Crusade of idiots
about that inquisition
a story of plight in thinking
around the time of rightous rain
when the blood letting culture is slow pain
and the pain of birthing of others is profain
following a sound in the distance
calling the rightous into fame and justice
as destructive grounds brewing meaning
falseto music of that past wonderment
life in dred of itself as plain
dragging others into the road of care
where decident animals dare cross
wilderness without care for loss
when the holy mundane grew wit
lost itself and sat in wind
purposeless it grew meaning for others instead
mans unsuspecting won himself structure
fleeing terror fleating life
losing self in looking right
A morning crow;
Two pitches flume,
Found floundering furrow;
Harks the angel Gabriel,
Ruckus shuffled deals;
Goes pressing zeal;
Make promise bring home a song of wonder or dance in flames pained in present ponder.
What's your wish?
She swings her hips in a sway,
foriegn to sour sounds,
showered her hair in soliloquy of shades,
shimmering the sparks of stray power in the rain away,
flipped to a side of saying hey,
voiced her name a dancer of no shame,
clapping to her claim, presented flowers,
handing hands away to music sang,
tunes and beats their feet shuffled the night away,
foreign of both two.
Making interpratations: A soliloquy.
No amount of crass and class,
the song of seance climbing clouds,
adrift by the mourning of mountains, lakes.
A rose of sun,
days ahead of time ein-in-stains of bloody flames calling friday fun,
rave the night is shameless in her hands,
maide of honor,
the deeds a man has claimed.
Calling a course corrections,
what is in spade,
a tigers end wrapped around her neck,
tailing the chasers of red.
The Magic of Mistakes: Art as antidote to save face.
In whatever field of study, life, or work one is in there seems to be a line of continuity that, in retrospect is perfectly recognizable, logical, and to some extent reasonable.
Here in the present moment, the sencerity of actions become befuddled and murky, as the singing of the birds and breeze of cars passing by make everything seem chaotic-ly fine.
In some sense the reality of living in the present is doctored by the conscious projection of what we know about the past, be it a perfectly recognizable memory or a feeling.
It’s in the process of creating a state of clairty that the openess that guides our intuition of crass and class; and the bewildering beauty that is art, becomes born out of our work into a future, a new past, calling possibility.
Wonderment at the tips of our fingers, the free flowing words, the loosely held paint brush pass and dance that brings into full color the painting of beauty we see as life casted out for all to see, incontinuity.
Here lay a mistake of seriousness in play, calling the just in us to criticize and ask, but “nay” we must say.
The dullnes of the night and the blinding winter of light, they too have sparks of insight.
The stars lay in the backdrop of void, burning their inside, and seem to us looking up, a shimer of fight.
How then we, who have been blessed a sun of moderation, ask the evil of scorching summer and the cold of winter’s shimmer, that’s burried our sight, to oblige in our fight?
It is silence who, claming the knowledge of those who speak, the voice of void.
All with out perportion, in filling and shaping our eyes of artistic delight make anew nature within, casting out, that others continue with our sin, the art that makes magic within art.
I say, it is our void, that wich none of us can fill with the dances of heavenly singing light or burning rage of sins, making to fit ourselves in or cast the fortification against that which is already within. I say, gratitude to our void, it is art.
The Ah-Ha! Moment
from the view of seperatness.
Beliefs you hold on to;
Pulling into space,
pulling space out;
learning to let go of everything.
with nothing to hold onto,
The impossible principle.
The mind of the unfaised.
A king on the outside.
A Sage on the inside.
Follow progress and the end follows also;
Follow the end and lose sight of progress.
Precisely the man I am today contradicts the man I was yesterday;
The man I am tomorrow is but my shadow in brighter light.
The harsh truth is sweeter than the affectation of love,
when that pules and whines.
Conformity only profits the sovereign,
when solidarity is the norm.
All the measures of how begin and end with the answers of why.
Prophesy speculates the past,
but knowledge only speaks of now.
Motivation is lacking when all about you fumes distraction;
How then can you breath?
Aptitude is the tendency of insight;
What then do you see in yourself?
#poetry #freeverse #imagery
Hidden words and sinking swords
Missing between meanings
Signs of direction in the sway of leaves
Came impromptu decisions
Heating distractions in the way
Callous grips of truth,
Gritted teeth away
Barking up fruits,
Branching staffs fell to you
Where climbing grounds grew
Mountains bridged to views
Placing promise in the sky
Movements never died
Hope and fear in hand
Dancing every song of life
in coming to
Time a ruling finger away
eyes of doom
Memento mori masks
worry and trepidation ring
Humming eternal tune
the last of you remembers
Godhead items of being
Lost in questions
Rolling tides away
All back to oneself
Sleeping to that tune
sang itself to you
Joy is you.