I fret torpidly in my lair;
Your scent is around, but I've seen nobody.
'Tis sordid about me, with rolls of dutiful smoke—
and unleashed winds growling about unseen.
Beside me here stands a perfect mirror, a perfect glass,
But nothing seems imperative, nor talkative, nor patient;
Everything is just silent—what a robust fear—foolish impediment.
Ah, if only can I fast **** this petulant temperament—
do you think I shall feel better, or magnified?
I feel that myself is like a wind:
Thin, fragile, and constantly diving and swelling upwards.
Even my narrative is about to betray me;
Vehemently indeed—should this happen,
I might be able no more to write any poetry—
As my chest above there hysterically bellowed, I shall be pushed upwards—
Upwards, upwards, I am curling upwards—like we all naturally are,
Over the earth, along the oceans, and their sample images of Paradise;
Every single day, at noon, and against this midnight sky.
 
My darling has left, and thus I have but Him in my shabby hands;
With skin marred and scratched and dried by the rude winter;
Ah, say, but who says that winter is clever and polite?
Like my love perhaps is, she is but a relic—or even statue, of blunt disgrace—
She is neither merry nor cordial; she never is aromatic, and flaws us with its brutal haze.
 
I am alone, alone, alone, and totally alone—
O my love, my love, my love, where can I peruse
your felicity just once more?
I have but loved thee all along;
I love thee as magnificently and preciously
as I loved thee one year back and yesterday.
You are my purplish, reddish, greenish, but incompatible moon,
You are comparable still, to the joyous soul of this stained poem;
by whom my love has thrived, by whom I can always replenish.
I shall rise you again within my dreams;
I shall face myself within your sour vapour—but never let you fade.
I shall let you halt my paint, and brush dirt upon it;
I shall let you scatter your grossness over me, and acquire even your sins;
But as long as you are there, over me, I am not scared but keen;
I shall not be mesmerised, nor even heart be broken and pained.
May my heart break, so long as it has its consolation floating by.
 
Ah, and who, beside this breakable moon—can claim my erupt forth;
To comfort my sleep and give solace to my shrieking doors;
And throw unheeded calm into my quiet walkways;
While looking me in the eyes as we step sideways.
Who can ambush my chest along this hairy path;
With a charm far stronger than yon behind the grass;
Who can heal me, and who can heal me not,
Ah, have I but still the courage to make this right?
I shall look for you again amongst the city roars and rumblings;
I shall look for you again in the mornings—and amongst the bleakness of evenings.
 
Look, my love, how the rainbows have a turquoise face today;
So beautifully crafted and charted like the skies of yesterday;
I should fall asleep now, but still—I don't want to be lulled alone without you;
Even though you are faraway, I can still feel your breath and air.
Your absence, as I hope then, shall fast perish;
For I want to grow old not by the countenance of miseries.
I want to be injected into your space now—as maelstroms of sleeps greet me again,
And as the clouds of heaven start to feed on me;
I shall feel light again, and thereby not turn grey;
I shall feel that you have welcomed me back;
I shall feel your breath tingling by the sides of cheeks;
I shall feel my hairs anew—as they raise against the corners of my neck.
 
And there we shall play together against the sky;
Against its pedal who anew blooms in wan suspicion;
Ah, my love, I shall entangle you then—in my varied, and multiplied visions;
I shall tell you the funniest of one thousand lies.
I shall give you only the finest of kisses, and jokes;
I shall startle you by my poem and my beautiful black locks.
Ah, thee, to you whom I have written this poem, and shall always do;
To you whom I have loved, and have to this day admired;
To you for whom a forest of grace and salutations has been dreamed;
To you for whom my heartbeat grows, and fastens and slows,
To you for whom I woke up today, and open my eyes tomorrow;
 
To you whom I have loved in the name of Him;
To you for whom I lit the glitters of the sky;
To you for whom my heart was startled and passed justly by;
To you for whom my palms sweated and eyes started to cry;
 
