CPoetry

church bells still ring in winter, clear and sounding.       this is what my heart learned. ::: you are a seabed rock and the ocean water is the world around you; it is your choice to be oppressed and rounded by the water or be fortified against the current as an obstacle for the water. ::: life is not an answer you want; it is an answer to no question. simply a response to an ordinary knowing. ::: sir! sir? are you ok? ...Yes. ok, i'm sorry to disturb you. i thought you might've passed out! That is kind of you. No I am ok, I was just meditating. you were? i've never seen that pose before. I call it the Tipped-Crown Pose; my head is my crown and when I rest it on the ground, that is when it has become tipped over and powerless. In this pose, the heart sits higher than the mind. With my head grounded and silenced, I can hear my heart speak freely and truthfully. interesting. i've neve

the tired bartenders and waiters are inverting the last of the chairs and giving rest to their legs until tomorrow's piano sings soon. but, there is You. here. and the only one dancing is the smokiness of others' escapism from reality and do-dare-enter-ism into expanse. oops---they just cut the lights, while the last of the berry martini cascades down your throat. there is You. here. tenting the martini upside down so it, too, can rest until tomorrow.      everything is quiet, is it? i think there is still a song. a smooth jazz that fills the bar at every glance You graciously give. there is You. here. then there is us. leaving there. we have left, but something insists itself to stay. there is You. here.      and a song is still playing. ::: fail yourself to think God is far; the hum and the hummingbird; the wave and the ocean; the smile and the laugh; the moon and the sun; the flower and the flower's fragrance; far? wh

tears that escape are wet ball and chains. tears that release are wet breast and feathers. ::: walk, firstly, through the brush of the jungle. walk, secondly, through the forest on the leaves. walk, thirdly, through the wheat field hand brushing heads. walk, fourthly, to the edge of the sea.  drown yourself. emerge not as a single sun but finally, as an entirely luminous horizon. ::: find the one who, outside of thought, of dreaming, of seeing, bypasses the heart and asphyxiates the breathing. the one who warms the abdominal area like a cast iron pot--- evenly, heating increasingly, reaching a degree of certain uncertainty until it transforms into salivation on the tongue; hunger.

there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm. but then there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm--- and shelter us from the rain and cover our ears from the noise and ask us if we are ok after the storm passes. cherish those friends who both experience the thunderstorm and wait until the sky returns to peace. a thunderstorm stands no chance against a lighting-love that strikes before  thunder welds a single decibel. ::: when we convince ourselves we cannot overcome the pains of our past, it is as if we are bees who have punctured ourselves with our own stinging-needle. lying on our backs and crushing our wings, there is a field that is not being pollinated. flowers are starving. their nectar is growing sour. in the midst of our pain, we attempt to fly into water, into a soda can, into anything to help us heal. supposedly, there was such a bee who stung herself so badly she could not even fly from the hiv

the most despondent countenance of Autumn belongs to the green leaf; it mourns its living while it attends the annual celebration of others' death and                                 moving on . ::: black tar and sour honey bind our hearts to a gavel; the viscous hold of what we know as opposed to what we can know maintains a compartmental view of an evergreen tree; some needles are seen as less than everlasting, and some branches dam water here and let it run there. even though it is the fullness of this tree that provides shelter for birds and privacy for our perceived separateness, we bang our gavels against the trunk. and bang them. and bang them. and BANG them, trying to quake free whom does not belong shouting, "this piece of eternity cannot live among the eternal!" ::: during the moment of Creation, God slung a white thread and divided, between infinity, Heaven and Earth.

there, spoke Struggle. what came from Her lips was this: Defeated nay I ever be, inherent I am to all. Let holy be the first step, let the second make a fall. Tarnished knees and elbows, with effort there is a crawl. Not can I touch the strength, there within effects stand tall. Amid the face of my ruins, lies a rescue for you all. Tears avalanche from the ducts, by which compassion can then call. ::: we hurt for the Innocent. yet, why do we neglect to hurt for the killer whose innocence was killed long ago? find the Murderers of Innocence and all whom are Innocent  may retain their lives. ::: "Life is the leading cause of death." true, yes. but, too, death is the leading cause of life. ::: "[...] It is due to the trigger-finger of the soul whom has not accepted a death of life within his or herself. [...]" (pp. nil) From the Mind of a Shooter; he or she feels justified to cons

unto the path, i walk. yonder the sun, i stalk. toddler the age, this Fawn. whose rays i watch, play dawn. no other time, can i see. lines of measure, melody. the light can i, catch on? arresting muze, her Song. upon the place, She sang. fail the light in, this Fane. lines of measure, now gone. never to be caught, nor heard. continue i, along. ::: we are all blades of grass, whose sorrows we each carry on our sleeve in a monadic drop of dew; we wait, all of us, for Dawn to expel our sorrows--- to abolish them into the atmosphere of the ether; to let our purified essence makes us, again, stand faithfully as a field of green feathers. ::: there was two parishioners who stood among the crowd. no different than any other, no more outstanding than the next. there was music saturation and hymn naturalization and the followers' infatuation. all beautiful, all in a day's Work.

