Resistance or My Feet

I hope my own creative resistance
Sparks a bit of civil mischief
While I hide in the shadows
And keep a safe distance.

I'll come to steal a finer word
From others it comes so sweet
Then I'll take to the air and get a birds eye view
Before I’ve mastered my feet.

Meditation: June 5, 2006

Once your wings danced with the sky
like the cursive poetry as a butterfly.
You sang in your silence
about destiny,
now you have landed to see it through.
Divinely appointed to this great moment
shall you carry your will or let the wind carry you?


The very direction you move, now
mandates hope in your journey.
There will be joy in the way you tread.
But ease begets ease; remember this.
Your soul will challenge you for the better.

It is your broken heart
which must be emptied
before the miracle of Truth fills you.
So resist not the tokens of this chosen realm
whether they come polished...
or they come tarnished.


To Dina

Meditation: May 3, 2006

When the monsoons come
in a great blinding curtain of dust
to paint the valley
my poetry will find it can fly;
like broken leaves
who have made an alliance with the wind
to be carried over and beyond,
content to travel with whatever life
remains in them.

Clatter

My lesser self comes
with a clatter,
heavy steps purposely -
aimed to shake the attention
of the rest of me.
Like a state of drunkenness -
sleep walking, blindfolded;
cursing under its foal breath.

How it loves to throw its weight around;
looking to take command
of the day.
How hasty it makes my senses react;
allied with impatience and selfishness.

Mine, mine, mine -
my lesser self comes.

Jesus, Buddha and Bill Wilson

Deliberate contributors.

Actors
of both love and self-preservation.

Architects of the divine;
connecting moments with then to the now.
Ones to move along,
infusing
each generation behind the previous one
with great hope.

Prophets.
Anticipating the time when the world would wake;
heed their call
one by one.

Transparent servants;
laboring in a myriad of paradox.

Philosophers of The Original Thought;
ones to press forward
the ripples of perpetual Stillness.

Professors of the One Truth;
forwarding, through the madness
a message of joy,
of fulfillment.

Crowned princes of wholeness;
being the ties that bind
or the binds that free.

Wizards
ones to light the torch of man.

Masters
of their still, divided cause.


February 2006

I, Humbly, Peeked

A parcel of light
hewn down
from the highest heights.
One to touch my hard-baked soul
even to pierce my parched, empty spirit.

Contingent on my will to open ‘mine eyes’
so to welcome a polished glow
for my being;
eyes from which I humbly peek.

To learn just enough;
to hear the sound of a distant whisper.
Yes, to feel the cadence of a marching force.

To yearn enough;
to lie by the wayside the self pity of
‘mine own’ maladies.
Yes, to compel my senses to soften themselves
so to be permeable to
a parcel of light.

Whisper of Babylon

I frolicked too many days
with the whisper of Babylon
over my shoulder; envious
of the peace I turned my back to.
With the pompous nobility I mustered up
I called it valid - for
my Father had forsaken me.

Oh, my despair - how you
bound me - assured me
in my sickened moments,
all was well in the temple,
the madness was outside the gates;
‘t would be err’ to
excuse the guards
so then to threaten my ‘truths’
under the whisper of Babylon.

In The Sunshine

I lie out best I can - my ways to happiness;
left my footprints in the sunshine.
The paths that found their ways through the shadows
are tucked away from you.
There is a course that reels out of me, from my torso
connected to my fibers;
extended lengths of my nerves.
I’ll leave signs to better you. Read them please
for I lie out, best I can - my ways to happiness.


April 24, 2004
To Bailey and London

notes (In My Pen)

I stretch out my soul to keep peace in my mind;
To find the cosmos are alive within me.
The universe is contained in me.

My mind keeps me busy at this juncture.
It holds me close to the residue I call memories,
It gets me from A to B.
It equates for me, common sense and reason.
It rarely fails me unless I infect it;

When it fails me it is slow to notify me.

Must has been said. So Little by me.
So I know there is still much therapy in me pen.

Outside, Orion

Outside my front door
Stands Orion.
Points - shadowing a great warrior,
Mounting the darkness.
One to guard the sky,
To rule the night,
To keep an eye on my better interests.
While I turn a cheek to my regrets -
I stand, fully erect
And halfway aware;
Motionless atop nature’s green shag carpet,
speaking to Orion