music 4/30/19

music is always beyond belief.

words are all the tie-downs needed.

sound is the nervous system into embrace.

singing is the blood-letting necessary for all.

to hum will slow-bleed 

but gets it done also.

drawing the evocative out of the throat 

is necessary.

why have words that separate and divide

when the sound of music is soul-godlike 

without bringing along 

the red wagon of the mind

and its menagerie of characters in self play?

celestial into birth-miracle,

angelic into embodiment, 

immortal into timeframe doses,

sipping the otherworldly from within.

music is the melody of soul. 

sound is the birth-mother

of us all . . .

worst case mindsets 4/29/19

every person-to-person crime 

has its affront of indignities 

and its dark but meaningful sacredness

its band of assorted individuals

each surfacing for air and light 

falsely in sight, complicated, yet denied

the weep from the buildup of the unsaid

also nipped, unclearly short of its resolve

the flicker of these flames of action

never to know directly of their true source

burned off in back and forth disgust 

as in the silences of its gasping

victims and their plodding escorts

inscrutable messages laying abandoned

cross currents gone their separate ways

crumpled lives now left to be unfolded

the bother of details 

the flourish of the unfinished, blending away

stories of timber-falling perspectives

thunderous betrayals 

amongst human interactions

each, a prayer to an unknowable god

some pro, some con

some in defense, some in inquiry’s plead

tales from used aprons of disjointed collaboration

some tied for then

others loosely worn in disregard

we are all the salvia of mindsets of recovery

some will spit

while others will swallow . . .

to, too 4/28/19

to live with

disingenuous as an initial probing method

to joyously watch 

cynicism fending off sincerity’s attack

to be fully aware

when ever-bothering wanders off 

outliving any true concern

to be fully present

just when the exact moment that naming everything 

is subtlety defeated by connectivity

to live within the cloudburst

when consummate becomes one thunderous 

uproarious laugh

to be fully aware within the overwhelming deluge

when the realization of vast inundates the mind

to live within the embarrassment 

when art itself formally objects to human surveillance

to live for the first day

dignity has no form of presentation or carriage

to realize when 

happiness on a timeline, is a burning fuse 

only attempting to outrun depression or despair 

to be present

when every victimless crime is discovered 

to still have a moral to its story

and for one to personally know

that if you make my day

I will definitely need a rebuild 

out of necessity

to fully realize how happy can one be

and still have complete surveillance of that process

and for one to confidently feel 

that when tending the fire 

is a form of warming up to its blaze.

and to contemplatively question,

how hard can ‘it’ be, 

any ‘it’ be,

if ‘it’ actually has no form or mass?

looming as defiance 4/27/19

the in-breading that familiarity offers

as if recognition is out of in-breath air. 

the airborne of ecstatics, 

now falling back 

in earthbound boredom binds.

the spectacular 

loosing its mind-frame of reference.

myopia, as a flash flood, 

in slow motion pending.

the awareness fallback

into a seizure of sighs.

each dream balloon 

exhausted of wishful air.

how does the waterfall of living

come to be mist 

before it comes to ground?

why make white (haiku) 4/26/19

I asked blanched, the verb

what is the meaning of this?

this all about race?

blessed is 4/25/19

blessed is the day

I am into meaning 

but out of words.

when I don’t have to live with

the apprehension about future regret.

when the hypothetical is practical uncertainty.

when I have wishful thinking 

after the candle burnout is granting my request

while the smoke is transcendently ascending.

when all of probability is pronounced 

in a rosary-said-aloud style.

when it is perfectly clear to me

the way ‘how’ always outflanks ‘why’.

when the dangling rope of hope

is now only one glistening thread thick.

when my wallet bleeds money 

and I’d somehow falsely think 

that the world will become eventually victimless.

when if I had everything 

my God would be the curator I’d hire.

and when will I discover 

that prophet from profit 

is profoundly an incomplete life.

and if I am blessedly all ears for this, 

then when is discovered to be a timeless reference

and all circumstances can become consecrated apparent anointed by the wisdom 

somehow concealed within our now . . .

