he who beholds the light within all the time
whose perception is undifferentiated
breathing in grace betwixt bliss beat’s chime
consciousness fulcrum in the void located
he who dwells in the moment free from fear
vibrant in stillness seeing God everywhere
viewing life as a dream which will disappear
dwelling in the heart as awareness self-aware
he who knows without doubt he is not body-mind
viewing organic form as an earth life interface
flame of bliss magnetism divine aligned
flowing orientation being release and embrace
he who feels from God and existence no distance
empowered with the power of bilocation
within whom there remains no shred of resistance
always remaining immersed in meditation
Childlike innocence free of filters
expressing raw emotions of joy anger boredom
society's norms soon to censure
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Background B.B King it
You'll get home alone
A Quartering as Jazz
As quart and liter
As meter and mile
Footage and reconcile
Irish Quartermasters Gaurd
Kevin J. O'Meadhra
Trace as feather
Low of ash
Bury of quill
Fide et amore
Nightingales Ergo
Send in rot
Further, borrow
Scottish wreathing
Entangled Britain
Relent
They of leave
Twined as lecture
Recital of yellow
Beckon brown
Revile of green
Tustled hearth
Baby babysit looks like
It's gonna hail
Jump and jive
As sent to the SAG
In tawdry spent
The war is lent
The establishment of thy own
A hate filled thrown
As crimes as thine
Tinkle and toast
In a entire
Only as pure
The picture as haunt
Plagiarism
Stores front
Sufferer as complaint
In stilled poverty
I law
Joan had little art
Lythed command
Hinde weeps rather as waltz
Herculean task
Wardrobe mantle black
Opening Suggestion of Betrothed
Weighed the risks of indecision
Not choosing one way or the another
~ yet somehow getting nowhere fast
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The Compass trembles — still —
Though Wand’rers cross the Field —
A Needle — bent — may falter —
Yet Secrets are revealed —
The Brook forgets its Channel —
And cuts a curious Line —
Yet — reaches Sea — regardless —
Oblivious — of Design —
The Sparrow — takes the wrong Branch —
Yet — Sings the Morning true —
Perhaps — the Path we dreaded —
Was Destiny’s Avenue —
For Fate — is not a Footstep —
But Silence — in the Sand —
That gathers — in its quiet —
The Will — we never planned —
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
I haven't written anything truly meaningful in a while, my soul is silent,
So, could you speak to me a little more, give me a voice through your presence?
It’s not about selfishness, but the ink in the pen yearns for your attention, it trembles,
It desires you, more intensely than I do, in a silent dance of hidden emotions.
Just a few moments from you and it begins to breathe again with paper wings,
The words return, flowing smoothly on the page, reminding me of longing and yearning,
For perhaps I'm the type who hides from what I feel deep inside,
But my pen doesn’t lie; it writes what I cannot say, revealing hidden fears.
Not for me, but for this fragile ink that comes to life with you,
Could you give me a bit of your time, allow me to be reborn through letters?
In the silence between us, where desires become visible, I become whole again, an echo.
Need I my dear son
Show you the light of sun
Or teach you how to croon
Under a half or a full moon..
You seem to learn and know
As you live, bond and grow
How to successful be
While trying to be..
Should I my dear son
Tell you how to be the one
Or for you life recipes prepare
And dare hamper your very flair..
You seem to learn how to right a wrong
And know how to compose a better song
How to responsible be
While trying to be..
Could I my dear son
Recite what should be done
For you many a path pave
Deny your right to seek what you crave..
But you seem to know as you learn
The wealth of Life how to earn
How to stand all that is harsh and rough
Craft your art from scratch and stay tough.
On Monday Jay was rather gay
merry I mean not the other way
on his algebra he got an A
boasted a bit in way of a bray
what about Tuesday was it a good day?
Yes, because it’s the day he gets his pay
this was stated by his girlfriend Fay
She is older than most, her hair is gray
Wednesday was a different kind of day
Jay spent the day loading Nebraska hay
then he went swimming down by the bay
with his best friend, a funny guy, Trey
What about Thursday? Asked nosey aunt May
She likes things dreary, gloomy and gray
Should I worry? Do I need to pray?
Quite honestly, I had nothing to say.
I had not seen either Jay or Trey
Maybe they were missing since Thursday.
I knew this would amuse dreary Aunt May
So, I made up a lie said cousin Ray
Pirates snatched them and took them away
because they knew where a treasure lay
Old Aunt May began to moan, chant and sway
When they returned she took credit that day
I told her I'm a stranger
A souvenir
She thought I am from Ghana
Because I'm black like Ghanaians
She concurred
While listening to my accent
She confirmed I'm a Nigerian.
She said she can't
Wait to have me
Saying I'm one of a kind
I'm always on her mind
She called me the law of attraction
Because like a magnet she's always attracted to me.
She called me
A heart robber
Because I stole her
Heart away
With the way I do my things
She said I'm differ from others
Because I never pretend to be another.
Never still the mind of God.' continual motion
Growth of purpose' rythem of love, making..'
man and woman' comes from above.' Growth of grass
Errosion of cliffs.' Waves upon oceons work
To shift..Grit in oyster, kernel growth.' Denotes
Wisdom and tears..Indeed; my oath.! Wind that moves
Emotions to change; sadness to elation such
A range.. Snail or Eagle slow or fleet Earth and
Universe.' Of all such I speak..Can you feel the
Intended.? Do you reach? Do you yearn? Are
You commited? Such is helpful. If of God
You would learn.' satan apes God even as he dies
A burned out relic with rhetorical lies.' Who
Offers most often (that which you have!) yet to
Rob is his intention...I'll call his odds.' May I
Talk the Truth.? For it brings him down.' His
Is a tawdrey glory..His is the volatile crown
Dry as paper..If i may.? He readied he is basted and he will climb in the tray..Be seperate from him.' Always seek the Lord by
The way of His waters upon His holy shores
Travel through the ' red sea ' turn not aside.'
The Great God of all motion.' Intends to take
Him, HIs bride.!
Come, now while summer shall shine on your soul,
Leave off the darkness, the doubt and the fear;
Come, now the Earth’s with divinity full,
Leave off the wretched, and cling to the dear;
Come, now forgive, and thus make yourself whole.
We’re seeded as one, polarised as two,
hatched from the cosmic egg, then truly born,
feeling in heart, each and every bliss hue,
that thus in timeless time ego is shorn,
whence light of Self is the glow we adorn.
Having been, seen and so known who we are,
eternal light, shining like the North Star,
what’s imbibed must be assimilated,
else we’ll continue playing below par,
feeling as yet from God separated.
Unbroken awareness of light of Self,
seeing God in all objects manifest,
no residual desires on our shelf,
in midst of movement, poised always at rest,
vagaries of fate laughed off in light jest,
the liberated soul always feels whole,
as a non-doer in his ordained role,
radiating love and light at all times,
holding firm focus thus, his only goal,
heart’s rapture rising betwixt bliss beat’s chimes.
I died for a while
Withdrawing myself from the routines of life
Getting into a silent shell and observing
The world around me
The people around me
The people who are the world around me
All happy and content with my absence
The vacuum that I perceived would be created
In my absence
Was created within me
The hollowness was evident
The invisible strings detached
As if they never were
The mundane society grind continued
Will continue
Like the space occupied by a finger in water
Taken out and nothing was ever there
I enjoyed being dead
For there are no expectations from the deceased
Only the living dead
Bear the burden of as if running the whole world
I have now sprung back to life
Enlightened, that there are many illusions that we carry
That we belong…
@’dusk’…
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
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