Posts Tagged poetry

Symphony of Love

Falling into love
chasm’s deep endless
into one another
catacombs of lonely-together
death as our guide

Climbing up love
crisp warm spire
cool flow sunward
tightrope walkers
under stormed vertex; trembling

To settle down; settle up
or side paths; climaxed horizons
treading desire
journey of obliquity
parallel submersion; supreme into flat

Ingress between love
slabs of rainbows smiling tears
to shroud one another
an uprush sculpture
an inflow release

Explosion of eight winds; frigid gushed inferno
implosion of all sins; together free alone
let’s pay the price
let’s afford the pain
let us burn expansive
and die in the rain

A side-path of passion
slow smolder; churn as ember
weaving affection’s twill
let us design, construct, compose
and just be
symphony of love

Happy Valentine’s Day to all

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Rubber Poem & Beavers: Worded-less Wednesday

My friend Debbie aka Miss MoneyPenny (read her Secret Beaver Box) and I were discussing the idea of Worded Wednesday rather than Wordless Wednesday – not by any means a new idea, but definitely an interesting one. I’ve decided to do both simultaneously because of my penchant for dualistic comprehension. She is expecting me to write about beavers, but how can we discuss beavers without that sensation restricting implement known as the condom?

My woman and I are separated
Oh no that’s terrible
No worries . . . it’s only by 0.05mm
Read the rest of this entry »

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Vortex of Dostoyevskian Agony

I dedicate this to Anastasia from Sex, Life and Frilly Bits, a dear friend and one of the first people I met since starting this blog in February, 2007. She really made my day. She hails from Australia – her writing is fearless, powerful and brilliant. You should read her work, she is simply one of the best. Thanks Ana! Though this piece is extremely disturbing, it was inspired by something we talked about several months ago. Check out her CSI idea for the popular TV series – I love it!

I read a fantastic article from Catatonic Kid entitled The Secret Garden. The final lines describe how madness and melancholy have their seasons. It’s so absolutely true. Here, I describe a deeply personal season of my own:

There remain only memories, of who I used to be. All that remains is a shell. A dehydrated husk; cracked, dried and discarded. Forgotten. On a wisp of wind, I vaguely tasted the scent of who I used to be; a man full of hope and dreams. I became lost. Millions of faces everywhere I look, yet I feel dead. I feel alone. The remnants of self identity – once my only companion – is dead. Nothing remains but the fragrance of smoke – the forgotten embers of a singular life, lost in my crypt of eternal dread.
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Bobby’s Batch #9 – Poetic Blademaster

Before I get started with this week’s selections, I offer two short poems. I hope you enjoy them. I am trying my best to make each new batch as unique as possible – this week was particularly fun and fulfilling!

Reason

Liquid dreams convulse my tarnished soul
imperfect I stand
forever screams forged from anguished toll
accepting all I am
for the first time alive
destined to revive, to decide, to visualize
my reason for living…

I feel so incomplete and dry after the lines above, I have decided to go with this instead (hey, I can’t help it – I’m a horror writer):

Cold Razor

Twirling blades of razor
hissing snakes of sound
I approach; voiced in doom
death bladed master!
blood moon pastor!
Burning ice
the feeling they say
wind on wet bones; scarlet sheathed
knotted fingers shivering
blades flutter
skins of butter
and lonely surgeon
with victim quivering…

Poetic Deathmaster

Poetic Deathmaster

Ahhh…I feel better already :twisted:

I’ve been reading a lot of great poetry about in the blogosphere. I really don’t read or study the legendary poets throughout history as I get my ideas from other places; such as an event in my life, a picture, a song or a fleeting thought; germinated and nurtured within the dynamic tissue of my innards. I strive for nothing as poetry shall be written…all by itself.

I think of all the starving artists; from every form…from music to painting and all between. Poets often go unnoticed – yet their work is so important – it defines the essence of expression. Therefore, I dedicate this week to but a few of the blogosphere’s finest poets and writers.

