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Best Poems Written by Cynthia Cross

Below are the all-time best Cynthia Cross poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Down, Down We Go

verdicts lie in mind’s eyes
supposition a waste of time
should I, could I, might I, may I...
smaller still into the rabbit hole
I fall with you standing over
stories cover up falling down
aplomb recognized as truth
what is truth? don’t believe
we can ever know through
the veils of maya, illusion,
forgetfulness – waking up to
fall asleep again...down and 
down we go...

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Ode To the No-Thing

laughing like a hyena comes naturally
to those deprived of sanity
for more than five hours at a
time is long and sometimes silent
though not often still
water runs expressing her course
having no authority to deepen herself at will
lounging on one side and then the other
banks holding sway with the river just because
trees morph into faces anciently lined
anthropomorphism clearly reigns in our 
consciousness, construes something out of
no-thing is why we are all here
laughing like a hyena comes naturally
to those deprived of truth
for more than five hours at a 
time is illusory and definitely not the truth
may you have your way with all of it...

Details | Cynthia Cross Poem

Cow Jumping Over the Moon

massacres appear vainglorious for the victor...what about those who
suffer the loss...who have their brains removed as a whole...who cried out
with no one listening as the distortions were so grindingly an affront
pilgrims and others coming to this new land of glorious possibilities...
decimating all in their path of righteousness...ofttimes defending 
with stalwart support of a misbegotten cause; one might say survival...
one might say genocide...one might say insanity...’cause it survived
like a crown of thorns digging into the awareness of all 
never stopping to say stop...removal of the sanctified pattern
is more painful than all of that...where is  sacredness, where is 
reverence more than just lip service.  We keep buying this same old
stuff strewn with apathy and black fri-days of pain and wanting...having
to get up early to consume more and more...why has this sickness come
from the mouths of those who are not yet of the light...who are darkening the
hearts of all regardless of the saying - I am of the light...can we truly come
together to remember enough of the lines of this play to change this outcome?
don’t know and don’t know if I care;  yet I care so much more than I know
the conundrum of wanting to stand in love is not speaking out...here again,
who would be the one speaking?  I cannot see the truth yet I am beckoned
by energies who want to deny the possibilities have run away with the
cow jumping over the moon.

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Flittering Furts

Flittering furts of fallacious folly,
fables of new forcefully fabricated, 
five foundlings now faeries found
fabric faddishly forced surround
faceted gems for eyes they be
falling over the great fir tree
fain to feats of fantasy, factually
farrowed for all to see
fairish fair heads nodding fervently
fecked craning forward in familiarity
following constantly you and you
festively focused on fetes of few
fickler than fowl, fickler than dew
wonder of wonders, how’d they find you
felicity follows each fine feat
now’s the time to take your seat
such a surprise, oh so sweet, savor
alike this fine ole treat!

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Hallelujah, Heavens Just Waiting For You

Old sounding promises seemed sorta true,
unless it happened otherwise for you?
convenience sake or perhaps just is 
planetary alignments making your “fizz”
complexity resurrects a new hopeful night
inviting you always to flick bic your light
emboldened by others who don’t really see
leaving you fearful to simply just be...
tagging you on to another track of time
creating yet another filigreed tale of rhyme
thinking of all things in a no thing kind of way
saying yes to life makes for fun along the quay
sun dance and moon dance promising more
opening your mind, opening your score
never forsaking the opportunity to
come into the light, come into the few
possibilities pool at the base of your soul
near death glory roundin’ a false flag pole
of desire not met, direction never held
push pull of reality, always a dread
magnanimous inquiry filed in countless minds
finalizing the truth, does it serve our kind?
slots of intentionality reign like fine dust
slipping and sliding, its so nearly lost
pilgrims on march, going some where soon
playing that game, never awakens afore noon
denial rests, plots thicken to stew... creating this 
profound visions of you - at your best this
coming new year, hallelujah, heavens just waiting for you...

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Chance

chance encounters remind me time’s
a loop of intense moments continually
wrapped around energies of design
slowing only to allow recognition of
something to be seen by each
those times of possible action are 
reactions to the speeding up of time
when we are in flow and allowing
all of eternity to attune to our
resonance, we enter Samadhi
movements of stillness resurrect
awareness of alignment for all
things are never what they seem
being one thing while being
another possibility is that all
time is a ball of twine wound
round and round and back upon
itself is awakening to the probable
self it began when eternity yawned
spreading herself everywhere
only glancing back to know self 
when maturation seemed imminent.

Details | Cynthia Cross Poem

Voices In My Head

Voices traverse the medians of my head
or, at least they used to...I thought I didn’t
always like what they had to say...at least
they said something that was interesting
I forgot what I was supposed to remember
a while back, I took my dog shopping only
I didn’t find what I was looking for because
nothing is exactly where we left it, there
is an illusion that it is the same yet I have
no proof and I am always seeking proof
what I see with my eyes I no longer consider
proof of anything out of the ordinary 
would I recognize it if I could see it?  
Squinty eyes makes the world a different
flavor of perception perhaps sweet, nooooo,
perhaps savory is the best selection of all
Would you know if savory was really
Sweet Heart to thine own self be true
no selflessness, no selfishness, only to
thine own self be true.

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Always Is

penchants for doing things the right way
unhinge the knighted sky shot full with holes
twinkle twinkle little star, you burn so very 
bright, where have you all gone? home you say, 
dancing the edges of madness’ thin veils 
containment slotted through the IS’s of
consecutive sequenced selfs, unawakened
self-righteous indignation, plagiarize the
potential for adulterated emotions
conspicuous lapse of good judgment
right the scales of too much this or that, 
the arms of balance form both positive 
and always behind the seen, negative imagery 
this land whirls the positive insisting it’s 
our only reality of expression, negative quivers 
with pretence experienced as a landscape 
of oblivion ensued from forgetfulness...always is 
a this and a that, a hat and a cat, a louse and a mouse.
Always is...

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Again, Again and Again

night blooming jasmine wafts gently along the winds of change
fragranced, clinging to the repose of insatiable curiosity
she remained, unperturbed by those around her
no was never no, only a two letter word expelled effortlessly
setting sail for distant lands unfettered by convenience
sights soaring beyond any thoughts imagined once
before she could invite herself into something new
now she belongs, so she says, self selected so
she says lots of things, some of it unclear whether she
really knows much of anything or whether the weather
will change with the winds of change...anticipatory
she clings to her hopes of newness compounded by
other things in her life...always seeking, sometimes
remembering what this is all about, she peeks from
circles in motion, again and again and again.

Details | Cynthia Cross Poem

Backstories

Anarchy incited by consciousness divides deeply
rather than conquer those already sleeping
evermore the same, those who have, who have not
shills at a game of chance fill the room, persuasion the game
populated backstories idealize and idolize submission
turned up volume can’t let me think I can do anything about it
take my word for it...you’re mine...heartbeats synchronized
oh, how sweet it is to be loved by you...
Poisoned in the great well, Lucky Charms soothe
I remember, I forget and so the wheel turns...those
who do wake up sometimes it seems go back to...
my heart, if really mine, saddens to think the gold is only
water paint and it too shall run away...

I wrote this after reading about Osho...what happens to our Guru’s or beings
of great spirit?  Does our society mock and loosen their fabric of gilt?  Does it become the fabric of guilt?  I know not...I wish I could see from this vantage point beyond the illusion of this world...from this protected innocence...I crave knowing the truth...