leave open a window in your heart; there is a breath that seeks your breathing; inhale what within you yearns always to be exhaled. ::: with every leaf that bows its head and descends to its knees, is a onlooker of its heady prayer and Kamikaze funeral. ::: when you have committed yourself to someone with whom you will hold, you have simultaneously committed yourself to someone with whom you may let go; never kiss your hand unto a forearm if you cannot, too, marry the cold air successor of that heat source upon the release. ::: my little world. my little sweetheart. these words, i tell next, with you may never part; "if there is help you need, raise your arm in praise and say Hallelujah. if there is a light you seek, raise your arm in praise and say Hallelujah. if there is no light for thee, raise your arm in praise and say Hallelujah. if you lack strength, let be, a gift will come and lift w

coiled by a bottle python; on the one face, i am blocking. on the other face, i am drinking; i am a Cabernet-drunken-heart concealing its fermented secrets being lifted by amorous air-hands and shoved by curious thirster-thumbs bending and griiiiiping waiting and griiiiiping until PAWP! now i am breathing sober fumes and i am dried out; i am a Cabernet-drunken-heart revealing more vulnerably as sober with a stain than drunk with a secret. the curious thirsters ignore me. they drink too. i wait for them to feel as naked as i do; i am lying next to the kitchen sink, exposed, hoping the bottle python with come back for me. ::: Your love is by me both Roman land and sacrosanct wilderness; both stamped by the boot of an astronaut and sustainably uncorrupt lunar powder; both knowing where i was with You and knowing where i could be with You ::: ask the artist,  any artist: ask them what th

a rock is thrown into the well of the lake. what is seen next is a truth; the ripples roll and roll, but the image there remains; though it feels tragedies, the lake knows it wears the face of Heaven. ::: stand tall soldier!      "[laughing] yes sir lieutenant!" don't look at me!      "yes sir! sorry sir!" rub your belly and pat your head!      "[laughs, rubs belly and pats head]" don't laugh soldier!      "sorry lieutenant!" now, pick your nose!      "i don't know if i can do that sir." "what! why not soldier!?"     "it's gross sir!" do it!      "[laughs] sir yes sir! [puts finger in nose]" noooow, look at me!      "sir yes sir!" no, look me in the face!      "[kneels down] why sir!?" a staring contest!      "yes sir! [laughs]" ...readyyy, go!  

i have yet to see a more powerful effect as to the action one person takes inside the mouth of justice; may justice seek, may justice breath, must justice starve ---from its starvation must we eat. ::: excuse me doctor, do you mind telling me where the nearest trauma center is? "why? are you in need of help? what has you hurting?" my brain. "my god! come with me at once!" no, doctor. i was hurt long ago. "i'm sorry? i---i don't understand." is there a trauma center for the mind? "oh, uh, yes! there is a psychiatric hospital down that way a bit." ok. thank you. "you're welcome! best wishes as you get well." thank you. ...sir! "yes?" you're not going beckon an ambulance? ::: You are what i wait for. You are for what i dream. for who is on the inside with me is one the same; tied by a single water source. flowing through a single cours

walls stand guard and i stand beneath their chins. they laugh at my pride and they tell me to go within. "but in here i am safe! in my Self i can stay!" Sweetheart you are wrong. It is your own walls you must betray. ::: eyes be that of lavender illuminated by a sunflower smile with hands---lilies of the valley--- cupping a heart of rose where the skin is a blanket of daisies and the soul be that of aloe vera plant laced with baby's breath... there are difficulties in knowing      if You are the bouquet,      or the garden      from where its contents came;      no matter the origins,      You present as You are      ::: he wrote a poem to Life with just days to close his casket-eyes. as today, i have found and read to you, these words to his wife: Life, my lovely, That of the living Whose beauty of breath Is inhaled as The Giving. Exhaled without even a thought, Of you and your abundance. Unlike