. . .

just between you and me 4/24/19

the blush on your cheeks

is this visual asymmetry 

as a flock of ten thousand birds

in the rhapsody of sky-flight

as they turn in unison

giving my eyes the onslaught 

of exquisite shades and blooming textures

on the facial sky itself 

transposed upon yours.

a kind of double imaging 

that is richly rewarding

as deeply heartfelt within.

how to say but not say,

to see as if seeing,

and there is this 

between us, happening,

as if we are actually

these modalities of being.

so therefore,

as ever so subtle as this is

and just between you and me,

blessed are these sights 

that represent the emotional chemistry,

just between, 

you and me . . .

soul of relevancy 4/23/19

humans would like to believe

as if we all stand on the soil of relevancy 

yet we are wearing the ego containment of shoes

short-circuiting our connection with mother-earth

but still claiming a hard-wired sense of connection.

no one speaks mother earth’s tongue

but human vitality will give testament by presence.

we are mostly all theatre 

as if screen play action is the bottom line truth.

whatever we claim as native 

is really only culture bound.

anyone native is mostly considered to be 

culturally out of touch.

a barefoot world is mutually beneficial, 

for we come to respect the earth more directly

and the earth provides energetic corrections 

for our bodily vitality.

some much the need to inform ourselves

with our soul of relevancy . . .

sacred waters…. 4/22/19

all humans are sacred waters,

from mystical mountain top pools 

to muddy rain-filled pot-holes 

in worn down shanty town roads.

the liquidity of spirit prevails

even if the apparency of circumstances 

frames otherwise.

by evaporative means

in every circumstance

eventually spirit transcends the predicaments.

tears held sacred

helps us through it all.

no matter the storyline

or the needs to prevail.

one’s life cannot conjugate truth

out of backstory tales.

sacred-waters transcends all mediums of presentation.

life-death-life are a false front 

to the nature of true spiritual existence.

we are all as real as oceans, 

rainstorms, cloud banks,

flash floods, tides, and ice.

we claim races and cultures.

but essentially,

all humans are scared waters,

no matter the form 

of imaging, portrayal, 

or storable depiction . . .

word-i-nest 4/21/19

I herd the sheep of words

for the shear of writing

to get the meaning of wool 

to make the wardrobe of understanding

that we all wear

as the versionary truth 

of our insistence of existence

genes wear me 4/20/19

I have hardly ever worn jeans 

but all of the time genes wear me

I am the outcome as well as the outcry

wellness and sickness will chorus along

all singing the vitalities’ praises 

and the ailments’ in pleas

I am a bigger life-force then predicaments

yet haunted by the measures of circumstance

wellbeing reflected by robustness

and yet illness measuring in claims

bold predicaments will come

and soft spoken wellness will respond

their dialogue goes on incessantly

I am but the chalkboard of measure

if my spirit were chalk

there would be no need for eraser

chalk on a white board is my dream

for I am made of an ink-bleeding page

and not fingers on the keyboard of existence . . .

connectivity 4/19/19

talk only addresses the symptoms

touch is an opening 

to the cure of connectivity

all diseases are a form of aloneness

from other humans 

and from the planet itself

connectivity lives on

even if we are profiled 

by the commentary separateness 

of our accumulative galore

gumption 4/18/19

moving forward in life is under-dimensionalized. 

it is a time-warp of mind-bending perspective.

living in the breadlines of expectation 

does not provide nourishment to the soul.

my reality only gets me to second base, 

assuming that I am actually in the game

and not paying a life of existence

to be in the audience perspective forever

as a spectator harvesting the experience of sidedness 

substituted for actions believed to be 

me on the field of play.

if pain-wreck, as if a summary, 

represents the ongoingness of existence, 

then the how of how-it-feels
is ineffectively generated ongoing

and I am the cause of that.

what I need is gumption of far-sighted soul.

no more mindful of p’s and q’s.

more of the passion of drawnness,

waking up to what inwardly compels,

the turn-ons of blessedly-completes,

the intuitive without the mind filled with blather,

living the magic of the unexplained

without an asterisk towards rational entirety.

gumption has leap while growing wings.

it has the inner turn-on of spunk,

the native industry of being 

beyond the apparency of circumstance.

gumption is a god-given from within

here, may it land . . .

oneness of us 4/17/19

the sheen of your face 

reflects unto me.

