Categories
Poetry

objectification

(alternative title: Self-Assessment)

I think my leg would make a nice lamp
   soft, supple, curved, and round

a good squeeeeeeze

if you look me up from down
   squish in the right place –
        and in the wrong
in front, a bright and lumpy face
   from behind, like every other PAWG
near-perfect ass – not too phat in size
   nicely shaped when I fold in half
        showing off some thick-ass thighs
   and big-ass ribs
an hour glass shape
   with small-ass tits
        deceiving, yes
        disappointing, almost entirely
   but most aren’t interested
in being surprised or disappointed
and so I’m left here unanointed
unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish!
almost believable, but deceitful kiss
      when every swing returns a miss
except for the three, a perfect strike-out
who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?

I think my arm would make a nice branch
   muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong

nice to tooooooouch

to whom does it belong?
   what soul could search and find
        a truly existent body
   independent of a truly existent mind?

no one!

   could it be a limb to build a nest?
 could it be a place of eternal rest?
could these arms wrap you up
 and hold you firm?
   or tickle-torture until you squirm?

 and would you understand
such impermanent nature?
or is your reliance political,
 predisposed to legislature?

squeeeeeeze instead

evaluate

and don’t forget
   your mind creates

and ever empties your plate
   but also fills you up

objectify this human creation
   dismantle parts with imagination
      for the whole is empty but of name
   and our mind is non-separate
we’re almost the same

 let last words be of virtue, love
      a wish for other’s happiness
and though I fit you like a glove
we play this silly game of chess
              you read these words,
            you leave them here,
            we’re left confused
           filled up with fear

       and then I pray and dance about
and use this body, to move, to shout
        and once again I live so free
   to end all fears and misery
all I’ve got’s one disbelief
        – how could it be only me?

Categories
Poetry

I am

I am not
       a shadow of the past

a constant reminder,
       the feeling, sound, the smell,
only a bit kinder
          still capable of perfect hell

how could it be
       an appearance keen
hair a mess and eyes uncanny
       feels like something that should have been

left in yesterday
       so why should it appear
         it couldn’t then stay
             yet the similarity’s now here

I cannot be a shadow

       I am solid, tangible

taste me
       don’t waste me

fated to meet often
         fated to part again

please me
       don’t tease me

fated to laugh together
         fated to get better

keep me
       don’t creep me

fated to fear each other
       fated to love some other?

I cannot be a shadow

       I produce sound, reflect light
I am more than imagination
                                    and yet,

no more than mind
still too kind
fuck that noise!
you have no idea
until the pedestal falls
and it always gets knocked over
amidst the crimson & clover
tracking texts, relentless calls
you have no idea
distrust that poise
I mean, no one’s that kind

I cannot be a shadow

except of a doubt
to ponder and wonder
what’s she about
of course, lacking solid evidence
the conclusion is drawn
at least a vestige
at times a reflection pool, drink
but rarely so calm, that image manifests least
marshmallow fluff, and not serious stuff
ephemeral, that’s for sure
immaterial and yet a painted city girl
because it’s a capitalist material world
she is a shade, phantomed, reduced
for that is what our minds will do:
                   concoct and reduce

and so
              I am
though mostly
              I am not
while this grasping persists
                           truth resists
and my reality is rot
        mind-made, illusion-caught
please stop!
            and see
                    the light in me
    though with delusions fraught
            and sad!
how sorrowful and absent glad!

the shocks are shot
       stability knocked out
as if by a naga-induced wave
  such a close shave!
        moments of despair
        threatening to take a life away
        only through blessings can one remain
        believe it or not
please stop!
            and try to see
this element of humanity
made of five elements, impure
air, water, space, earth and fire

try me
       don’t buy me

fated to come home
       yet still fated to roam

kiss me
       don’t miss me

fated to touch hearts
       fated to loathe parts

adore me
       don’t ignore me

fated to be shaken
       please let us awaken

I am not a shadow of the past

perhaps I am an apparition of the future
       if I were anything at all

but what am I?

moment by moment
       who am I?

if I am anyone at all

Categories
Poetry

Another Bloody Craving (ABC)

(alternative title: The ABCs of Growing Up)

Thirst coming in clutch
comes on too strong
the energy’s too much
lasts far too long
                 yet never’s enough

I once yearned
for a spot of light
until I learned
some like to fight
                 such fortune earned

I bent backward
I yielded growth
I bent forward
I broke my oath,
                 agony endured

Fabricated not firm
appearance dreamlike
so in dream pain squirm
in fog we hike
                 confused we burn

One time, way back
I felt this way
so out of whack
the sky was gray
                 her love was lack

Now this heart resists
cracked and dejected
while slow time persists
this heart again rejected
                 knowing the risks

I don’t plan to push
of course, I’ll pray
I don’t plan to rush
as hasty visions fade away
                 you’ll catch me blush

At last to end on happy note
may my mind be clear
may my face emote
may I hold all beings dear
                 and refuge close
                 and may I be free

Categories
Poetry

Wish for Wisdom

(alternative title: fucking begging for it)

             I want to cry
how is it possible
             once again
to become an emotional wreck
     of titanic proportions
          at least still safely submerged
too sensitive
        so overly sensitive!

