The Reach

27 06 2013

An island stands mountainously,
a back drop for lookers on.
A monument to creation itself.

The reach lies in wait,
silent, without disposition or expectation

-terribly still-
a mill pond calm
prevails grudgingly.
Distances vary as the lodes
of the living waters transit
change into ponds,
and then again
to rivers and streams,
deliberating their contiguous
routes to the sea of commonality.
Twins, Kindred, they be,
of the divine ways they have traveled,
the hapless spawn of intent bringing quieting,
rioting bluebells in spring, freshening, while
making inscribed, weathered highways of this world.
(though there are other worlds than this)
Long traveled, familiar, yet un-navigable

-is the reach-

it’s byways gone(un-mapped)in a nod of whispers(or a whisper of nods).
Traveling rivers of desire. Scaling the mountains of knowledge.
Afloat in a salty sea of truth. Sanctified by sanity.
Sanitized by sanctity. Gifted in absentia…

We journey from
shore to island,
from island to shore.

Love lies in the reach.

For so long as blue bells bloom
or mountain avens give birth
from the rocky, hallowed crags
of creations womb, then…

Love lies in the reach.

Belying the compromise of
our brief, flowing span,
Eternal and Indigenous, we are, when…

Love lies in the reach.





Pictured Trees

17 06 2013

*

i
saw
these
trees,
today.
Again,
and,
for the first time.
Magnetically flowing,
and charged,
was the face,
of our divinely,
unrepentant,
stoic kin,
reflected,
and represented,
in a picture of the grove.
These faces flowed gracefully
through the hair of our mother,
the forest, and stood stark,
resplendently, reverently…
Portrayed and captured
by a human device,
in the hands,
of another mere mortal.
The first picture was feminine.
Lips below, seductive and tranquil,
Guiltlessly, Peacefully, Murmuring
Oh to hear such words as they spoke!
Blossoming and flowing gently,
from within the ancient realm,
of this most ancient wombs’,
perpetual dominion,
which is the
forest.
Such
were
the
eyes,
alas,
to look upon
such eyes!
What fate would that be?
To meet the gaze of such eyes as these?
These eyes that flow through the ancient trees,
then disappear in a string of flowing boughs,
scant seconds before meeting the gaze…
The divine mystery directing a symphony,
with a truly divine back to the audience,
congregation-community.
At the very edge,
of almost seeing into these eyes,

another face blossoms from the first.
Perhaps it is a perpetual portrait of divinity,
-sacred fractals molded into pixels-
being shown to mere mortal souls,
in flowing, scrolling,
sepia toned transience,
and black and white…
Brilliance.
Shown to be,
were those faces,
one of Many.
No greater,
or less,
than any Other.
When they were
flowing together…
When they
were one.
Just the same,
were those faces
in the trees,
that I saw today.
In them i saw
an accepted,
transient,

nomadic diversity,
and inherent divinity.

*





Intangible Gifts

15 06 2013

Simple…
Seemingly finite, and yet endless,

in our mortal span,

are the things which amaze consistently:

The bloom of a flower.
The flow of a river.
The tide of a sea.
Each new day.

Intangible gifts, taken,

in a perpetual exchange of mediocrity between ourselves,

and that which sustains creation itself.
These simple, expected things, hold in their tender wombs,
divinity,
with no expectations for it’s gifts.





Words

14 06 2013

Timeless are the words we write, we glimpse them into each goodnight,
into the void, where none is heard – where spirit never felt a word.
Words battered traces, left behind, while history, unfolds… Unwinds.
Upon the path it blithely took, the pen… and someone else’s book.
Now upon a midnight dreary,     *
as I ponder, not weak, nor weary,      *
the silent visions, some minds took… before they penned them, in their Book,
with Webster or Colet at hand, to make the final product bland…
So that it could be, not merely digested, but singeing Truth, as it suggested.
Though some may find a way around, the moral ties that keep them bound,
to rocks of knowledge-slabs of stone-Empiric gods that stand alone.
So few, will ever journey on, to where the path goes ever on…

The path that leads from their front door,

to where they’ve never been before.**

 

*(borrowed){somewhat}

*(again){somewhat}

* *(Most assuredly borrowed)





Creed

13 06 2013

I here the wisdom of your words,
forever striving to be heard.
Lost among a million voices,
lost among the many choices.
Feast or famine, rich or lowly,
bang the drum now, bang it slowly.
Let the earth hear what you say,
by dark of night, and light of day.

The race we are, just one-not many,
existing in this land of plenty,
waging wars, we never wanted,
by their ghosts our race is haunted.
No true faith has brought them on,
each god taught love, and sang it’s song.
The hate and greed that made men die-
a tellurian creed, our race’s lie.

Growing in the hearts of men,
thoughts of peace now move the pen.
Darkness now lies unrequited,
a vessel new-it’s been re-fitted.
In the shadows of the glow,
made by lamplight of the flow,
lie the things we left behind,
the lessons learned, by our great mind.





what the hell

8 06 2013

Carried away,  they are, on that wisp, of human emotion.
Guilt, Want, Desire, Need,
Love. Hate, Despite, Greed.
The things a vessel bears, may weigh heavily, on it’s eternity,
or be as light as a god particle feather, on it’s eternity,
as it plods it’s way to the vast ending of it’s well known final port…
That is not for them to K(No)w.
No mortal eye sees truly into that glass of finality.
Hence, the blur of that humanity, leaves sepia toned edges.

Distorted,

is,

that brief moment of true thought portrayed in the picture of it’s truth.
Short was that moment in time.

A Cosmic light… switched on.

Then, just as quickly, it buzzes and dies,

and you K(no)w

(not this time)

you have to change it.

That kind of moment, to put it in human terms, and conceptions of time…

and eternity.

Lost are we, indeed, on the paths of men.
A last, sordid detail, in a soon forgone conclusion,
of that god particle sized blink that we are,

that spans generations.

(In our god particle sized moment of human thought.)

“A pity…
That.”
Said no one at all, for they were gone.
Gone,

lost in a sea of themselves, swimming carelessly neath the bristles,
of the timeless brush…

Self…

…and it’s endless pursuit…

of what they thought was happiness…
although it was actually just telling them,

… what they wanted to hear.
Touching it’s harshness, barely wincing, while basking in the fleshy touch of it’s

promise,

which felt good.

Living, seemingly.… slowly…

the demise of their purpose unknown,

unheeded.

Truth lies not here. , … so far.
But there is a razor thin line inscribed by the finest god particle tool,
that separates us from it.

If not…

what the hell.

Why make it seem worse then it may already be.

That, also, is not for them to K(No)w…





As the Dawn

7 06 2013

Vast upon,
the greening field,
the spirit lies in wait…
As the dawn,
it’s teeming yield,
is found
at heavens gate.

Though mortal man,
may beg it’s bounty,
few have ever heard.
So poor a plan,
fey is counted…
by those
who speak
the word.

She gives up naught,
when it is asked…
yet concedes it
as it’s
needed.
Though man is fraught,
with toil and task,
his deeds
become
conceited.

Ask it not,
and you shall find,
the grails endless wealth,
it’s what we’ve got,
in one great mind,
and tales that we tell.








Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 166 other followers

%d bloggers like this: