Bereft of attributes, Self is living light,
which is our true being, shaped as God Himself,
in a realm outside space-time, where we shine bright
and so recognising this as our true Self,
we weave our way through life in drunken delight,
knowing what’s impulsed will unfold by itself.
God dwells in the Self and Self dwells in the heart,
which is why illumined living is an art.
SENIOR MOMENTS. FOOTLE
Here I am at a very great old age with same chat
for these days I can only recall old tales, off pat
Toothless now and decayed so no, long kiss
for that's certainly something best, to miss
Reading with a magnifying glass in , large print
with very strong glasses for close-up, or squint
In my chair most afternoons having, no sap
having to pace myself or without doubt , need nap
Allusions lead to absence?
Believe it, sir and ma'am.
Hold the door? Then get ye hence?
Why the constant slam?
Truth be told, the terror tells.
Tollbooth of the dead.
Nebula, will-o-the-wells.
Stray to look ahead...
Young the yellow yearling?
It's right there in his name.
Hornets, honeybees. Same sting?
Stake it on thy claim.
Frame of usual story?
O kindness, are you real?
Would if could, morning glory?
Flicker as ye feel!
Unity the ugly damn?
Indeed. That's been true.
Summertime, the crowds thin. Ham?
Blow away the blue.
Hated is the world outside!
Woe betide, landslide.
Pace of poet, poison plied.
How the cockerels chide...
writing you these words
to love you
in the form of prose
as I’ve loved you by my fingertips
and in the beating
mechanism of my soul,
the being and un-being of it all
so let me touch you still,
memories new and far
and soon to be,
the day and night we called
over and over
through the fear and pain I discovered
I didn’t have to be strong
all the time and I just
needed you
my only real fear now
is being kept from you
when you need me, my only want
is your arms to sink into
do you know,
can you feel
the joy I feel when you
lie down and pull me in? it’s
a feeing like i’ve had it all
and so nothing can really be taken,
like loving you when we’re old
would be easy - for us,
and i could die smiling
right here in those moments,
over there in those words
when you call me your angel
in the form of a whisper
The spiritual world is not real
But psychological defence
I know it brings relief and heal
To a certain kind of extence
But I stand by formal reality
Forms make the content real
Otherwise no personality
Can appear and appeal
I don’t argue the fantasy
Its great to have some mysteries
But it’s a play of fancy
A comprehensive bliss
We quite enjoy and treasure
Still that desire burns
I need the formal measure
Another life of forms
That once have turned to dust
The same genes combination
Can it revive my past
Break through the circulation?
I’m tired of rituals to repeat
I want to make it clear
The only thing I need
Is time, when you were here
I’m dreaming of release
Its natural to think and say
Come down to me, please
And take me straight away.
PERFECT SIX my tristich
WORDS LINES SYLLABLES
three two one
perfect six
poetics
A BRIAN STRAND FORM (5x5) 2008
KUHLMANN my kisses tristich HAPPENING
From Inspiration:idea,impulse,births:
a poem
A BRIAN STRAND FORM 4x5 (2009)
m.youtube.com/watch?v=_dFGYv4sWgY
for my dynamic paraphrased translation into English of one of the 6227020800 possible variation on this sonnet 41 to illustrate what Kuhlmann intended)
The complete 50 sonnets (in old German script )are available ISBN 3484160195 .
OPEN my recited writing
OPEN FORM in lowercase without grammatical symbols ,uses spaces&breaks relying upon 'the one breath limitation' & as a 'happening' requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input &respond in a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood & thus is inherently variable.
A BRIAN STRAND FORM 3x5 (2012)
FOOTLE my trochaic distich
FOOTLE (singular)* is,a two line lines,2 syllable verse with an integral title-Light Poetic verse form,witty,pertinent,topical etc (technically a trochaic monometer and not necessarily in rhyme).
A BRIAN STRAND FORM 2x5 (2009)
*STRING FOOTLES(plural ) are a variation adopted by PS poets since circa 2012
TEXT-IMAGE POETRY ART
This visual poetic form (inspired by the work of the conceptual artist Hamish Fulton's (b 1946) landscape 'text-and-image' work 'a seven day walk in the mountains Switzerland early summer 1984'.
FULTON is the name I gave in 2008 to this shape poetic form has 5 words of 5 letters or 3 words of 3 letters (as above) or 7 words of 7 letters & so on with a pastoral theme.
I called this form a FULTON as a tribute to Hamish and his art.I created(adapted) & (&labelled)as a tribute
(“Still Life”, 2021, original encaustic)
A World of Thoughtforms
Caught in cascade tumble
Splashing here there
Without time to collect my self
Let alone thoughts
What is up becomes down
And down up.
As I fall
Bits and pieces
Are left scattered
Splashed onto shores
Evaporating into nothing
Leaving only flow.
Somehow in the process
One is made greater
With their losses
Stripped of identities
Like so many badges
Of false honor.
Not greater in stature
Or reason, or anything
That one would wish for
Or hope to attain
But in something beyond
And then beyond even that.
Caught in cascade tumble
Life is chelated
Inexorable union of psyche and substance
As Sun made flesh and fiber shines
In every element, thoughtforms all
Of that which has no name.
(3/1/25)
Again, you gave writing a go;
In shame you now hang your head low.
You once had a sonnet
Or two in your bonnet;
Now limericks are all that you know.
Its the fact that they’re all alone
That they had no lover anymore
That their parents had passed
Then with the betrayal of their friend
Were it for the sorrow read from a book
Or the sight of another spilt blood
It’s when they saw their true love
That they held ones own child
That they laughed until they couldn’t draw breath
Then when they heard, the sound of another
Were it for the care, shed by their love
Or with the gentle embrace, of their mother
We live
what the Spirit-mind
shapes and forms
that which
comes before
the chicken
and the egg
Soulful-creations --
think long enough
(knead, mold)
deep enough
adds ripple to
a universe of
transverse-realities --
Will is the Traveling-force
and Love
God's Blessed Purifier --
minimalist words
from Saroyran
visuality
typed
typography
from Riddell
rings
a concrete
bell
Turnbull
the most
intuitive
as the reader
must
participate
the 'unsaid'
space
the
imaginative
bait
&cause
of a
poignant
thought pause
My 'Turnbull 'spaces example
PECKING ORDER
Sparrow on the bird table
the hawk has a feast
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