Cadre, thou art quincurion.
Five pointed star says sight, scion.
One in the center, mighty strong.
Four on the sides to greet the throng.
Clamber right o'er that wall, burglar.
Prize in thy eyes, shoot past the par.
Combination lock, face of safe.
O machine gunner, time to strafe.
Quinnat, move thy force in quinnet?
Pincer formation wins the bet.
However, salmon, wedge has wings.
Beware the spinneret. It stings.
Coalacanth, in the glassy lake.
Life is a rogue with thirst to slake?
Turmoil and trial? Fresh ocean blue?
Red rabbit, river, run straight through.
Quoddity, haunt the quadlibet?
Placard, plinth alabaster. Yet:
Relevance, where do you stake claim?
Pertinent, prosper. Fling, O flame.
Entelechy, thy entalpy.
Reason, heat up and sing in me!
Tangle, my thought-spark! Lightning falls!
Blistering broadsides by the balls!
Salve of diviner, vision weird.
Cel animation leered and jeered.
Alien skies and faces strange.
Jagged pulsation, range the change.
Electric shock, fire furious eyes.
Bring back the bolt that fastest flies.
Whirlpool, hum and whir. Broken bow.
Whippoorwill, swallow, undertow.
the view from the void mirrors that from form
fulcrum centreless so boundaries blur
tranquil stillness having become the norm
renewing pulse of bliss all chakras whir
to epiphanies that dawn we concur
as both the transmitter and receptor
sensing bliss mists pierce each body vector
hollow of palms, soles of feet
tingle radiating cool heat
bliss suffused is our head ovoid
essence of presence feels complete
no longer by ego decoyed
we shine as pure Self unalloyed
a living flame that has no name
light where delusion is destroyed
chakras whir without any aim
life is viewed as merely a game
we’re comfortable in our skin
love, light and bliss our claim to fame
clarity dawns but the world is a blur
swirling wisps of smoke spawned by heart’s desire
bliss magnetism rises as chakras whir
there remain no goals for which we aspire
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, it was only the absence of weight~
the way my knees forgot they were always sore,
how the grocery bags swung lighter in my hands,
how the elevator didn’t creak under me.
Then, the silence became something I could touch~
not the absence of sound, but the presence of
something else. The space between breaths,
the gentle whir of the fridge at 3 AM,
the way rain hesitated before falling.
I didn’t call it prayer, not yet.
But I lifted my face upward
like a plant uncertain of where the sun had gone,
and for once, the light didn’t burn.
Now, when I wake,
the world is neither cruel nor kind~
just is, just waiting.
I used to beg for signs;
now I recognize them
in the empty parking space
waiting for me in a crowded parking lot,
in the way the wind pulls at my coat
saying follow.
This isn’t just a realization~
It’s the untying of a knot
I didn’t know I was bound to.
One day, I’ll stop asking
if this is what it means to believe.
The museum basement smells of ozone and pressed violets. I am cataloging a shipment of Victorian automatons, specifically the clockwork songbirds. Their mechanisms are intricate, tiny gears of brass that mimic a pulse, a heartbeat. They don’t sing, of course—only whir. My job is to ensure the silence of the dead. But last night, one of them turned its head toward the moonlight, a single, sharp click echoing against the concrete, and for a second, I swore the gears were bleeding oil. The curator told me to oil them again.
a small brass pinion
in the palm of my cold hand
starts to tick faster
O zenith, at the apex.
What lives within thy zone?
Zodiac, thy spell is hex!
Zero at the Bone!
Narrow fellow? Let's be mellow.
Mine and thine machine.
No use saying sweet hello?
Yellow, mix with green.
O anaconda empire!
In swampland, what to dread?
Circumstances! Guns for hire!
Butter without bread!
Flame immortal, writhe within!
Blanch my dreams, O Sin!
Deadly venom, scour my skin!
Vicious fight to win!
Lord of greatest house, titmouse?
Ran right up her blouse?
O for those who gasoline douse!
Sycophant and souse!
Young sir, who ought we deter?
Real world, fade to blur.
Mongrel, pedigrees. O cur:
Life goes in a whir.
Hummingbird, wings. O hornet, stings.
Sorcerer, thy rings.
Never mind nefarious things?
Nature's ding-a-lings.
Proofs for equations, elk? Eel?
Antelope, hope. Seal:
What to buy and what to steal?
Gods of death, thy deal...
Immediate and intimate,
is the light of Self, filled with bliss,
an ocean of love, in full spate,
in time stretched peace, nothing amiss.
The pulse of peace in heart imbibed,
immediate and intimate,
a state that cannot be described,
is rapture that does not abate.
To reclaim soul’s light is our fate,
bliss magnetism divine sublime,
immediate and intimate
conjuring in heart, a love rhyme.
Path to heaven as we retrace,
chakras whir, polarities mate,
enabled solely by God’s grace,
immediate and intimate.
