Tagged with 'Poem'

Electrical impulse in all of us
send me a signal gift me a curse
Anything to break to the mold
reciving transmitting shut up and hold
Redhead and trusts cut through the snow
sides imagined empires sand
what does it matter nothing will last
fold in the martyrs
jump in the river
i never belong here
the shoes by the door

(thank you for indulging me)

I’m observing actions of gratitude

feeling the fat past of carved paths

seeing pairs of real eyes, each gifted to last

falling in dropped dots between the devil and god

unwinding at the same string of illusionary lighting

fires burning ice and with good humor its raining

drops knowledge, sometimes it waves undoubtedly

respecting sects in life’s mosaic of a quest

Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table
At which he's fed.

Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for peanuts
Anyway!

Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.

Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think.

Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass.

Tax all he has
Then let him know

"There is an element of Everywhere about Us
An attitude of stardust in our bones..."

The universe is made up of stories. – Muriel Rukeyser

I AM in the sun
And the moon
And the stars—
The sky at
Night.

I AM the life-giving force
Called Ki.

I AM the endless waves
Crashing ashore.

I AM the footprint
Erasing time—
The pulling back of
The veil.

I AM the singularity of
Time-space—
The birthing of
A moment.

I AM the tear in
Your eye and
The burning in
Your heart.

I AM the knowing—
The awareness—

Pound for Pound

Whirling, swirling busy lives all around
Pointless to the reason yet to be found
Gizmos and gadgets created to astound
Weak attempts for life to be more profound
Distortions and distractions meant to confound
Leaving only debt to indebtedness to compound
To leave one feeling its worth - pound for pound
As happiness eludes any form of middle-ground

I am a Shaman

My heart shines blue as day
The night greets me before the morning comes
And winds my mind into circles before the day breaks

The dawn brings with it glimpses of the dew before it forms
The flowers whisper their dreams to me
And tell me things that poets long to hear

There are songs to whistle out of tune
And water left to drink for thirsty sages

Dream’s Domain

They ebb, they flow
My emotions
Come, then go
Each day’s beginning
Is the only time to know
And from that fateful moment
They start to grow

As endless branches
fanning outward
Spawning feelings
that need be answered
By end day’s light
what emotions’ gained
Their painted picture to be
night dream’s domain
And with this power be

ABSENCE

Still mind,
silent sea.
Reflective moon.
Silent mind,
still sea.

-------------------------------

mindbringer, 17 September 2011

in the light jungle net
we’re talk stalk stalking
click-stalk click-talking
all our selfs
ourselves

and what is this
that we are becoming
click look talk click-stalking
is this our becoming?

a clicker click-clicking
and lookers self-looking
a light jungle self-stalking
is this our becoming?
our selfs self-stalking

for every evil plaguing this marvel, so good must survive. As the final wars are fought with the sores of bad diplomacy, integrity has fallen beneath the mountains of paper. Swearing oaths to popes and politicians that have been swooped up into to gullet of occult owls. regurgitating the bullets of false prophecy, we see the end is near yet never truly here.

As result of contributing and following a post thread titled Seeking Naguals
by fellow Evolver, Harbinger, I was inspired to encapsulate what I took from the discussion by writing a poem and contributed it to the thread.

There is this giant granite rock on the shore of my lake that I go sit on an connect with the elements.

We were making the Revolution-Fall, 1970
This was no ordinary revolution
This was feminist cutting edge, upheaval root-deep
and in the vanguard of the vanguard
we were women loving women, learning to love women
discovering in each other's eyes, fire to re-make the world.
The roll and boil of feminist tide
were spilling women into each other's arms.

There was some meeting every night

Inked pen, observant emotion, play to time’s pass
Without direction of purpose of guiding compass
Amassing witness to fault and predilection
Littering a trail with words written in reflection
No purpose to remedy or solution
But meant to feed a yearning constitution
To expel from within toxins observed
Gained by worldly conditions that disturb

I toss and turn agitated in my sleep
Waking occasionally, just to weep
Lulled by prayer back into a dream
A dream that is loving and serene
Each joyful moment, hours taken from pain
Only to awaken to find reality just the same
Oh but to remain in that nether world
Where peace and harmony are entwined, unfurled
But for this wish to ever be made so

This is a message from the master Alchemist of the Aquarian Age. Ascended master of life, called by Voltaire "A man who never Dies and knows everything".

One who penetrates into the fabric of our forgetfulness, only there when needed, so many need him now and he has disappeared from normality. One of the presiding messianic lords of our new age.

Who is this man?

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

"It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are