As in the mind of the sculptor
who sees a face or figure
to be revealed
in a block of stone or caressed
into form out of a lump of clay,
the sacred too is held hidden
within the appearance
of ordinary things.
I seldom notice
in the hurry and self occupied
focus of my life the profound
silence that lays at the core
of the magpie's exquisite song,
the still across which clouds move,
the emptiness into which
all the contents of a day are poured.
And in the turmoil that sometimes
rages through my mind
am I aware of the calm
at the very centre of who I am
and in the essence
of all created things. Nor do I
grasp eternity along whose
endless path time ticks out
its measured steps
and my life on this planet
plying a universe that seems
to be expanding into
an unanswerable mystery,
a Mind writing itself in matter
and gifting me in its vast
unfolding, a part, a moment
of form.
Past the hour when the clock stops ticking,
the mind begins its quiet, solitary work.
The barriers of the afternoon collapse,
leaving only the raw, unpolished thoughts
that are too heavy to carry in the sun.
In these blue and hollow hours,
memories do not arrive as warnings;
they arrive as soft, persistent echoes,
reverberating against the walls of the mind
like rain trapped inside a hollow valley.
The world believes the dark is empty,
but it is crowded with unanswerable questions.
We trace the geometry of our regrets on the ceiling,
weaving ourselves into the fabric of the night,
until the first cold thread of morning pulls it all apart.
I kissed the rain
Falling in love
With its cooling honesty
Danced to the sounds
Of raindrops on puddles
And wet children playing
I walked
Wet shoes squishing
Bubbles popping from the eyelets
Running
I slid upon the wet grass
The roar of the crowd
Echoing in a dampened dream
I whispered to the rain
Secrets…never uttered
Asked it
My unanswerable questions
Shed unseen tears
Under cover of raindrops
The rain left
All moments do
Yet this one lingers
Because
I kissed the rain
And
The rain kissed me back
To know that you know, shakes fragile ground
under what's unanswerable
crying out for the answers
to why this—that occurs
we bridge the gap with
a mythical
solution
put in
charge
here
there
ceding control
to omniscient servitude.
We know we can't master storms nor fate
nor read the grammar of seasons.
So we summon intention
to order the chaos
from the know-it-all
we put in charge,
we can name,
blame and
damn
as
cause
for all the gaps
in our shortfall of knowings.
We see how causes fail, fall away
as our knowledge and learning grows.
With the mystical dwindling
to explain, it recedes
into the background
left to beliefs
held by faiths
yearning
to
be
made
a whole being
spiritually complete.
You get weary of the big questions,
the seemingly unanswerable
and the ones you thought
were resolved but resurrect
as doubts out of hard won certainties -
the mind rewinding arguments
to discover a fatal flaw.
And so you look to find a refuge
somewhere in the experiential,
a connection to the hard substance
of things, form fitted out
to house the spectral strands
of a fraying soul and make
thought manifest in the real.
A place of unfolding wonder,
a pebbled stream flecked
with sunlight, tall trees
carrying whispered conversations,
wildflowers bending in a warm
breeze - a place where
there is only what is taken in
and where all else dissolves,
losing the boundary
holding together the very sense
of self - the bright afternoon sun
blazing overhead, the soft, leaf
filtered shadows in prayer,
the Infinite experiencing itself.
Beyond a telescope lies a million mysteries.
There is space, a vacuum, filled with solar systems,
And the most beautiful planets orbiting amidst the stars.
Beyond a telescope there are comets which fly by as if they had wings.
There are asteroids which can be fascinating, yet deadly,
And there are puzzles waiting to be discovered.
Beyond a telescope are the galaxies that could nourish life.
There are spaceships searching for entities or beings to prove we are not alone,
Looking for even the smallest sign.
Beyond a telescope there is a cold darkness.
There are unknown and uncalculated risks,
And even petrifying thoughts.
Beyond a telescope lies the knowledge for tomorrow.
There are supernatural encounters,
And boundless new opportunities.
Beyond a telescope lies the answers no one asks.
There are the investigations no one seeks,
And the unanswerable inquiries.
Hospitals are designed
(a) to make you appreciate your bed at home
(b) to prompt many unanswerable questions
(c) to facilitate smooth patient care
(d) to never complain about your wife’s cooking again
Referrals to a psychiatrist are made when
(a) you become catatonic after having no sleep for a week
(b) after complaining about a noisy roommate you start convulsing with frustration
(c) you ask the nurse for a sleeping aid and she brings
warm milk
(d) You are all set for discharge but the Dr is delayed in surgery all day
Reflecting on a hospital stay makes you
(a) wonder how you survived the long nights
(b) vow never to eat chicken broth again
(c) appreciate there are no drafts behind when you get up for a walk
(d) note how quiet the house really is
Is peace of mind for all the souls possible?
Can the happiness of the World we double?