To you for whom griefs disperse into brighter saturations;
To you for whom life continues, and gives birth to more immediate sparkles;
To you for whom I have celebrated my soul; and made one true promise;
To you by whom I have halved my heart, and without whom shall never 'come the same anew;
 
To you for whom all favours are spelled, and words dedicated;
To you for whose grins I shall wait again forever;
To you whose eyes are darker than the midnight river;
To you by whom my belief shall stay strong, and consciously devoted;
 
Ah, you, my love, so this remorse shall fall over me and back again,
With creases I curse, and remarks that my ruined chest censures;
Abhorred by the moon, and its very own celestial abode—
Which shakes and stretches along the crimson universe,
I have thrown my life into your horizontal, and longitudinal spectrums—
In both superficial and artificial ways, you have haunted me.
Ah, but still—cannot I erase your name from the fruit of every essentiality;
You are the sweet tyranny of my soul, and the leaves of my very gay sensibility;
You are the throne of my love; you are the specified satire—
though but funny and not—you are my destiny.
 
Like a vinyl birch tree that howls when stabbed, I have become your prey;
I shall wait for you at dawn and give my whole self to you at dusk.
I shall wait for you to claim my destined—and prescribed heart;
I shall wait for you to finish your abominable task,
As long as you can emerge for me—and listen to my poems and follow what I say.
 
And like a scar that stays for long in one's fair skin;
You are stubborn though things not go well;
Ah, let's now confess that your heart needs me;
But still—you are too proud, and far too docile, to admit your sin.
The question now is: how should we ever eradicate love?
Love is a prison, I know, and it is the most unforgiving jail;
It is merciless and painted by colours of abomination;
And nothing in it is plentiful—like Him in the shivering sky;
It is where tears crowd and gather—as I have perused;
It is where insolence and crudeness unite—even when not provoked.
 
Ah, my love, but have I fallen into this snare of love—whether or not I want it;
And your gaze is still the sole sweetness I hope to meet;
Never is my love sweeter—or petite, than a grain of wheat;
You are the foreverness for whom I shall sweat;
 
And in the loss of you lies my venomous assassination;
And I am wary now—and afraid of facing this everlasting trepidation;
Your shadows shall never go away, and for this I can be wronged;
For when I am dying—shall my mouth be falling asleep and recite your song.
 
My art has torn; it has been filthily murdered.
Its fervour was lost in, as you saw, just one wave of scenic mortality—
But still, the true essence might still be there, as it was once fertilised—
As by you, my Imagist, my Wilde, I was terrifically astonished by you.
You are my painting, my picture, and even the shared portrait of my self.
You share my veins, as how I supposedly hold some share of your blood.
Ah, and I remember now, how your warm blood did once touch my wrists—
So engagingly, so thrillingly, so brilliantly.
My heart, my head, my mind—all were brutally consumed by thee.
 
I want to die by thee, but you pierced my heart—
and in brief, made my spine grow dead tears;
Everything grew worse and I was manifested into your bitter triangle;
I was your lonesome moon who got forgotten soon;
Ah, it seems that yon French lady is better than I am—
With her curly hair and tittering oceanic eyes,
She was the filter of your noons, the storms
And devilish desires of your nights.
She was as gusty and spooky as the windblown thorn;
poisonous were her words, but still, you carried yourself to her.
I fretted and screamed and my blood gurgled—
but I guess I was fortunate still;
for I had the chance to keep myself pure and chaste
while you unstoppably sinned and defiled yourself.
So you were disgraced.
 
And you were enduringly consumed by your own fires;
The fires to which you confined yourself;
Not the calming, sooting, leafy bonfires we use in winter;
but ones you will also greet in the earth after.
Ah, thee, I felt but disgust towards your molested heart and deeds;
You grew for yourself, instead good ones—sick, avoidable seeds.
At that time, I swore to never ever share any more of my blood with you;
I would looked for one more honest, playful; one decorated with more virtues.
 