I take entry cues 

into your presence from it.

nanoseconds pass as butterflies 

in an upsurge of soothing delight.

images are but the passivity of particulars 

cuing up in me to be positively seen.

fast is so evidentially slow

in the flow of now 

as the power behind every glance is realized.

the infinitesimal motion within motion is magnetic

yet action is the parade of pronouncement.

the silence inside sound is secretly sensory applause

as I stare out at these means of the undertaken.

intoxicants are these in-breathe particulates

that you have left for me from yours.

smaller than granular miracles

but oh so astutely sanctified effective.

your world of presence has a levity

as your light emblazon and embolden upon me.

the river of keepsakes about you is flooding.

I am drowning in my baptism of being.

you are the headwaters of my forthcoming tears.

it is a birth as if from the process of bloom.

I lay down in your eyes

as you hold me by a timeless immortal gaze.

all of my whys are now incomplete sentences.

I am not the hollowness of any questioning.

upsurge is becoming outpour.

I cellularly dance into you

without any means of action as my guide.

a time may come

when knowing of all of this 

will, in memory, matter.

but, for now, I am windswept with wonder.

your grace sources everything into a oneness.

manifest is the blessedness of being.

your are the stream-source that bathes me.

your existence within

before the thought of you occurs,

for the oneness of us

never treasures or travels alone . . .

tagged by timelessness 4/16/19

where once upon a time,

you laid your head upon my shoulder.

a shrine of emotional laden memory 

exists forever from there. 

not a bruise but an altar.

a shrine entry into a clarity of you.

a pure extract of your spirit 

ever presenting.

with my hand to touch that spot

and images pour forth within me.

a holographic bathing takes places.

time-transport is an automatic immersion

where I swim within

and yet the water is also swimming me.

here we have no boundaries.

ovums of delight upon me,

ever expansive from a single touch.

a tear become the sea

upon which all of my life now sails.

anointed has become bestows.

I am in the blood-flow.

the commingle is loosing its separate-but-equals.

no more page-turning, 

all about see-throughs.

a ship of connectedness has been the christening.

buoyant beyond the beyond.

every wave, there is a ripple here

and vice-versa.

I sip that glass itself 

and drink the liquid of its disguise . . .

emptiness 4/15/19

emptiness is an openness for embrace

with the all of the all

as a being without boundaries

connectivity without audience intervention

yet no meeting of souls as separates

it is confluence into one universe of soul

as the universe beyond the know of itself

where before mind, 

then mind to gather

before breath had the dignity of life as appearance

beyond where time would contemplate existence

the emptiness of the whole 

is without a consciousness unto itself

embrace beyond the molecular

beyond the mass of representation

emptiness as the birth of whole 

into oneness . . .

the caring there of 4/14/19

the impetus for service 

can be a wardrobe of self a-ware

in untenable yet empathetic ways

yet inaccessibly disguised as helping in circumstantials

common sense will both protect and abide

caring is an aperture for a frequency upgrade 

into collective connectivity 

by an emotive means of manifest 

or otherwise services-ushering it into presentation

caring is like a muscle

the more you use it 

the stronger it gets

finding it in life, 

and it exercises itself into modalities

as your rendering is caring 

and will tend to take attention 

as this awareness 

becomes a talent for ongoing usage

this makes a cathedral out of self

in dedication to the needs of others

caring is this religion of compassion

the language of circumstances provide a context

for the emotional conversations to silently occur

I see what you need

but I also I mean to compliment your spirit . . .