it seems You, Your wine fragrance, has took its last breath and the water in Your soul evaporated somewhere else. all that remains is a red-purple ring of Love's circumference; what remains no longer can be drunk. no longer can it be longed for. ::: The Ludicrous Dialogue: the Poor: "i struggle to make ends meet, but i have support. i have little that is much. this much keeps me rich." the Rich: "i do not struggle to make ends meet. they are met and will be met, and i have support if i need it. i have much that is a little. this little keeps me poor." ::: a hug---embrace. i run---inside myself. from what?                     i guess i will confide; i still run from a hug i never gave myself. but how?                     when i have arms at my side? ::: upon a Japanese snow lantern she perches; tick movements of the head and an ebony eye ceased in looking. she disar

when compelled, Compel. ---like a bat out of hell! ::: here, on this plate, is a salmon. there, in the rolling river, is not a silent "l" nor silence, just swimming upstream. ::: a mother walked, with a daughter's hand in hers and a son's hand is the other. i was just twenty or so away and approaching when the son turned around. though unprompted, he was prompted. his little eyes--- those curious eyes, looking and saying so much. it is a curious but wise look that says, My innocence is older than your ignorance. he looked at me until i said, with my eyes, "yes. how foolish of me." ::: Love is both the thief and the mailman; one prefers to walk the town during night's slumber to steel complacencies, while the other prefers to walk the town during day's cup-o'-joe to delivery nothing; when the town's people become angry the mailman h

you have woken up today. congratulations! out your window, you see a picturesque day; blue sky. birdsong. soft breeze. sunshine. you think, "oh, what a beautiful day to be alive!" but you are a part  of the day; a blue shade. a calmness. a ray of light. a note in a melody. if you were not here... if you were a page not colored in The Coloring Book... if your existence were absent from Infinity, the Ensemble would not be the same; one less ripple  expanding in the water; one less concentric ring stretching through humanity ::: though her body is pinned with outward facing tacks, she wears a lavender head; she met the guillotine because what a rose knows it cannot bear reveal;      just as the blade descended      through her redness,      she shouted "Lavera! Lavera! Lavera!"      not long after she grew,      atop her, a light purple hue. ::: morphed into a but

born as a root... cradled by the God-trunk... awakened as a branch... enlightened as a leaf. ::: Love was Newton's Fourth Law; Four every action, there is a greater and opposite reaction. ::: the other day i worshipped in a church, in a synagogue, in a mosque, in a temple, and next to a shrine; the other day i spoke with five people. i surrendered to their hymns, to their trop, to their azan, to their chants, to their stotras. each one, individually. all sum, collectively;  the five-dot face of a single dice thrown by an existential hand. ::: would you allow a diamond to fall into a tar pit, to watch it transform into a pearl? let go, so that you may fill yourself opaque when you were transparent before, and heal yourself round when you were jagged prior. then, you were tough. now, you are enough.

it is a walking thing; may you catch a glimpse. may you lap it numerously. in this uncircumstantial race the walking thing need no time, no speed, no pace. may you catch a glimpse, may you slow up purposely. in this inexplicable race the walking thing seek your time, your need, a space. may you find a breath, may you break undoubtedly--- the chase. may you walk beside it. may you surpass it impatiently. in this unconditional race the walking thing will wait for you, forever, just in case. may you ever slow down, love will crown you proudly--- with grace. ::: the inflated envelope of your mind is confined by its gores and categorized by its panels. deadweight propane tanks and an ignorant basket fuel and carry redundant thoughts. you control the burner. ascending to kiss your freedom, right? not exactly. you are the inexperienced pilot  when you have a safe landing. ~ it is not what is inside a hot air balloon that needs to be rele

make all of yourself taste; make further yourself not a tongue but a completely whole taste bud. (or so Intuition told me.) ::: yeah, i knew a man once. he was a local. down at Wendella's Diner. always sat in the same spot. ordered his coffee black but he put sugar in it. no cream. usually people who order black coffee prefer no cream and no sugar because they like the taste. bitter. so, i sat with him one Sunday morning and talked. after some casual exchanges, i asked him: "Herb, (his name is Herbert. but everyone calls him Herb.) i have to ask...curiosity killed the cat but...why do you put sugar in your black coffee? i only ask because, i haven't seen many people do that." he answered with this: "It's quite alright. For one, curiosity never kills. It captivates the cat. Secondly, I do it because it makes the coffee bittersweet. Every morning I come here, sit in this spot by the window