But still—as I said before,
I have again decided to sit and pray for you.
While my love for the other is not true;
It has faded and you are irreplaceable still;
You are congested, invalid, and not new;
But should you come back again to me;
I shall receive you with open hands
And one seal of heartfelt goodwill.
Ah, my love, look at the smiling heavens above—
As night deepens and snowfalls come low,
I shall think and think again about our postponed love—
Which, perhaps—though happens not amongst the jumble of this juvenile night,
Shall come again when dusk is cleared, and the first bud of spring leaps into sight.

Enclosed walls
Sulking, faced down in silk made sheets
Losing touch of real sense
Portraying a memory, a thought, a
Once remembered life-style.
Longing, desiring to
Inhale, the fragrance of your scent
And falling into an undisturbed sleep beside you.

mother sun warm and soothe us
mammoth children
your celestial brood
timelessly race around your skirts
we hope for a promise
imaginary worlds are real
our existence matters universally  
without our recognition
we are just creatures without eyes
castaways
living on fire’s raining rays
where dirt grows into grass
and not much matters
not our future
not our past

Precocious, finding a love
In the bared morn, a hat to liberty
Seldom in league, fame is a corner of us
True, the notion to fend for essentiality

Count me in, a friend will notice
The taste in harmony and new pasts
To a climate of sense, serious enough
To limit one more stare to avarice...

To the common ground
Of a silent watch, for better call, to contrary
Sake, we deem the curious without a sound
Meant like a ghost of reality, the truth to carry...

A hint of a clue to worry for a besmirched eye
Known naked like a shrewd patience was...
See the coiling heat of me, when the silence has died
Will a lovers flower land on the needs, succinct does?

**** terror in the frown of ingenue
Spoken worlds of decision, to look for a paradises crowd
Hope and chastity, will the run fast or few?
Letting tongues remember their gifts, we see a legend proud...

Tales of the adding
Tales of supremacy come to a tout
Of what was, a hap in the skew of misery profound enough, linger
With me, when the careful ability of an energy, is in route

Past, present, future
Compared in a heavenly guise, of choice and meagerer sorts
Let like a flicker of light, in the behalf of a wish, so curious
Made by solemnity, to live the life of privilege, of the times we were

The Mother in space demands
that we all learn to read Hegel
in the original German.
She pours me a glass of lemon
grape koolaid and rubs
my eyes out of my head
but the sugar in the juice
is so thick in my body and veins
that they clump and scratch
my capillaries.
I feel the pressure in my fingertips
and the inside of my nose,
the part I push on to relieve stress.
A lonely doe in small grass,
perched roughly near the space commander,
is proximal
approximately wrapped in gauze
from bone to toe in shawls
of dead wasps, strips in equal length running up
deer thighs. Proximal to my soul, my essentiality.
This is a technique called “Relocating
The Issue”

History of people

The stone walls and vaulted ceiling held memories the light seemingly superficial human identities have
Passed in and out like the outward wind that briefly buffets the outer structure then moves on if only

We could use a tool like the archeologist not to deface or change but take scrapings their work tells the
Grand story of people and place I would like the more personnel their struggles and their outcome we

Can and do learn from history and in time be able to take DNA when the science is stronger to take  
From these living libraries through test tubes and meaningful searches that will connect people even

Closer than ancestry search sites this shows your long ago relative was a silver smith and how impressive
If the very searcher himself works in a similar field someday I’m sure they will have applications that

Will be virtual it will be made in the same village you can set in your easy chair and have the unfolding
Of how it felt the highs the lows the commutable variable of life’s most cherished meaning what is to

Exist to be such time and effort is expended in the thoughts of this will serve our posterity what a
Precious stream flows from solid rock just like life giving springs in ancient and modern day where life

Would have to be deferred but out of a pristine valley not only nature but human enterprise is giving the
Opportunity to devise many wonders traceable back through time we lose essentiality when we don’t