hate in its ascendency 4/13/19

hate only has moments of acne, skin-surfacing

facials with lip service presenting the tide of it all

seething has time by its tic-toc sweaty family jewels

yet seething has origins beyond topical account

for they are the optics of the unseen

hearsay that never shaves

yet seething is always asking 

for visceral to come into visuals

give me the breath beyond the last one 

I will ever take

I want the inhale from then linked to now

and not to know of it 

in an oxygen beneficial way

just the feeling of ascent 

wrapped in termination’s robe

leaving the guttural 

for guzzling the gravy of the now-unknown

no more the sizzle 

or the bristle about

or the feel of topical heartburn within

I want the beneficence of rage

but now free from being topic bound

I want the sacred of rarified passionate madness

the blue flame of oneness

without the flicker of brightness into blaze

I want the wildfire of ambient love

the termination of the particulars 

of grasp, clutch or seize

no more the journey as metaphor 

genius without comparative truth in hand

the deity of allness discovered 

as the loss of self

I know, hate was my initial calling card

and seething my delivery style

but honesty, I unconsciously meant well for then

and surely now,

without a target on my back

or a conclusion in my mind . . .

lip-service as a dis-ease 4/12/19

the spread of the lip-service as a dis-ease 

affecting the comfort zone of other humans.

it is disguised as complimentarianism 

or sometimes as false approving appraisal 

or the turn of an imperative or directive cliche 

it harbors a false sense of agreement 

or assigned shared perspective

it is the presence in the moment 

that has no depth 

and no sincerity of carriage.

it is a defense for appearance 

but carries a pseudo sense of warmth

it is an appease of expectation 

by presenting common sense of worth

it can appear as neighborly

or delivered from a service point of view

it can be a verbal requirement for workers

to present to customers as if friendly

the words may go unchallenged

but the tone is a dead giveaway 

it is a dispassionate way of presenting a sense of ease

the words spoken are at least passible

but the intent and the delivery by tone

belie the humdrum and monotony of the phrasing

when enough is said as such

dis-ease has the stir of prominence

the connectivity is a false front

the heart is closeted

the everyday features evidence of dreary

tedious is the eventual surmise

a deep sigh comes from out of the blue

lip-service becomes the commonplace

and dis-ease is then

a sense of feeling alone 

even in a crowd . . .

life is the thief 4/11/19

life is the thief for the way we live it

the real world visually is all photos 

mind makes recognition captures 

while the naming of it creates the frames

all stills become working memory

the movies that do flash by

as silent films flowing before the here and now

we are still cameras of thought

yet we want to be an animation in the living

the dichotomy is so strange and yet familiar 

we are each a different person 

when the whole body is in motion

the transition is almost seamless

but the witness evidence of comparison

shows us to be two distinct levels of personage

motion is an all body arena in the brain

still-think is way more myopic motionless perspective

sitting while in motion maybe an attempt

at the combination of both

as in a car, bus, train maybe even a plane

would be the challenge 

to doing both at the same time

life, by our think, steals us away 

so much reward from motion taken

yet so much of the measure is a stash house of memory

go head, remember the feel of then

and sense how little internal press it gets

when living is accounted for by memories

motion as told by memory hardly makes an impact

yet the action of being in the moment

is so richly free in the living

yet life is the thief

for the way we come to live it . . .

stillness is the dancer 4/10/19

stillness is the absolute of business

hard to fathom 

from our limited range of experience

given the eternal dynamics involved

motion is the constancy of genius

which we would refer to as this unmoving stillness

the elements of this sound as dance 

are far beyond our range of account

we forever rely on steadfast still pictures

to address this sound-dance-world, 

as we would come to know of it,

with reasoned reports

from our methodical worker force 

of observe, identify, and account

there can be fury, invisible frenzy,

intense atomic ferocity,

the acute passionate madness of moleculars 

but we sense only depictionals, at best

stillness is our sensory, 

at complete and sublime rest

bound by the lack of import

thinking that eternal is at peace

yet action in our world

is only experiential flashcards 

in our sensory faces

but the real dance continues on in tonals

without the intervention of human-modal lyrics

since we never wrote the original song

and clearly can only hum our own made up verses

ah, stillness is begging for our participation

in a somewhat conscious way

not that we don’t dance

as it dances through us

but hardly do we have that sense of integral rhythm 

or the emotional kinesthesia to immerse 

and be in the dance of the complete and the whole

stillness is always the invite

but our mindfulness is rarely ever 

the soul of a dancer . . .

