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Monday, October 31, 2016

wordsymth (haiku) 10/31/16

I am a wordsymth
spelling is not my forte
meaning is my muse

Sunday, October 30, 2016

the expectation narrative 10/30/16

fueled by familiarity’s approval rate,
set up by momentum’s dailies occurrences, 
oriented by planning’s outcry, leading the charge,
and strategy’s thought-out intendedness actualizing,
expectation is consciously seeded
in every next movement’s going forward.
it’s a cognitive checklist, rosary-spoken inwardly.
everything proceeding as normal is placidly approved.
there is an earnestness to this expectation sitcom.
the actors and audience both interplay.
scripts are presented and exchanged and ensue.
those that believe in expectations develop aside views,
postures and expressions that counter, vex, and plead
when expectations are not meet, straightforwardly.
oh there is an art to the seduction of expectations,
to the behavioral conformance to expectations,
to the undeniable recruitment of expectations,
but most of all, there are the cues, the prompts,
the body language gestures, language hints,
the outright facials, and the pregnant silences,
that are the expectation narrative in action.
yes it is a recruitment of the past to represent
what the future might hold to be true.
the expectation narrative lives on,
but worst of all,
it is a downright denial of the present
with preoccupations that trump the now
by falling for the past as the act out of the future,
every next present moment,
stampeded this way but yet, still providing . . .

Saturday, October 29, 2016

keen, as it is 10/29/16

so swift a blade is all that matters
as the cutting edge is the now....
sharp and refined in passing.....
carving all of nothing into shreds
that we then attest to as solid as stone
trace these masquerading invisibles
with the chalk of your hand
and all that becomes evident
is in the imminently recent past
where a breath is leaving,
its work has been done
doves fly up your bloodstream
singing the wonders
of being alive . . .

Friday, October 28, 2016

This apparel of time 10/28/16

We go on within the fluidity of time.
I am called to always swim upstream,
to search for the romance of the headwaters,
intimacies that know of themselves
only in service to the greatest of causes.
Daily life offers seepage, mist, fog and condensation 
as invitations along the way.
They all whisper of the truth 
as if stories overheard but believed to be true
from these watery spirits as messengers.
I look at them, each one of them, discretely
as if a precipitous mystery lay before me.
They all have had lifetimes of journeys
immersed within the sacred trust
that knows no bounds.
If what I could sip would match my thirst.
But the taste of comparative truth
is my limited language
as if lying to myself justified.
They speak
but I only hear quench and satiation.
I want to swim beyond these gestures,
beyond the palate of what desire calls out for.
I want to drown in the sound beyond silence,
to drink from the sing
before it substantiates.
That is where I leave behind
the notion of leaving behind.
Here time has been the surface tension
to float me.
I want to be no more the sin of substance
to reflect my soul.
I want no part of it
that separates me from all as one.
Water weeps and seeps through me
as the religion of living.
I don’t want the marriage of what I breathe
to further represent me
as if honestly to myself.
It is worse than an urge,
a compulsion or a calling.
I am drunk, sipping on experience
but feeling lost for the vast soberness of soul.
Not soul in a self-sense
but wholly soul
beyond what substance could ever shape.
And we all, as individualist, come through this
as we give up on our separateness
and this charade of ongoingness,
as our apparel of time . . .

Thursday, October 27, 2016

it thinks (haiku) 10/27/16

that it thinks for me
that it thinks its think is me

leaves me quite thoughtless