our soul is a lone traveller
surfing waves of the vast ocean
weaving its way through illusions
with ego causing commotion
there is nothing to be done here
save sharing in life, love and light
honing creative expression
dancing to beats of bliss delight
body ages, mind too decays
yet light of Self within us glows
one with God, attuned to the source
truth absolute, mind of heart knows
Poised in peace, it may appear we’re phlegmatic
but the truth is heart’s drenched in bliss mists sublime,
thus in vibrant aloneness we’re ecstatic,
consciousness attuned to God’s magnetic chime.
The light of Self within is always aflame;
made in God’s image, soul and He are the same
and thus there remains for us nothing to do,
save feeling refrains of bliss rapture renew.
Sitting alone, vibrant in our solitude
and likewise whilst mingling among the many,
as bliss borne rapture strengthens our fortitude,
so the social setting as may be any,
has no bearing on bliss currents that cascade,
breath by breath witnessing how our cravings fade,
reclaiming light of Self here now within form,
as we choose to surrender to God’s bliss storm.
alone and unknown in midst of many
our heart yet feels a strange peace
boons of bliss magnetism have enabled
from demons we conjured release
as a module of God in feeble form
we’re but a humble receptor
enlivened by currents both cool and warm
bliss pierces each body vector
having chosen the path strewn with roses
what matters the prick of a thorn
dwelling in space-time dissolved eternal now
we are with each breath reborn
I have known joy
amidst thick fallen snow
and slippery streets
and voices merciless
some like addiction's lure.
I have known joy
of strangers giving bouquets
cloak giving warmth
spoon with bowl beyond broth
both thirst and hunger quenched.
I have known joy
she spied and saw me sleep
a brown teddy bear upon my chest
I up and ate, she heard me weep
I was a butterfly in the mountains.
*
eyes clench shut
bliss spasms manifest
all we do is receive
God does the rest
ours is is a lonely path
because although we share
in truth no one understands
words laying our soul bare
When you suffer…
some days, some months,
and especially the holidays, the only thing
that offers relief is being under a blanket
in the fetal position.
those times, you
hide from the world, because no one
gets you. They think you are normal,
you’re not. You are splitting apart on the inside.
as you sink more and more into aloneness,
they pass judgement on your actions.
they say insensitive things
like; chill out, take a pill, see a
shrink or they distance themselves.
they think you’re out of character,
they don’t know there is a struggle
going on inside of you, a real struggle
where tears flow and make puddles in
your soul… and nothing works; no Hail Marys,
no affirmations, no nothing.
you wait for an episode
to pass to get relief, that’s if you are
lucky, cuz for some, relief doesn’t come.
you see the severely affected on the streets
far gone, listening to the voices in their heads,
sometimes succumbing to them. It’s a
daily struggle that only those feeling
the ache knows. Give a care.
Vibrant aloneness
Embracing tranquil peace
In a time stretched continuum
Vibrant silence gets a new name
As nodes within throb with joy
Enlivened by bliss currents
Presence accords no preference
To the manner of unfoldment
Being but a receptor
Of divine grace that in-pours
Assimilated by our receptive heart
16-January-2023
The fire of my soul
has burnt to dust desire
I now play my life role
with nothing to aspire
Save love
Energy gridlines brighten
as bliss currents cascade
Feeling load on heart lighten
into the vast void I wade
Alone
16-August-2022
Hardly venture into such verse.
In her bedroom, she wrote her curse.
She despised bright pupils at Yale.
If water drops could tell their tale.
She went on long walks in the drought.
They urged her to blend in and flout.
In gray rain, she went past wan shale.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Had they fed the felled holy trees?
Her thongs sloshed in a thoughtful breeze.
Gather, freeze, pour down wet and hail.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Where had those lovely old dribs been?
which dropped sunk ships and saved Tholepin.
She found longing despite the hail.
If water drops could tell their tale.
Written: August 09, 2022
A Kyrielle about Water Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Kim Rodrigues
Checked by HMS.COM
16 Lines 8syllables each/ 4 Stanzas.
the swelling taste
of your absence
was heavy on the tongue
of my silent night
i grabbed speckles
of darkness
flying between
my longing eyes
i searched for the shadow
of your moon
within the walls
of my starry night
my eyes bled crystal rivulets
as my mind defogged
with the knowledge
of my aloneness
i lay down to sleep
hanging on to
the endless rails
of your vivid departure
Lingering laughter brings out loving lines
Within writings which echo warm, wild words
Music - melodies moisten melted minds
Feelings of hearts who flow furiously
Soothing silence, semblance - with sensations
Praises, prayers, poems who penetrate
Attracting aloneness of the artiste
March 24, 2021
SHY ME
I long to be free
From cages in me
That hold me tightly
Can't try to pretend
To be unfettered
I long to love
Sweet mourning doves
Playful coo blissed
To open heart’s kiss
I long cause
I'm alone
And have pause
To be
Freely
Me
January 8, 2021
A Diminished Hexaverse Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
In her prison of sterile bricks of grey
In the stark street of emptiness
You will find her
Gripping her hands
To wring the life from them
Her deeply wounded face hung in lines and gaps
of misery and uncertainty
With eyes salted by the conflict of feelings
Emanating from her defenseless heart
In a chair well-worn with worry
She sat drained of life
Slumped by the weight of her meaninglessness
Powerless and alone
September 6, 2019
I feel this poem captures the spirit of human loneliness in its portrayal.
She has sat too long in the wind.
It stretched every plane of her face into smiles
Except for the sad mouth.
She carries her happy, laughing, children
Every one, on her shoulders,
Where their dead father would have.
She coughs, and sighs, and curses, and grits,
Until all that is left
Is the halves of dreams.
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