These questions are totally unanswerable
As the loving part of human heart is feeble
Man is supreme among all the living races
By hook or crook, victory he easily traces
With vengeance, every soul, he chases
He loves to stash money in suit-cases
Money makes him become mother's enemy
To kill one another, he has created an Army
He is making the scope for peace gloomy
He loves to wear gold like Egyptian mummy
He allows hatred to dominate in his mind
Though through money, peace he can't find
He amasses it by being mentally blind
For the sake of money, he turns unkind
How to rectify the greed of man, dear God?
Is there a method to do it on the holy sod?
Can we make him good by not being a fraud?
If you can do it, please bless us all my Lord.
FELLOW COSMIC TRAVELERS
We who seek
answers
to universal and
unanswerable
questions
will always fall first
because of imponderables
but we will lead
the human parade
with verve because
I like you
understand
the sacrifice of the quest.
Am I but the punchline to life’s joke?
Too rational to follow the punchline
or duck its punch .
Too trusting of humans
being less than they profess,
scarred by the self-centered declarations
of the sanctimonious charlatans.
And yet I believe in life’s journey.
It’s twist and turns and torments
joys and grand achievements
i.e. learning the alphabet,
memorizing the “guzinta’s”,
rocking a baby to sleep,
listening to an old man’s story,
teaching someone something new
allowing them to do the same.
Thus, do I play the game of life
unsure of its rules or if there are any
showing up, reporting for duty
searching for the answer
to the seemingly unanswerable question
“What’s it all about?”
John G. Lawless
©1/21/2022
She settles into her depression
achieves her perfect form
in flat still camouflage
The dim farmer cannot know
how she surveys his labours
behind beaded spider webs
The fox and the hawk care not
that she has taken the earth
as her lover. She pushes against
his silence, his intransigence,
feels cold strength spreading
to the tips of her scarred ears
The sun is lost in a barley pod
but spring will come again
with its frenzy and its terror
In the grip of her loins’ madness
she will take her place in the wind
to box and bite their necks
The farmer barks something
in his tongue and she feels right
to run, springs out across the field,
quicksilver in the jelly of his eye
sinews packed with surviving fire.
She has unanswerable questions
One night she dreamed she was an owl.
Another night, she swam in warm seas.
Another still, she grew old and died.
She lives by phases of the moon.
She holds what she has close.
Everything else cannot ever matter.
My inner child…
can still be seen
hands in his pockets
eyes furtively dodging inspection
shirt tail out
remnants of breakfast
in his moustache(?).
His smile….hehehe
still mischievous
inquiring eyes asking
unanswerable questions
(like why is water wet?)
He rambles, wanders,
meanders through the fields
of my mind
tempting me….
“go ahead”
“jump in that puddle”
“touch that paint’
(even though the sign reads – WET)
He still can’t sit still
and drags me along(often willingly)
into questionable endeavors
usually beginning with the question
“I wonder what happens when……”
Fortunately…..
I usually recover in a few days.
LONG LIVE THE KID INSIDE!!!
9/11/2021
My Inner Child Poetry Contest
Widely stretched landscapes are her asset.
Gurgling streams and rivers are her bulged vessels.
The pristine form is losing charisma and in acute threat.
The rocky glaciers are going down to increasing sea levels.
Roaming wildlife are her loving mates.
Astounding extinction and merciless killing of them lead to debates.
The talks about those innocent should be earned true weights.
Just wait and think, ‘Do we really need two Suns?’
An unanswerable loaded question posed by many tongues.
Priceless resources are diminishing in tons.
Let’s stop the blame game and join hands to reset
Don’t be childish; we will become nulls, if she rebels.
Sense the alarming bell that resonates,
Let’s pledge to be loyal daughters and sons.
Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 02-08-2021.
Placed : 4th
So there they are, the three wise men,
(some declared them kings!)
It is not recorded if any women or camp followers
accompanied them, but if they were wise
perhaps that was so.
They were not pragmatists
nor did they follow the science,
long journeys following a star
on a swaying camel’s back
can lead you astray.
Meanwhile a child is born and
is moved on by its parents.
After many futile wanderings
they grew weary.
Their guiding star had faded.
The Orient was a ways behind them,
which was fortunate,
they had time,
time to put together
a few inspired poetic thoughts.
The wise understand
that not much is altogether true,
or not all that is imagined
is false.
Faith trusts the unanswerable
as if it were a shining star.
2020
The sands are running out
falling just outside our grasp
seemingly out of reach,
distant and taunting as they pass.
Closing our eyes we mockingly mourn
these last whimpers of time's fleeting
unrecoverable stolen moments.
Woefully beseeching a fickle god
for relief of our doubts, our fears,
our unanswerable questions
and unanswered prayers.
The grains of life ebb away
uncounted, seeping through
the groping fingers of now.
John G. Lawless
12/26/2020
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