I’ve surrounded myself with dear friends who are the foundation for their own loving truths. Some of us just write the words we hear in the hearts of others… as such, who is poet and who is listener!?
Educate our hearts before we speak our minds. For it is we who keep our shadow company, not our shadow ours.
Words are illusional containers for deeper content… reading a poem merely cracks the lid into the cavern of shadows within. This content, that flees the light, can be rendered through any medium… self-portraiture, music, a gaze. The smoke is thick, blowing off the creative collision between well poised words and visualized form. Another alchemical calamity.
Today is one of those days that not even tomorrow wants to get near. What can you do but shove your hands in your pocket, and kick a rock to Hades.
Your true purpose
has been seen
by the hawk eyes
of a predator heart.
Listen for the wind
of diving wings,
you’re your own prey.
We know most deeply within natures darkness, that which has only ever reveals itself in sounds.
Sometimes the only way we can learn to love is to accept the love given to us, freely.
We desire love, like thirst for water. Unquenched, we love most. Fulfilled, we overflow (or drown).
A writer can fuel a city with the words he forgets as he writes; there, in what cannot be abandoned, glows the light by which to read all his meaning.
As I recall my dunce-able ways, there is a reanimation of my many regretted “nows,” that I now cherish as “back thens.” You see, a writer secretly wants to make bad decisions, so he can ache with those same pains of poetic purpose. Our regrets are course corrections along the path… our moral fortitude, a compass.
As for our hope of reparations for humanity… We are divided over a future “state,” but share the same past and current states. I believe a reconciling of history (whether it is seconds or centuries old), especially through the awareness of a child, is a sound beginning. To get the children asking questions with some nodding conciliation from adults, before they go plodding into a blinding future out of a state of darkness. I think states of enlightenment in this respect, are achieved by unlearning layers of opacity.
God lays a long path for well-journeyed hearts….
You can tell who they are
by the thinning soles of their shoes.
The slow and imperceptible deterioration
For change is only observed as motion
Before we can learn, we need to learn how to learn;
and before we can learn how to learn, we need to unlearn.”
I itemized two lists: what to learn and what to unlearn. Were each item a step toward enlightenment, the longer road is the most assured. And indeed, there is more to unlearn than there are teachers. When we seek to know everything, everyone looks like a divine murshid. When we seek nothing, we become the murid of the Divine.
A waning full moon in a waxing blue sky, before a blazing white sun… so goes the soul.
Love can be a Phoenix – if we let it burn to cinders…
Every poet is but a gambler with an excess of currency in his heart and a wagering pen
A smile is more recognizable through tears than laughter. There is a war going in between her teeth and her lips, the lips might have won the battle but not the war. We live to break a smile another day!
It’s like she just walked out of this, like, scene, ya know? High heeled boots, a slick of black leather. A lone mulberry pie on a windowsill. I was wide awake, but it musta been some sleek Sudanese walked out from a suburbian dream…
Moroccan food, mystic moods, and memorable meditation walk… beautiful landscapes, beautiful lifescapes, and in the center of a heart-shaped space, a new born child. What colors didn’t we see, what more could be provided…this disclosure among friends who show themselves, through what they are shown. Masha’Allah!
seeeee, long hair and a beard
do a better human make,
sweet bread a coffee
a soul’s thirst does slake!
A conversation can careen off in so many directions when it comes to size and the power of a man. Power is a measure of his proclivity to surrender to inarguable forces… those generally being held within the fathomless stores of the divine feminine.
Nonexistence, a state achieved by self-disclosure, and annihilation of the non-disclosed self, the latter which attaches happiness to that which we posses or which possesses us in this caged and fermenting realm.
I sat among God before the sun rose this morning and bared my chest. He took the dagger from my one hand, and put a sword in the other. This is how He saves and takes a life.
…words are not of the heart, nor the mind, but a bridge between…