Build bridges to our rich past cares can over run us or as they say they can provide stepping stones it is
So easy to defeat someone who has lost the chain links that tells who he is and where he comes from

This erodes his knowing and sense of belonging take careful measures to shore up the present with the
Glories others fixed in the earth as guide posts that will not fail no matter what the storm is now go in

These sacred blessings that hold back fire and flood in them you will feel your stature enlarge nothing
Will be to big you already have been given the mastery of them it’s told in the stone

Just in the Offing

So much we miss just beyond mortal wit we truly walk paths of life but the sailing skies how inviting we
Miss because it involves more than just the central part of our cares and existence it takes dreaming
Believing and forsaking the very thing that has us captured we are possessed but not possessing that
Something that holds us fast it becomes trying showing it’s not for us but we persist there is a man
That owned a seafront home day after he sat for hours and did nothing but gaze out to sea don’t get
Me wrong he could go anywhere in this world and did but the one trip he needed the trip of discovery
He never took he never looked into the unseen into the real the face the movement the essentiality of
Twilight the irreversible gleaming the power that is unsettling but it settles all things                                                                                            
The mundane the rudimentary flows out and away when we call to this life giving force it takes men and
Women who are adequate then it empties out the waste the unnecessary like spring without the
Blooming it would be spring but not the spring we know and love why settle for thistles alone demand
The glory of the flower a super structure resides all around but you remain impoverished you were
Made as a gift but you bowed down and inwardly you have reduced the rays that are lying dormant    
You’re still born your vibrancy your life giving force has been dulled that it creates only a lack of interest
All is needed is ignite the soul that holy part that infused glory the tidings that all ache to see and hear in
A land of waste the derelict who forgot to be bright the guest that never wears out his or her welcome
They are real they have the goods of two worlds they tirelessly stretch themselves to be of value for
Others truly we pass this way but once we can be a fiery wheel or an empty cloud that promises but
Gives lifeless effort when magnetic qualities are called for be a dream extender with just the smallest
Impetus you can fan the flame of another to greatness you are the only one given this assignment if you
neglect this blessed right you will bring two lives down like a kite less sky clear or gray what a story has
Been missed when it was too have been pronounced grandeur now mediocrity that lifts and inspires
none this is the cost of life lived unto ourselves

Think nothing of water which percolates,
Liquid evaporates.
Such are the forms trapped within themselves,
Meaningless rotes.

By formlessness corporeal,
But with materiality intangible.

Forlorn immolation;
Condensates re-saturate, only different.
Incongruent crystallization;
And they say there is change!

By factors invariant,
But with sums nonconstant.

A laugh is a laugh, verbalized or written -
It's still the same fundamentally.
Tears are tears, dribbled or scribbled -
It's still the same in essentiality.

By elements unproposed,
But with totalities nonexistent.

A gad fly,  a drunken blue fly, and I were
discussing
the curse of being a fly, if men were the measure of all things.

We rise as riders on winds,
and raise
dust when we land, ignorant of sophistry,
but knowledgeable, i.e., read-up
in classic biblical
knowing. {you know, as Adam knew his wife}

Yeah that idea,
essentiality and haecceity, causa sui,
per se, in other words, we could
insert and
still mean
mere words {digitized wisdom begins as words}
reading words makes them animated, not live, not living
being
words, reason essence, point of truth being

the answer to why there is a memory of nothing,
and not nothing now?

Idle words accounted once, are ever liable to personal
interpretations, thus we have classes in
ifity.

We learn via living, that every thing, even the matter the
newborn whatever is made of,
all
was here before me.

I am why history occurred, so far as I may say.
I am the point being only this

hominidiotic thought, they call an ideology and I am sure
I think it means some impossible to realize,
Leave It To ******  sequel, where Eddie Haskell is the cop,
who squeezers the life out of a man, on video
we witnessed
enmasse, right we saw and were we to not believe
deep down what we saw could have been stopped,
if that camera had been in my hand?

