aural vista,
whose magic wand,
sedates yet enthusiast,
of this morning nomad,
whose quixotic quill,
aches for ardent dawn,
to tranquilize meandering,
muse off target,
focus on,
aurora spectrum,
day-peep pageant,
of pristine pink,
demure aligned,
sun horizon hover,
gliding gold wisps,
fleeting blue ray,
chimera or mood swing,
dalliance of dust grain,
as I allude to,
gleaming dewdrops,
In lofty lyric,
prompt from,
green leaf rustle,
or grey twig tweak,
silver stream murmur,
moist babble of,
hushed hints,
rush and ripple,
froth rimmed swirl,
vapour vortices visceral,
whet my creative juice,
from lucent pools,
can I imagine,
wondrous tactile trails
My svelte bushy tailed cat, Hamilton, whose praises I laud,
leapt onto my lap and purred in a jittery fashion because,
a whiff of marked shift in daily routine,
she did pick up from my nonverbal long body waves,
each earnest habit once set in stone an absent without trace,
my darling pet so alert would detect the slightest tweak,
and spell out how the goal post now astir smelt fishy,
Hamilton, a character so utterly oozes otherworld charm,
as is the wont of divine feline species beyond limit,
and with impishness a constant in the past this pet of mine,
would latch on to each prized item as if driven to whisk them away,
that guilt free shrewd smirk infernal innocent methinks,
why me no I wouldn’t bug, irk, upset one so precious as you,
or tear at your tender heart haphazardly in an inane quest,
for nose-rubbing notice, deep bond playful jest,
as I peer in awe at that dainty trot whilst on the prowl,
a misty eyed me recalled her fond cat laugh bag of tricks,
yet to hear a taxi outside beep is a less than warm reminder,
that I must depart though unwilling from Hamilton’s grasp,
bursting into a sob as she stared from the stair top
There was once was a lady called Ullah
took a trip across to Dimbullah
Why she went there
here's the story she'd share
Hey I'm not gonna fool ya
took part in a dance called a hula
And Peder would follow
he'd tweak his big toe
He didn't take part in this wonderful dance
hung on to his chair by the seat of his pants
Wherever was Ullah, Pedder would go
his admiration is always on show
This beautiful couple the friendship we cherish
Makes no difference if they're speaking their danish
We value their knowledge from the plants that they grow
observation of nature from the seeds that they sow
This information we make sure it wont vanish
Here's a secret I now will reveal they make no claim to be spanish
When Peders at craft he always just sits
clickety clack from needles, it's a hat that he knits
Dying fine wool Peder remains silent, uses the wool a holey sock he must darn
And Ullah ? Total contrast!! She's really quite noisy when spinning some form of a yarn
They often have fabrics, by hand they have dyed with colour galore
from all of the markets they've finally retired they'll sadly be seen there no more
life is a lucid dream we wish to tweak ~
securing objects which our heart does seek
life is transient, our body too will die ~
too late we ask the question, ‘who am I’
.
thuh 'most
tip 'tiz
toe
uv mine duke's digits
'long fissure
thuh
hern split
where'st lips
ourn
found met
soon found
tuh
meat
i meant meet
greet
tweak
With charming words you behest
the imps of fairytale lore
to decorate my hope chest
with golden laughter galore.
You hold me close as we dance cheek to cheek,
the fae in the band give music a tweak,
we waltz until moonrise, salsa til dawn,
and wonder-struck at how fast time has gone.
Then in the distance storm clouds are coming,
you laugh and embrace the cold wind
blowing in and chumming~
evil is twinned…
hell!
We may, if we like, tweak this lucid dream
but though we have freedom, there’s no desire,
so dwelling in peace atop love’s moonbeam,
breathing in grace borne by God’s cosmic fire,
knowing pulsations of bliss never tire,
with fullness in emptiness as the norm,
we do nothing save with bliss beats conform.
to tweak the dream
we redeem love
moonbeam sparkles
Did you find me
Did you forget me
Was I to you a passing glance
A step you lost in mystic dance
I hear your voice in echoes deep
Your face a card my mind won't skip
Your lips have shaped my line with grace
My mind keeps heed your words your face
Is out of Sight
Your out of mind
Do I Twi your Light
Do I tweak your mind
Was I to you a passing glance
A step you lost in mystic dance
Did you forget me
Did you try to find me
The plumber is fixing a leak;
The pipe’s needing more than a tweak.