The children of Gaza
Their faces a blur
They flit through the landscape
Avoiding the whir
Of the drones overhead
Where a city once prospered
Love is destroyed and
Hatred is spurred
Fighting for landspace
Drifting through knolls
Seeking out targets
Searching for souls
Families displaced
Scattered in fear
Hoping for placement
In a land that is near
Once cultural beauties
Now lay devastated
The destructions of war
Leave living abated
The children seek peace
In their world all around
But they lay in their masses
Piled on the ground
A future extinguished
With swift execution
Can their killers return
To life absolution?
That soft whir that hums away
Holds my heart with so much sway
It slips me to a bygone day
Now digital decay
Those nights when it could be heard
I never noticed when it whirred
But now i’d find my heart stirred
To remember how the white noise purred
At night, while my mind goes on
I realize that the noise is gone
When did it fade with the dawn
Will I follow it into the beyond?
Where is the sound of static?
I miss the tick-tock heartbeat, the chiming in the hall.
Watching the slow clock hands glide shadows on the wall.
The seconds hand circling, its clicks beating a song,
Time was something you watched; it carried you along.
I miss the clatter of typewriters, banging on their keys,
Whir of tape spools whining, vinyl discs spinning to please.
The flip calendar flopping forward, page after page,
When time was a living thing, not digits in a cage.
Now silence haunts the corners where ticking used to sing,
Digital screens of numbers flash cold, as unfeeling thing.
Yet I miss the winding, waiting, watching for the flow.
The rhythm, sounds, vision, and movement of times long ago.
You whirl, you whir, a sparkler with no plan.
A frantic rush, chasing all you think you can.
Each flip is fragile, fleeting, never really sown.
A scatter gun feast, that leaves you all alone.
You blaze as if the world will soon ignite.
Your tiny body burns with furious light.
Your haste is commanding, yet what is it worth?
Without pausing to taste the fleeting mirth?
The garden knows your madness; it makes it clear,
That no blossom trusts your beat to linger near.
You skim, you dart, you never claim the whole.
For your shallow sips can never fill the soul.
A slower hand, will plant, endure and stay,
Learning the patient slow cadence of the day.
For haste will scatter, shatter what was planned,
Quickly yielding the dust you cannot stand.
Why do you not linger longer at what you sip?
Your feet are a blur; your body is a whip.
But, why this panicked, fevered, fleeting chase?
What force is driving you at such a pace?
Can menacing winds command you to not rest?
Or are rivals sneaking in, invading your nest?
You know a steady heart, outlasts a flashing one.
Playing slow and stead get the victory won.
Ravine, art thou real?
You certainly look deep.
Thunder, o'er volcano peal!
Through the boneyard creep!
Hope, just take the night off.
O prisoner, take heed:
First you squat and then you cough.
Golden is such greed.
Emptiness, seep into me!
Flicker, fancy-free.
Time immortal, blessed be?
Sink him in the sea.
O Alliance Black Abyss:
Today I must die.
Yawning chasm, blow a kiss.
Shiver as you sigh.
Back in ancient Carthage?
O state religion, new?
Serenity, O my sage?
O agony, accrue.
Gulf within me, fissure wild.
Robot: reconciled?
Mother, father, clasp thy child.
Floor, monolith, tiled.
Dreams of our tomorrows?
I cannot miss the point.
Endless are such sorrows!
O bitter art, anoint!
Giving up? Why, yes, sir.
I do not have a clue.
Reality, whir a-blur!
Doubt and derring-do...
Waking, dreaming and deep sleep,
offer a consciousness leap,
if we be therein awake,
focus firm, calm like a lake.
In staid stillness choose to meld,
with space between objects held,
that thus our eye then single,
in-form pheromones mingle.
Bliss mists deeply penetrate,
each offered consciousness state,
that though awareness may dip,
presence gives ego the slip.
Immanent yet transcendent,
breath by breath, bliss resplendent,
chakras whir, boundaries blur;
with love and light, we concur.
Whether outward or inward,
ego lust is untoward,
so if all that is be Om,
in all states, Self is our home.
Turiya or the fourth state,
staid peace that does not abate,
witnesses the play of light,
centred in drunken delight.
The Self in heart does anoint,
itself at a stillness point,
wherefrom all states then arise,
beheld by us in surprise.
When our soul’s eye is single,
all three states then commingle
but until then we’re trapped,
light of Self by ego capped.
As awareness self-aware,
if dark desires we outstare,
in Turiya, the fourth state,
we fulfill our ordained fate.
Night, drape deep in slumber.
O dream, to nightmare turn?
Multitude, legion, number!
Death, dearth to discern...
Rule of law in wasted land?
Show them, when ye stand.
Orderly, cold countermand?
Break before bed, band.
Young fools making with the schtick?
Candle, burn out quick.
Light both ends and nicker. Wick?
Bone within me, pick.
Wound in heart of warrior?
Stray, become the cur.
Dynamite, how to deter?
Blades and chimes a-whir.
Terrible to live? Oh, yes.
Blossom, O my stress.
Torment, foment thy best guess!
Who would be the less?
Ululation, ugly, meld.
Hound, bay in the street.
O for yearlings on the geld!
Bill, pay self with beat.
Fallow field in autumn?
Rickshaw on the move?
Congregation, sing a hymn!
Inspire to improve...
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