Jé Maverick is a wonderfully imaginative poet whom I recently started reading. I was mesmerized by his finely honed expressions and uniquely abstract motifs. With so many interesting poems to choose from – it wasn’t difficult – they are all worth reading. The first I read today was Other Sermons; filled with truths of spiritual hypocrisy as well as introspective complexion. While you’re there, spend some time and read several of his poems.

The explosively enigmatic Paisley wrote the flesh broiling, bone charring and ultraviolet poem, The “Green” Racket. You might need your polarized sunglasses for this one. Al Gore had better hide!

The illuminating and scintillating Anastasia wrote an interfusion of heated attraction and pheromone fantasy in her urge brimmed Twilight Taxi Ride. Holy carnal conniption Batman…I need a cold shower!

Square1…the fantasy scribing literary chemist engrafts realism with wonder in her beautifully inventive, Write Your Fire in the Sky. I absolutely loved this story!

I spent some time combing through Beaman‘s archives; infiltrating his treasure trove of poetic lyricism. A truly brilliant poet can write from any perspective and offer a plenitude of assorted coolness. One such versification is Hunger – filled with feline violence and dark humour – a great read.

The world wise spiritual visionary, Michael Skowronski, wrote a fantastic piece filled with depth and meaning in International World Government. I have often thought that a similar government is the solution. This is in polarizing contrast to the current militaristic movement towards a one world government. I believe humankind has difficulty living up to it’s own intelligence…it’s time to do things right.

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Digital Dreamer

Electric blog dreams studied by twitching eyes
frosted circuits, winter rain
lonely blogger feel my pain

blood moon shadows shroud my keys
network layers Christian prayers
encrypted war plans across the seas

digital soul interface plug me in
endless readers horde of leaders
format my spirit wash me of sin

virus infection integrated reflection
crippling rusted host
oh please God I beg you…
read my bloody post

meaningful content quality comment
hard drive fragment document heaven sent
my mouse my screen my implement

blogging for money blogging for pain
a thousand useless widgets
scorched into my brain
deceivers debaters spammers and schemers
geniuses fools bad grammar and dreamers
driving me insane

echoes of trembling fingers pecking
spiritual vibration collective consciousness
God please save us
wondrous deafening
maddening silence
I am
digital dreamer…

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Seeing Through Illusion In Blogging

THANKS TO ALL

First, I want to say thank you to all the people who have come to this humble site this week and left some awesome comments. I have made several new friends and I say to you all, welcome to my blog! As my good friends here already know, this blog is my passion and my commentators and friends are THE MOST IMPORTANT single thing that drives me.

Doka

What are Doka? Doka are didactic poems used by masters to instruct disciples. These are used in a haiku structure and contain endless depth for all of us to enjoy and learn from. I will show you something I find simply incredible! What I am showing you is from a rare book which is virtually impossible to find. It is called “The Last of The Great Dragonfly Hunters” by Dr. Dan Netherland. Dan is both an Aikido and Jujitsu practitioner whose book has left an indelible mark on my own martial arts philosophy.

This book is about seeing the suchness rather than the illusion of things. I hope you read my post “Tales of Blogger-X” about the illusion in blogging. Also, you may if your interested, want to read “Beyond Thought I” and “Beyond Thought II: Detachment“. These are two of my older posts in which I examine the depths and complexities of human thought. All quotes are from “The Last of The Great Dragonfly Hunters“.

See Through the Eyes of a Warrior

Correct perception of life determines decisions. Decisions determine action… Action determines victory or defeat, life or death. Destiny is not a chance rather a decision fulfilled in action.