although inappropriate and unnecessary, the pronouns of "You" and "i" will be used when i say this: You-and-i are an orange rose; it is only when an orange rose wilts and loses its thirst You-and-i are no longer an orange rose but yellow at the pedals' base and red at their curled lips; it is only after Death that You  -and-  i are visual. until then, what exists is the essence of one color ---orange. ::: Beloved or beloved. outspoken or coveted. worshipped or whispered. One matters or Many at once. there is a Home,  or there is a home. a Place or a place. Road Hailed or road traveled. A Kindness or a kindness--- there should only be one kind; We Love and we love. All matter. All always All. ::: "Runners to your mark. Set---" POW! your fears Stay ahead of andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase a

the greater bend in the pedal of a flower, the greater enthusiasm it has to live. ::: strung from Point Nowhere to Point Nowhere, i am a spider that has woven its own memory and walked its own whereabouts across Amnesia. ::: to i cling and i climb thing and every you are any if i am a vine, ::: lightning strikes from the ground up;                          me)           You kiss (after ::: Whole is what you must be to ever be what is holy to Me; Surrender, defender, to this incontestable contract. ::: approach an angry person like the smell of rain; you may not like the wetness, but something about his or her need for self-forgiveness is pleasant; let one forgive his or herself before he or she forgives you ::: not yet-not yet-not yet-not yet-not yet -not yet-not yet-not yet-not yet -not yet-not yet-not yet; behold! the Trail to Success!

if i were an apple on top of an inclined crate whom fell, a couple, times, ouch, oh god i'm sorry, ahh!, oops, ugh... *, would you still pick me? * = burdens, bruises, insecurities,  fear, mistakes, regrets, weaknesses,  false love-beliefs, ignorance,  arrogance, nightmares and all. ::: hi Ladybug, i have come here to ask Nature some questions? Oh? yes. does It have time to talk? Always. well, you're a part of Nature right? As much as I am my spots and wings! ok, i guess i will ask you then. does Nature have a prophecy? No. It was both foretold and will be foretelling, but it is best revealed now. ::: the young tree took to the abandoned piano while  young dandelions pressed the pedals;  they played a song so serene it made the rest of the forest feel as though they were born one minute from yesterday. ::: contrasting shadows move as You move your head; they boomer

a swelling tide of emotion is the rip current of a chasm negligence. ::: Ego closed the tab, but i am still drinking... annd yoeur the bartenderrrr. ::: materialism: surely you must have a desire for such delicacies! minimalism: oh I do! Very much so! materialism: then where are your delicacies? minimalism: within me. my desires  are  delicate. ::: fingerprint printing on top of palm-boat, [pausing], walking, moving slightly more, [pausing], palm-boat flipping, capsizing, finger drawbridge rising, rising, rising, locked. ::: go ahead. throw the beach ball out into the ocean and watch while is floats right back to the shore; it may drift briefly, but it will return. account for the waves---the wind. do not exhaust yourself. the beach ball will never sail; Love cannot navigate the thought, "i'm not good enough."

most people make the mistake of looking up when it rains; "gloomy day huh?" someone says, "look down. the earth is always greener on these days; it reflects a quenched thirst and lathers itself in the Excess." ::: wooden booths soak in banter and grief and betrayal and surprise and news and intellectual learning and "oh my god, did you---" and head nods and talking hands and  caffeinated, tonal waves splashing. fans whisk the cake batter of a collective experience. the clock crucified on the wall is as arbitrary as it always has been. lamp light puts a small moon next to the pupil planet within the iris of the soul that fills the space across from me; You.                   ::: children; markers, flags, constant alarms. signals SHOUTING AT US to start chasing the butterfly in the field that is our own youth's Eternal.

rumble tumble---the foam piggybacks the wave too, with me, my soul, a shell, flipping and dipping and coasting saucer riding down the snow capped mountain flipping again and crashing on sand--- i cry. the sea, hand out, comes back, pulls me, i cry; i ride, i love. whoosh pssshhh...again. ::: oil rig, large drill, loud noise, greasy men, tired lives. "here we go again." buttons pushed, louder noise, large clamp setting, drill its drilling, black gold searching. "please, no more." shaking steel, weak muscles, rubber boots, expecting money. "God i hope..." bubbling, overflowing, spewing all around feet, spitting out under pressure, clear, clean, mineralized water. "men, we are rich!" ::: my eyes, i call them "You-You's"; they do not look, they You. they do not watch, they You. they do not see, they You. they do not obse