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Monday, November 30, 2015

longing (haiku) 11/30/15

I have a dear friend
who lives inside my longing
always feel that close

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Improbability’s reach 11/29/15

Improbability is brimming with futures.
Unlikelihood is the new residence to move to.
The reality we keep is coming under questioning.
It seems implausible that anything would really change.
It even feels silly towards any sort of dubious inquiries.
But of course, it is impossible that all will stay the same.
How exactly does the future happen in a contributory way?
Somehow, below the horizon of dailies,
mind-shifts do happen without any apparent provocations.
Say buy a new car, refinance the house, internet upgrades,
tote the kids everywhere, think about diet,
the day is filling with ‘from A to B’s’ in orderly ways.
But the future is coming
and it can not be classified as grand.
It is a mishmash served with reasonings.
Sure the kids will pick it up and spread it everywhere.
It is like a virus with side benefits.
If it makes it mainstream, some one is seriously profiting.
Think about it, you will become an astronaut of your self.
You will be the living experiment with narrative potential.
You’re now a documentary,
dependent upon publicity’s call.
Memoires are passé, hell, everyone else has a walk-on role
since my video encompasses your video to boot.
Improbability is just bursting at the ‘seems’.
Well basically, it is all not inconceivable.
There has to be a driving force, we just don’t see it.
Underground think-tanks are happening most everywhere.
At least 40% of all human intelligence, for all of time
is actually alive right now!
Please don’t hurt my sensibility with further details.
Just know, improbability is coming,
stealthy moving through the forest of future decades.
And we, still puzzled with the forest for the trees . . .

Saturday, November 28, 2015

From a river of tears 11/28/15

I come from a river of tears,
ebbing behind the not knowing it.
yet I feel for this waterway from deep within,
not firmly perceiving its original source
or its resounding persuasion,
that I cannot avoid.
Heartfelt is not a small location
somewhere within me
as my immediate surround is filled with it.
A rain somehow teeming, forming on my inside
is pouring out through my outward expression.
I yearn from beyond what wants could fulfill.
I love, having no seams of distinction,
no lines on entry, none objectifiable as results.
We each are fluid in these spiritual swims
behind our fin-sweep projections of form.
For there is but one heart brain
and we all happen to be of it . . .
We are these moistures,
thriving on the innards of living wood.
We are evaporative means
from cooling night time temperatures,
somewhat sun-kissed and now as ever revitalized.
We are the facial identities of all snowflakes
leaving their frozen impresses for their liquid states.
We each are, the “you are here”
that all fluids, upon arrival, celebrate as one.
We are the one soul of all fallen leaves of lifetimes
yet still we deeply reside in all of the living trees.
We are every cloud’s sacred cargo
on life-journeys to celebrate.
We have been everywhere, both here and far
and now live to rejoice in each other’s transit.
Viscosity is our sacred vibes’ evidential creed.
Our religion is mutable oneness.
If I come through you as tears,
as you through me,
please know of me as nectar
as you also are to me.
We want so to be of this ocean,
embracing through all distinctions,
inherently finding all manners from this same cause.
We are the impress-to-affect through all
that has come into existence.
The sun is the radiant seat of our wisdom.
We all are that expression of love . . .

Friday, November 27, 2015

not one word of it 11/27/15

I’ve come to throw words at it.
I have thrown brick-words at it.
I’ve flown dove-words by it.
I’ve driven opalescent fast
white car words by it.
I tried super fine print words,
A.M. radio words, billboard words,
blimp words, sky written profanity words, 
breaking news words,
all within their own context
of attention-grabbing seductive environments 
and got nothing.
Then I tried a change of perception.
I tried ancient golden words,
multiple font bonanza words,
pheromone enhanced words,
from mother’s lips words,
broken birdwing words,
heartbreaking words,
lip-sync words from action heroes,
words from bat cave engravings,
volcanic ash spontaneous inscription words, 
suicide note left behind words,
and nothing.
Another change of perception came to mind.
I tried words without specific meaning,
words with missing letters,
sung words in babbling languages, 
unpronounceable words,
freshly invented words,
and words the likes of which
are not of our species origin
with no response forthcoming
or even vaguely evident
from any dimension surrounding me.
Finally, I had to, out of exasperation
concede to another approach.
Maybe, just maybe, I am a part of the it
that I so desperately claimed
was separate from me.
Maybe in my subjective oneness
with that so called it,
I am to discover
that there are no words
in the way of oneness.
There is no deliverance to another
outside of oneness.
There is no deliverance,
even there is no other.
The riddle of language precludes oneness
and preoccupies us with audience
to our oneness of selves.
Now, I go hum in the rain,
make angels in the snow,
drink water and feel blessed
by the chorus from tides.
Now, has me in sight
and words are a wardrobe
to be disrobed . . .

Thursday, November 26, 2015

each differently (haiku) 11/26/15

we all hear the call
if love is nearby calling

each differently