The light the dark the clutter the clarity
The fight the art the utter disparity
The bite the bark the muttered vulgarities
We might depart from lovers for sanity
But every step away is a wound
There is no get away from the tune
That reminds you of them then blooms
flowers of memory whose scents fill the room
and that’s every song on every station
every film or book seems a representation
of your lost love or the sunken relation….
ship that has sailed
into troubled waters and successfully failed
for those who wished it…
out of existence
Errol Percival(Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion)
I’m literally sitting by the dock on the bay,
waiting for a boat to take me away.
I embark to labor across seas.
I’m a laborer although it’s not what I’m supposed to be.
My pen is prolific. It yields a barrage of words.
My mind is a spring that allows my thoughts to unfurl
like sails catching solar winds and dragging me across the cosmos.
My essence is enlivened. This feeling is what I love most…
That opening of a channel that’s like a secret compartment in the panel
on the wall that hides possibilities from the forlorn and makes man ill…
Sickened by turning away from himself and thinking there is happiness in wealth,
while I fold into zen like flour into eggs and milk and drift away on the melodies of the Celts.
There’s more to life than what is seen, heard, smelt, and felt.
My dreams are reflections of the cards I have been dealt.
I split into sections. My mind divides like our cells.
I cover ground like shadows. I ring like dour bells,
signaling the procession to move towards the plot.
To hell with a vault. Cover me with soil, not with rock,
so that my transition may be swift and I give back what I’ve borrowed
un-begrudgingly. I will have my time to shine. Deny sorrow,
and bless the days that were allowed… And be thankful.
Don’t allow yourself to become resentful
of the natural scheme of things… the changes and the shifts
that actually made it possible for us to have this…
This dance with the elements…
This glorious result of universal precedents
that birthed consciousness and crafted spiritual resonance….
that connects all things like invisible threads
orchestrated by itself as it weaves its own web.
These are those days. What worlds do our beliefs build? How dare I walk where they would have me walk and flee the divine spark which clamors for undivided attentions? The span of my mind is unknown for the darkness ever recedes and then reclaims what I draw away from. These alchemical processes will no longer be stop and start. Completion is godliness next to cleanliness. I know. I don’t know. I act. I don’t act. I am… I am… I am… A trinity.
to resent the leap
it took for me to leave a peak
for verdant valleys
and urgent tallies
of recurrent follies
that humbled and brought wisdom.
I tumbled across visions
interwoven with religions
‘til I read words telling me to let it flow.
So here goes…
Here goes nothing and everything.
Here goes a heart open to aches that furrow brows.
The clever reign where the not so clever feign that they know.
Faithless… the turning… the yearning
for a space where nimble mind may alight for a time.
We seek surcease from uncertainties
and trade them for the clinging taint of certainty.
We sell ourselves out for comforting back pats.
We sell ourselves short cavorting with our backpacks,
heavy with the accoutrements of our acumen.
We carry untold treasures.
We tarry on cold ledges awaiting the faith for leaps.
While the faithful sleep like bambinos exhaling frosted breath.
By frost the bow and bridge are called to being…
chakra shades and all.
Sacral space evolved…
The lower being and higher being merge.
There are no lanes.
In this endeavor where forgotten pains
emerge and make it clear nothing is forgotten.
The ill-gotten goods you unconsciously despise
for what they remind you you have become
if you are mindful…
If your mind’s full… Empty it.
Breathe a little.
Reclaim who you were born to be.
Let that which must die die.
Reclaim your throne…
Don’t frown here in the darkness.
Feel it as it goes.
Don’t call the law.
Embody truth… again.
Bed serves as desk.
I work to shorten breaths
moments of motion
Waves are steps.
Sun, moon, and scars…
Consuming hearts is pastime for some.
They rend. They rend.
They say they give.
They rent. They rent.
All is deposit with hope for withdrawal.
They capitalize on flaws.
They fabricate if they find you unflawed.
They castigate one’s very being for being.
Or their armor is rather…
Crafted of fear that another lover
will do them as dirty as another lover
or as dirty as they did another lover.
So when the going gets tough they go to another lover.
But hey… At least they’re gone right?
Hmmm… Not quite.
They linger in lives under a guise built of lies.
These scars are recent.
These lines I present
Are evidence of healing.
No scabs to pick.
No nagging itch.
Just return to innocence and conscious breathing.
Enigmatic winner by skill and not cheating…
This is what I do.
This is what I am.
This is how I move.
This is how it was planned.
I engage in art.
No master but I.
No push. No pull.
No power plant.
Just pens, points, and counterpoints
plus poetic flair
and morning gratitude air.
Billion dollar brain…
Priceless as the rain…
No pressure. Make it plain.
Martin X and Rosa Drives…
Love my ex. I hope she thrives.
I have a new muse.
On wings she flies.
She’s no angel either baby.
No cupidity. She’s no fairy.
I treat her well and she treats me fairly.
So I do more.
I do myself disservice.
I do not take my worth in.
absence of focus…
Yet still the light builds.
I’m thrilled that my will has regained rightful space.
Now I may venture.
Reality and nature…
I yearn to master the language of notes.
So I go where the knowledge of such flows.
No days off… Persistence pays off.
I endeavor to do it myself.
I resolve to not let resolve waver.
No more danger of such if I heed the call.
I rise each day and play.
This is what I am here for.
I’m thankful for the clarity.
I’m a divine drawing gallery.
Grace and gratitude abound unbound.