CPoetry

yesterday; yest is a teacher that is best. thank yest and he will bring today. welcome today and you are royalty; you are rich by another day. yest will say: T ell my friend Tomorrow that you welcome whatever you do not know is coming. By the day's end, you always become me; more learned,  more burned by the kiln, more wise. Tomorrow (I call him Tom for short), Tom will greet you with open arms. ::: wish and hope to be a soul that swims in salt water; wish and hope with all in you to be in that kind of water! dream to inhale and exhale it someday. fresh water dwellers look for replenishment in saturated freshness; those who swim in fresh water seek healing outside themselves. salt water fish have cried and tasted their tears; on the palate of hopelessness they, with their own tongues, tasted exaltation! now they embrace pain, for they know salt water heals wounds. :::  the one w

try to see not through a black narrow pupil but the white of, the, eye as you attack a view of pov, er, ty. pov, er, ty inside e, terni, ty we are all lookin' for a home without money a land where honey runs long may we bake, bake, bake, bake it again make it again a new love, let us eat again never starvin' rich or poor, forget those words and lines boundaries defined, forget all of that let's find that oven and that air inside that, can, rise our souls again ::: so open. so full. so fragrant. mmm. a place where you rub your lips together. you taste the Sensual of it all. watch your feet sweetheart. the right vine will make you fall. infatuated, you are, by the Marilyn Monroes, crested and bending over. how bold are they?! these flowers deflowered throughout every hour. hide your eyes if you can't take it! oh so vulnerable and oh, so, venerable this vice garden is. ::: i will say

when a hill knows its part sky, when a fish knows its within breath, when a bird knows its continuously falling, when a human being knows its be-ing, when a rooster wakes from its own call, when a waterfall knows its emptiness, when a knot untangles itself, when a horse knows its majesty, when Sherlock Holmes unlocks his own mystery, when olive oil knows its levels of virginity and says, "Less crushing and pressing please!", when a sunflower knows its own heat, when an infant knows the person looking back, when a miracle knows its learning;  Real Purpose. ::: watch the fool, walking with an empty bucket on his head. a short while ago he dumped a hundred thousand poppy seeds he had collected for the past thirty years. he walks around like a drunk saying idiotic things: "I found what I lost, lost what I found, found what was here and never gone! Oh what have I done all these years looking for eve

at day's opening, i see before me a good omen--- a day of celebration. i stood and watched, as my window-friend did--- in transparent awe--- at what we were seeing; a gentle white falling everywhere. so calm, so serene. whomever died in Fall and was loved by Winter, has ascended and was now falling not from a tree but from Heaven. enlightened souls are bringing a new joy. someone prepare the appetizers,      a party will soon commence.      ::: there was a certain prayer i would say to God. i will call it the Central Prayer. it is simple and reads as this: "You give me Guidance, I'll give you Greatness." now, i can see where i went wrong with his; the "Greatness" is implied as something separate and detached from myself. finally stripped of the fallacy, i know what the real prayer is; we are what is Great. God is simply the -ness  in noun connection; this is how t

triggered Your greatest hurts. pleaded for You to cry.      conquer stride conquer      across Your own tears. i feel a new warmth inside. ::: surround the impatient one with black sheets, so he may not see with his eyes. force him to see with his other eyes. only then, will he know the unknown was what he has always known. ::: you are neither special nor unimportant. you are neither rich nor poor. you are neither wise nor foolish. you are neither courageous nor fearful. you are neither scent nor odorlessness. you are neither city nor grassy plains. you are neither knowledge nor ignorance. you are neither belonging nor be-drifting. you are neither here nor nowhere. you are neither miracle nor coincidence. you are neither these words nor their definitions. you are both excluded  and included among all. ::: cut wood as planks and you see its knots and its shredded scars. cut wood as cylindrical