Yeah, like me shove that big old cop, he shoot me,

Yeah, make ya famous. Name abridge too, feryerass

Maybe, but I heard and seems I seen its so,
many's the wish gone wanting,
for lack of a man who will try.

Say winning is done with warfare, no fair, child say,
bully child, was reared in a bullied home,
seed of some Minetaurical idea for rearing kings,
feed them bull hormones
and lies frome the wisest of men, men of letters,
many undicipherable but to the
survivors of the mazing,

The Amazing Grace and Pledges of Allegiance and all that,
nothing spiritual, only inspirational national pride,
very carnal minded stuff,
on the surface.

Hmm, gadfly, or blue, give us some perspective.

We seem to be marching,
as to war,
keep in cadence to a bull horn -- gnoshit this is gnostic alchemy
jungina ju ju wu wu wei

we must be making this up.
You the enabler.
I be the artist, who gone be the accuser?

-- games, y' think first, thank later,  as each lesson teaches
this works, that don't
points add up, bit by bit, we begin, be-re-sit, ctrl/alt/del

blue screen of death.
ahhh men.
imagine we was once as **** as we imagined,
and we have the grandchildren to prove it.
imagine
we could leave these bodies behind,
and not lose our minds,
or any of the roles we have played.

This is like that. Today. It’s a trip, not a journey.
I'd take it from the top and feel safe landing here.

a fast has come

where the essentiality

of food, which comes

to mind with all its

delight, is waved off.

for the spine to align

against its brood of corner

walls...and watch night eat

well into day.

nauseous with sight come to

the fore.

Thanks, Beth...I can't walk away from this one!

It's poetry without words, charm beyond compare, richness in silence, nature in matchless splendour, wonder that warms the very heart, love in sharing and being together, the crowning moment that stops time, eternity captured---all that is, is beauty and Arcadia
and life, in its essentiality, blooms like an endless succession of the most beloved flowers, wakes the world to a miracle that transcends our deepest sentiments.

This is the essentiality-
      BE!

We can't be diminished
by any outside force
unless our essentiality we relinquish
or give up our moral cause

Dear Professor A.G.,

1. Talent is ubiquitous, in most cases, it's not discovered
2. Talent is not enough--it has to be tempered with values and character
3. None should claim to be 'smart'---that would be egotism-
it's what that person can contribute to general welfare
4. Be careful of cleverness---it might be cunning (Tao Te-Ching of Lao Tze, 600 BCE)
5. I agree. Listen to the smartest in the room, but
among the listeners there might be one or some who are even smarter---we wouldn't know until the debate starts-
perhaps the speaker might turn out to be what he's not.
6. He who regards himself smart falls short of humility which is the hallmark of Confucius's Junzi (the Ideal Person, the Gentleman, the Exemplary Man).
7. Confucius again: I walk with two persons, making a company of three---I count one of the two my (potential )teacher.
8. Yes, every encounter is a chance to learn something new but we need to be humble and learn to listen well, without being prejudiced or judgemental.
9. We should always remind ourselves that what we know is but a drop in the ocean of wisdom
10. It's not what we know that makes our life worthy--
it's the essentiality of our moral character

THE GENTLE ART OF TAO LEADERSHIP Nov 2020 is relevant to our discussion.

Neither happiness nor bliss can, in real life, be a self-perpetuating state.

If that were so, we would no longer relish it as such--we would have been so used to that euphoria so as not to 'welcome' it anymore.

  It's living in the rawness of life, with its mix of happiness and sorrows, its ups and downs, its success and setbacks, its laughter and tears,
that will best define our essentiality.

Poets and mystics tend to resort to high-sounding and over-wrought language/metaphors to get across their message but,
with impassioned circumspection,  it does not hold up to the light of reality.

Poor mortals as we are,  let's hope we are blessed by simple things and small does of joy -
if such were to come our way, we would have no reason to aspire for more.

In silence
we find
our real self
and authenticity--
life's very essentiality