“My crown exults with the morning sun.” — The Poet Tree
A bird perches on my branch and leaves
while an insightful dog barks at my inner bark
as the elephant slowly approaches
Around my trunk the elephant wraps his trunk
straining to wrest the rest of me from
my roots, while the flora and fauna root for
the victor they are leaning toward…
either the elephant as it leans forward
or me, as my branches lean sunward
Tired, the elephant lumbers away from my lumber
the insightful dog still barking at my inner bark
as the owl arrives to contemplate root causes
Trouble comes
still i glide over it's waves,
It is below the keel
letting me drift
to ecstasy,
Moored in peace isle
Peace is divine,
for we wrest havens that stay
unclench our palms to see it vanish
In vile burnt fields;
We wonder if it can ever be
Merchant, dealer, trader, vendor, monger of the means
To separate from you what's hoped will be in turn what means
It's theft, if when transaction's done, you're feeling unfulfilled
But the trade is fair if the time that's spent has left you feeling filled
With what you ask, and that is fair, for value's a subjective thing
What constitutes a loathsome task to one might make another sing
Creation's a sincere request for you to spend a little time
In turn that what from you was wrest, will balance what is left of mine
Got a minute?
“Thou hast no name and form even to the extent of allusion, nor any substance differentiated or undifferentiated. Why dost thou grieve, O thou of shameless mind? I am the nectar of Knowledge, homogeneous Existence, like the sky.”
First things first: know we are not body-mind
Unreal is all that is manifest
Life is a school where we learn to be kind
Let imagined, deluded concepts rest
Baton of awareness from ego wrest
With form discarded, as also space-time
All that that then remains is bliss beat’s chime
Where to go to wrest life’s conflicts,
that somewhere, someplace to recuse?
When one feels that within’s without
and ere conclusion, now confused.
My parents taught me, “Find the Wild,”
and use it as mine own compass.
Oft I’ve journeyed back within
and found a troubl’d soul’s solace.
But for our own, we’ve not bequeathed
a comparable cultural meme.
Where shall our kids find themselves?
Where shall they go to self-redeem?
For our largess is numbing tech,
mere distractions of compute.
Will our children find the switch
to effect their own soul’s reboot?
I don't know what I mean to say.
I sit; confused by no one and nothing.
Mind wonders unprovoked by the world or even by a neighbor.
No one hears what I mean to say. Im processing, im certain of it!
Staring straight ahead. Head slightly tilted in unknowing, but somehow,
for some strange reason,
thoughtful?
Ah thoughtful;
That's it, I quit! Not thinking of course. Thoughts never seem to quit. I haven't been thoughtful all day I say;
Im going to wrest my brain. I can't think of much more right now. My mind is full for some unknown, but thoughtful reason.
Im convinced of it!
Ariston of Argo
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Appease the peoples. Stand on those merits then such astound folk from all genres and all walks of existence.Appease the people, a man's pride is his reputation. The resume is earned in such dignity. A traveling men is a stranger to strangers what familiar to him is the work he has earned to do. Then what is done yeilds the means to his prosperity. This she calms the shores to the oceans, might storms batter and bruise; the storm over the prettiness of tomorrow. Applaud the audience. Intro's to the contest. Stands the combatants. Wrest ye oh wrest ye , the engagement.Challenger to challenger. Champion to champion.Man to man! Applaud the performance, but he who wrest best and endures, is he who wins. The other one is complicated by defeat. Memories oh memories might I remember the win, and brag like I never had, appease the people!
_____________________________________________
Views of this and it's content
Is shared by both combatants.
Old Man, which, in your life well spent,
Come as moments of repent?
Nay, rather, what do you recall
As memories surmounting all?
For I stand in my own conceive
And into future wrest perceive
Your time viewed with these mine eyes
And learn from those who have lived wise.
Should one live with no construct,
And treat one’s time as usufruct?
Or design with purpos’d plan?
Which makes in end the better man?
“Think not of God nor her final test
If She exists, she knows the rest
But thoughts simple and reflective of
The blessing to have lived life’s loves.”
If I could travel back in time,
I’d go back twenty years ago
When my life was still in its prime
And I could still speak to my bro.
My brother died at twenty-six--
Too young to be deprived of breath;
I knew no charms nor any tricks
Could wrest him from the hands of Death.
We were like strangers in our house,
He and I when he was alive;
Hate like that between cat and mouse
Seemed in his heart and mine to thrive.
So every day just passed us by
With nary a word betwixt us.
No “How are you,” no simple “Hi,”
We never made time to discuss.
So if I could go back in time,
I’d go to when he still had life:
I’d laugh with him o’er gin and lime,
And we’d share things both old and rife.
November 18, 2025
Astray, I pray the day
Will stay the way I say
My heart to start the part
Compart, outsmart my chart
To rise, eyes on the skies
Revise, apprise the prize
And blest with zest to wrest
My quest to crest the test
To share my flair with care
Aware repair is there.
Instrument of mind, let us rest,
power from ego gently wrest,
that as awareness self-aware,
our bliss anointed heart is blest.
No agenda left to declare
and ego cravings we outstare,
we then recognise who we are,
laying before God, our heart bare.
For too long we played below par
and from God’s light drifted afar
but in silence, the Self is seen,
shining brighter than the North Star.
I like the showers of the sowers' rainfalls—
Not that it shouts, but because it makes plants sprout.
The scenery crawls as field greenery sprawls,
That can extricate droughts from despairing doubt.
Butterflies paint brighter the greens of the fields,
And flowers flaunt beauty as bright, fragrant shields.
In dreams I crave wet seasons to whet my sleep,
Whose supreme comfort sustains my slumber deep.
I hate the stains that dwell in corners and drains—
Filthiness, a taboo my death will detest.
I despise the dirtiness my soul disdains,
A deep aversion heaven and earth can't wrest.
So sew your flowers' seeds and weed my garden—
No matter your mistake, my mind will pardon.
Love will invent the wheel of our good rapport;
Just don't adore foulness I so much abhor.
A faceless clock without numbers
traces past, present, recycled.
Nothing is created; nothing is lost.
It's all transformation.
Fallen leaves cradle new flowers.
As sun rises, sweeps the ground,
lifting up the dying to spring new shoots,
each unfolding rebirth.
The river's flow remakes the land.
Reshaping with unerring hand.
A moving sinuous flow, to and fro,
in endless state of flux.
Nature has no need for numbers.
Not bound by birth, life stage and death.
It's driven to become, improve, evolve,
when the fittest prevail.
Humans, adrift in yearning, trace
each hour that bleeds slow on clock's face.
To reach beyond the birth of their children.
To wrest more from their fate.
Dad, is this the will I once craved?
All your jewels you have sold,
On penury your will engraved,
A fortune no hands can hold.
Your will holds lies that I see through,
Nothing of worth it defines,
And your conscience never pricks you,
To waste heap your will consigns.
I wept you left me not a house,
Yet you built many, I know;
Not that I grumble or carouse,
But my spirit you laid low.
I thought I'd get more from your will,
For you died wealthy, you did,
Your writ reveals a barren till,
And leaves me all I forbid.
I am your only child alive,
Your legacy lies in vain,
The grave where your true wealth should thrive
Holds silence, loss, and disdain.
Perchance, this is but your feigned death,
Then spare me this cold meanness;
Grief I'll wrest from my labored breath,
Till truth is told with keenness.
Life is a series of tests
armies of unwelcome guests
wave after wave of insect pests ~
From them a crown you must wrest
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