loneliness is the greatest path towards personal enlightenment; when you sit at a mahogany circle with your mind, heart, and soul, you have no choice but to ask for one of them to pass the wine. No-One is there to help. in fact, the best help is No-One's existence. ::: beyond the forest, he saw the valley. beyond the valley, he hoped for the river to run. beyond the river to run, he saw the ocean ready to be poured. when he stood back, this preacher saw the Promised Land. he saw the green beauty in a rusted, copper penny;  oxygen breathed rust on this penny, yet to him, it oxidized new, green life. this preacher saw a Greater love in a cent's worth of evil. ::: turn off your lamps. unplug the street lights from their places. Mr. Lighthouse, sir, if you could be so kind as to shut your eyes just this once? why do we believe so much in fear's brightness? if we all, for a moment, shut off all the ligh

unlike gravity and inertia, love's force can be felt by conscious choice. when given a conscious choice, we then have a decision to make; with every morning-miracle that wakes us up we can pick between a half-living type or a full-living type; take a boat or brave the sea's drowning. walk the valley foothills or climb to the mountainous summit. remember the past or lay in the hammock of the present. take your pick: be-side love or be-in love. ::: if you carry a bag of savory fruit, please do this. share, yes. that is the good thing to do. but, tell the receiver to eat and give a seed to another, so that ten others can have a fruit basket someday, so that twenty others can have a fruit garden someday, so that fifty others can have a fruit market someday, so that a community becomes sweeter than the savory taste itself. ::: blankets exist to make ourselves comfortable with self-

do not step in someone else's shoes, as the old saying goes; shoes prevent feeling. their rubber bottoms prevent even the owner from touching bare skin to rocky ground, soft grass, cold water, hot pavement. to know another is to witness an undressing so vulnerable and intimate, it would make sex laughable. be with the other so intensely! watch them take off their conditions: first the socks, second the shirt, third the pants, fourth the undergarments, fifth the skin. what remains is the purity of soul untouched by fabric or tissue of any kind. let yourself do the same. undress and let them see you as you are in your rawness. ::: my finger burned by the stove is a simple sting. my ankle bent oddly by a fall makes my gate slightly sore and uneven. my teeth pinching from a cold drink is a small wince in my face. my this, my that, any bodily pain hurts. it is always been tolerable. now, it is an innocent slap on the wrist. yet, th

keep this burning in me. this center in my stomach warmed evenly like a cast-iron pot over a fire. wholeness is a new form of fullness. ::: wings of a butterfly. an apple's skin. a leaf's coat. a tear down a face. water washes off of all who know cleansing within. ::: You are the reaper that reaps for my grave. the more i try to rest, the more You reap a test. the more You try to test, the closer i am to best. the better i become from you, the more dead i die true; i must never rest, reaper give me Your tests, so that i may be as close as i can be to best.      lay to peace from Your reaping. ::: when we watch a candle flame, we know it . our soul, a blue flame, of the hottest heat peeking from the wick. cresting out is the yellow and orange colors of the same soul-love. colors are of no matter. does a candle know what colors it gives? I am heat essence, nothing more.

it is difficult to hear the conversations Queens, Kings, and Jacks have inside the box. this time, though, they spoke loudly enough so i could listen: King of Spades: So what do we do about this then? Jack of Diamonds: We seek what makes it precious. Queen of Clubs: But what does it mean to be precious? How can we feel it? King of Clubs: There is no way of knowing the "how". Jack of Hearts: He's right, all you know is The Way. Queen of Diamonds: Explain this further. Jack of Hearts: The Way is like that of water through rock, stars through sky, heat through air, blood through vein, sun rays through leaf cells. Jack of Spades: Jack, you have left this unfinished. It is also fire from oil spill, death by weaponry, poverty by ignorance, divorce by words-unspoken. King of Hearts: May I include this? The Way is full. Circle with no beginning and no end. Queen of Spades: But how it is precious? King of Spades: The seeking itself. King of Hearts