So for things to improve
He will have to remove
Some wood panels - I’m starting to freak.
Our house, built in ‘80, is old
And it’s paneled, which is, truth be told,
Now considered passé
But was cool in its day,
Though with changing it, I’ve not been sold.
So I’m listening from the next room
As he hammers and drills; I presume
That he knows what to do
For we haven’t a clue
If more leaks, in the future, will loom.
But voila! He just finished and yes,
I’m relieved of a lot of my stress,
For he came well-equipped
To replace what had dripped
And he didn’t leave much of a mess.
On the wall, all the panels survived
And the handyman, once he’s arrived,
Will nail down what is loose
And, as you can deduce,
Of my kitchen, I won’t be deprived.
Calm down, little bird. Try not to speak.
You must have a bullet in your beak.
Just let me give this poem a tweak.
Cheer up little bird - forever fly.
Forget about the bullet that whizzed by.
Chapters throughout the time as I tweak.
The below-mentioned chapters segments of
Seasons endured.
Time in connection with deadends one way
Itineraries related to continued everyday life
Unchangingtwists and turns, facing phobias,
Adjustments.
Desiring resiliency. Chapters
Day-to-day events mold us into reinforcement
of one's fears to continue and not give up.
On the crossroads of the endings sometimes
Contrast to beginnings. Chapters
When you can't find peace,
And just need to release,
These pent up energies,
Remember this please,
Life can be a mess.
It's a work in progress,
Sometimes you have to guess,
Mess with the colors a bit,
See what you discover.
Did you uncover a new technique?
Each person's path is unique,
You tweak it here,
Tweak it there,
Brush strokes are everywhere.
Like strands of spaghetti,
It doesn't look pretty,
Petty patterns interrupt me,
Disrupting the flow,
They're helping to grow,
Into the life you want to know.
Showing piece by piece,
Picture your perfect peace,
Release all expectation,
Creation is a masterpiece,
Based in experimentation.
Lost in a maze of numbers, tight,
I scratched my head—my hair took flight.
Paused a while, let time slip free,
Returned with fresh eyes—oh, the key!
A whisper of change, a shift in the tide,
A tweak in thought, the answer inside.
The Earth once breathed in steady tune,
Now, fevered winds howl at the moon.
A fraction climbs—a world remade,
Snow on dunes, storms invade.
A moment too slight, a world redefined,
A tipping scale of nature’s mind.
The markets dance on trembling ground,
A rumor falls—fortunes drown.
One misstep, a reckless word,
And empires crumble, fate deterred.
A fragile thread, a sudden spin,
A tipping point, where losses begin.
Life itself, a delicate fight,
Right or wrong, dim or bright.
A fleeting spark, a guiding hand,
May tip the scales where choices stand.
the object the subject has dreamed
moves within the dream realm so conjured
acquiring an ego, a temporary consciousness
to navigate the terrain where it has been so placed
being hypnotised by the environment
the dreamed object inevitably enters trance
forgetting its origin it then seeks to expand itself
instinctively pursuing ephemeral objects of heart’s desire
the entity by itself is merely inert dust
hemmed in by senses five and lower mind
so it remains in delusion, pausing not to inquire
the answer to the age old simple question: ‘who am I?’
recognising thus earth life as but a dream
wherein we’re both the dreamer and the dreamed
though we’re a receptor, we may yet tweak the dream
instantly by simply shifting into the vibrant void of silence
nonchalant to outcomes, ceasing to react
our nonjudgmental eye and free flowing spirit
navigates the labyrinth leaving behind no residue
by vaporising thus, ending the purpose of the dream
the paradox of enlightenment is clear
who gets illumined when there’s no one here
all that really happens is imagined boundaries blur
whereafter all that remains is the eternal living light of Self
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