the experience of thin air 4/9/19

thin air is only a reference to me

as the experiencer

a conclusion based upon the natural awareness

of the personal world in my surround

I reach this place by tapping all my senses

until I get no new information 

about the what, the where, and the why

of my circumstance

I terminate my pursuit

by claiming the resolute of “thin air”

it is as if I look into a mirror

and all I see is all I see

but that see is referential 

to the who of me who is looking

it says very little about the mirror

but massively says lots 

about my ability to observe

it is a land between lands

who I am versus what I see

and the difference between the two 

is much the same as ‘thin air’

it is my self sacred way 

of claiming limits to my observational skills

without actually gaining any deeper penetrative insight

thin air is innocuously claimed

I don’t admit to anything by this means

in that my mind has worked towards conclusions

I have a bundle of them

and I am at my wit’s end 

so to speak 

all of this begs the question 

not what else do you see

but more so, who else do you have 

who can look for me as me

despite my claim about thin air?

for there is no thin air

there is only the ability of penetrative insight

which leads to a version of

thinking outside the normative box

to gain a deeper sense of self

by a wider scope and a deeper vision

and a sensory range that is not bound by

story, convention, belief, realistic account,

moral version, or historical identity.

‘thin air’ is a sign for the end of the road

there is no end

if conclusions don’t make it so

the end of the road

is only a sense for self imprisonment  

an acceptance of think no further

get no timely results that make any rational sense

it is as if the excursion was for furthering the story

and not living deeper into the truth

insanity breathes from the same air

identity is consequential 

though hardly living on the cutting edge of self

we succumb to being curators of the evidential

thin air gives us a sense for safe carriage in that way

thin air is a resolve and a resolute pretend

a claim about the prison walls that nobody can see

and no further passage is possible

things like; that is too far distant, 

it’s from another time, 

not exist in my world, 

that is not in God’s creation,

or how do you know that to be true?

thin air is actually more akin to shallow breathing

as that imposes physical limits to the self as a being

thin air is the dare that is ever hardly taking

so if so inclined

take deeps breaths 

and venture deeply into thin air

and don’t expect to come back the same

or to come back with experiential answers 

that demystify 

thin air is ever breathing into destiny’s calling . . .

thin air (haiku) 4/8/19

breathe deeply thin air

journey beyond the beyond

believe what you must

the table-cloth 4/7/19

reality is the scattering of misinformation

for the co-benefit of others.

it is the garage-sale of pasts 

to become the present for others,

the maps of surmise for futurizing 

gained from the trivials of others.

it is the weave of interactives 

as a reality text to first-person encountering.

no fact lives in its fullness forever.

every lie dies a thousand deaths

before it is forever laid to rest.

we are the creatures who use symbols

to express what essentially can’t be said.

our lives are a prop-fest

and the conveyer-belt of awareness 

to make this so.

cross-referencing is shared consciousness.

no detail goes unattended.

we are all flower-arrangers 

but what has become of our private gardens?

that cemeteries become the final resting place

for cut flowers to reside and to console?

reality is the table-cloth spread.

there is the upside 

that features in the ever-changing.

and there is the underside 

made solid of the undisclosed.

we are all the washing machine of self-love.

to set a clean linen every day 

is a human premise.

oh to live for that night-time

when the table itself is exposed,

while the cloth is being gleaned as if cleaned.

talk to me table.

tell me, 

from where do I stand.

I would if I could

but I am wood 

that I am . . .