accolades, compliments, rewards, and shiny things are a detriment to a greater reward; win this, win that, and bow your soul. say "Thank you" and leave quietly. do this repeatedly. continuously. i personally hope to become a humble snake. but, i must follow the correct metamorphosis. i stand now, under my hard, cold bones. i am ready; send the awards my way so i can learn. if i do not learn, make me stand taller. make these femurs grow longer and stronger. put me under a spotlight of greatness, ok, i close my eyes and bow.      i lose my pelvis. praise me with loving, kindhearted words. i bow.      i lose my femurs. tell me about the impact I have made. i bow.      i lose my knee caps. shower me with hugs and speeches in-honor-of me. i bow.      i lose my tibias and fibulas. make others change because of me. i bow.      i lose my feet. make me change because of You. i bow.      i lose my arms, everything else, my head.

inside looking; You tell me how to look through Your looking. inside nature; my soul disperses among the trees, flowering plants, seeds. You are the lake and i, in you, grow like algae. inside darkness; You are the darkness, covering me, smothering me in an unknown that i am suppose to face. You are both fear, and enlightenment. inside truth; You tell me, See past conditions. These conditions are lies, the truth is underneath. Somewhere inside all those you meet is a glow; A sphere of wholeness, both touched by lies and untouchable by them. Find it within everyone because it is pure. Of love. It is the hiding in the unhidden you must know about me; The moral of my story is inside the moral itself. ::: painting in the abstract tailors to emotions. painting in the concrete tailors to fault lines and boundaries. painting in the mixed forms tailors to the composition. painting in the form itself tailors to the painter. she, he, they bec

this love is a tablespoon of olive oil poured in a skillet. when God-heat is applied, the oil covers the entirety of the skillet's surface. when the food source of another love is placed within it, a raw meat is cooked. stoves have an eternal heat source. olive oil does not; the olive oil chose to absorb God-heat within itself, and made the further choice of loving another love; essence is the cooking. presence is the cooked meat before you. love this way and you will never go hungry again. ::: how many times have we watched rain from the ground up? take a sudden rainstorm; do not run inside. do not yell at its inconvenience. let the rain show happen and wait. it is the smell of rain that brings the greatest celebration; beneath the surface, air bubbles in rain droplets trap bacteria and other toxins in the soil. the air bubbles rise to the surface and release the bacteria and toxins as aerosols. to feel its fragrance

oh how foolish i must have looked on the bus the other day; gazing at the same scenery as if i was understanding what it means to gaze. we drive past the same stops, on the same streets, by the same stores and restaurants, past the same trees. only today, i am anew. stopped at a red light, i am stopped myself. there is a tree on a corner, one i have seen many times before. but the season of Fall is here, holding us in her chilled embrace. i see the leaves, their colors, and Aha! a sharp knowing pinches me on the forehead. Fall is trying to tell me something: Watch the leaves on my tree-children. Watch them  obey and surrender to the faith-fire of the sun. All summer they grow out into unknowing, insecurity, blankness, openness, whatever they think it is but they remain attached to a fearful but nurturing source. My grandchildren, who let the sun burn them into red, yellow, orange, and brown shades of commitment   eventually  find surrender. When they fal

candles is what we are, with our skin, the wax holding its own, but the miracle is our softness; the miracle of candles is in our ability to melt . let the fire of your worries and demons catch on the wick inside. the wick is not there for your happiness. watch what occurs. watch the burning. this burning only happens in the presence. a voice says,  Endure it! keep burning. keep hurting. hurt more. a greater joy lies in the heat of the flame that laughs in its conversation with the wick. keep burning. keep hurting. hurt again, hurt more until darkness. suddenly, a fragrance within smoke--- heat lost, conversation stopped, this whisking away in the light lost. sweet release. sweet freedom. f o    r     e g  i  v    n   es        s. ::: sit on the shelf as a piece of ceramic. stay there and collect dust. be used, be f