As you can see, the suchness of reality is captured so perfectly in this quote, it is something I live by. My new friend Dawn from Antibarbie.net wrote a post entitled “Using Jesus as a Crutch” which sees through illusion. It’s about how the old phrase goes, “God helps them who help themselves“. I wanted give a little shout to her as I think she is a very talented writer who pulls no punches (I like that). And now I present these beautifully powerful Doka:

PLAIN, UNADORNED SWORD
LIKE THE OWNERS OWN SPIRIT
POLISHED AND FEARFUL

CONFRONTING A FOE
BRING ALL INTO SHARP FOCUS
ONE THING HIDES MANY

WHAT A WARRIOR
TO EVADE MY STRONG ATTACK
YELLOW BUTTERFLY

WITH NO SINGLE THOUGHT
I CUT THE CORD OF NEVER
NOW … INVINCIBLE

SEVERING THE EDGE
BETWEEN BEFORE AND AFTER
THE BLADE OF TODAY

NOT MEETING THE FORCE
A WILLOW TURNING THE WIND
A WARRIOR AT HEART

DO WITHOUT DOING
RETURN TO THE BEGINNING
VICTORY IN STILLNESS

TIGHTENING THE STOMACH
ONE HEART, ONE SIGHT WITH ONE BREATH
FEARLESSLY FACING

The Power of the Female

There is much wisdom in these Doka. Read them several times and do not seek deep meanings, for the meanings are simple. If you notice, there is a powerful female trait within the text. Females are powerful. Females really run the world but don’t get the credit. Females are soft. Females encompass all the things that make a warrior a warrior and they do it naturally.

In the third Doka you notice the yellow butterfly. How pretty and soft yellow butterflies are! The most powerful martial art I have ever felt was in Aikido. Aikido is a martial art which uses no physical strength. Yet when you are slammed on the mat by a skilled Aikido practitioner, especially a female one, you will know POWER. A man cannot be a real man until he comes to embrace his female half. Yin and Yang, female and male; all life is both and neither at the same time.

I hope that you can develop your inner warrior and understand what focus and total commitment are all about. “To raise the sword and die” is not a fatalistic choice, but is a choice for life.

Final Words

I have come down hard on the conduct of many top bloggers and for that, I make no apologies. I would do my readers a disservice by fluffing things up. I especially want you to read the 1st Doka. Plain unadorned sword; what does this mean? If a “Karate Master” wears a uniform with all kinds of fancy patches, and on his uniforms back there are big letters that say “Undefeated Champion and Master of Karate”, does this mean he’s really a master? Of course not. He probably has 2000 students and makes a ton of money. How similar he is to many of the top bloggers.

I leave you with one final Doka. Please let me know which of the Doka you like best! Lets discuss it. Have a great weekend.

ALL LOOK
FEW SEE
THE SUCHNESS OF THINGS

Read my good friend Seiche‘s post “The Belts Matter” for a look into the true suchness of martial arts. What I like about Seiche the most is when it comes to martial arts, he defines “suchness” in it’s purest of forms.

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Still I Wonder

I see your face in the silken waves of a summer shower
perfumed mist
her scented warmth
her lovely breeze
as only I dream what it must be like
a kiss so tender, so pure
to love her I will never know
Her sweet skin into which I melt
cinnamon eyes into which I stare and still I will never know
Thunder! run for shelter! my footing lost and I fall
Lightning! come with us they cry
I lie face down on searing streets
her aroma of still lingers
my storm floods cities taking lives
Please they scream
do not stay
I remain behind
drowning in tears wishing that I could be loved
but alone I am washed away
I only wonder if I were ever in her dreams
stranded forever within my heart
as forever I will love her and still I dream still I wonder
what heaven must be like to stare into her eyes. . .

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Always In My Heart

We sat beneath a silver moon the night we kissed
the gentle ocean mist weaving through your hair
when your silken lips touched mine
was the day it seems
that I was born

Never will I forget how we held hands
both of us trembling
both of us scared
the scent of your cinnamon skin
the warmth of your voice
for me was heaven

Our hearts basking in the summer wind
as embers of an ancient fire
warming the souls of all who knew
of our love

Never will I forget your smile
both of us so vulnerable
both of us unsure
of this intoxicating place
this place called love

You are always in my heart . . .

For Adrianna

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