Please!
     Take the sensitivity away!

Sensory overload
          at the slightest touch
and now  — my imagination!
                     runs wildly & in wild ways
        away
I’m a wreck
characters swarm my mind
barking at me
to write them down
and I cannot find my pen
where has it gone?
again!?

I cannot be barked at
       any longer!
It doesn’t make me
       any stronger!

I try and try
       to not yearn to hear
words of kind sincerity
       but again,
like salt water to quench my thirst
       a taste and I am thirstier!
       a taste and I need more!

Tell me I’m good
Tell me I’m GOOD
TELL me I’m good
Tell me I’M good
Tell ME I’m good

Am I good?

    and even if you tell me
    it doesn’t matter like it should!

because it’s my mind
that’s not good enough

to see reality clearly
to see past the real lies
deceptive tears, I moan, he cries
and I want him to pay dearly
but it’s that very fucked up mind
that wishes to take from others
in a selfish way,
        to have others pay
                    for my debts owed –

No! No longer!

Although I cannot crucify myself
I can rectify by patiently accepting
while my inner voice still screams
           I wish I was invisible
           unknowable as I must be,
still the outer quiet spoke volumes
and the sound of silence resonates
reverberates off the walls
as darkness consumes
a single lamp put out
a black night falls
           I was not as patient as I could
     be I was not as kind as I would
like others to do unto me

A little dramatic, yes
(I wish I wasn’t so dramatic)
                     but nonetheless
it’s an artist’s reflection I see

                        Carry on

It’s not temporary happiness I crave
but full abandonment
of these unacceptable delusions
and the permanent happiness
resulting from the stainless mind
that realizes emptiness directly

                        Please!

Make my mind good

Categories
Buddhism Philosophy Poetry

What is man?

Man
ignorant being
lucky opportunity
nearly impossible to find
how stupid to throw it away

Is man stupid?

Man argues about
what to be called
how to be perceived
       as if possible to control
externally!

Man abandons his own mind
aids his own demise
has every chance at happiness
but cannot wait
for temporary satisfaction to subside
before another yearning must arise
                    chase    chase      chase     die!

Just watch!

What is man?

A near-beast, I am
though, for the first time
seeing the trap
I have the instructions
a treasure route, escape map
as man, as woman
        it matters not!

Only that we try
                               and we do try!
to grasp this
nearly impossible to find
lucky opportunity
non-ignorant being
man

Categories
Good Fortune Poetry

Ordinary Existence

I hate this lifetime
                 she says

With all the instructions
         and all the conditions?
Why?
        How could you hate such fortune?

Because all the people
            I have ever known,
                            ever loved
                in all my lives
           have forgotten me

Not only
          do they not remember
our love, shared,     our words
                        our bonds …
they are all sick, wounded, dying
this vision becomes a nightmare
   threatens lives I care about
      makes me hate my own
and then I see
        I am the maker and destroyer
but never more a life-enjoyer
       — at least not this life anyway
this one with pain that’s here to stay
   because that is samsara’s way
      first it gives and then it takes
breath, floods, fires, earthquakes,
      fortune, time, fame, mistakes, and
breath

It all comes rushing in and then
                                    it goes

Absent is the gentle flow,
                        of another life
                  one in which I failed
          one where I succumbed to strife
          for otherwise this appearance
                        wouldn’t be
                             (couldn’t be)

So which delusion can I blame
   for producing this life, this name
I happily give up for happiness
   a wisdom realizing emptiness
                  I’m tired of grief’s game
        set me free!

While with wisdom, I reflect,
   I find… I hate this lifetime
                                all the same
           but despite its constant pain
             not a moment spent in vain

I will escape

Categories
Poetry

reconciliation

          … how to reconcile
if I feel great suffering
              I have caused such suffering

and continue to do it still

          … now I must cease
turning the wheel of sharp weapons
          and turn the wheel of Dharma instead

          … how strange
to have obliged such ignorance
               with each delusional teardrop

          … how strange
to feel the harm I cause
              and still I do not stop

Categories
Poetry

breaking down

rattle
    thrum
           POP
              smoke

this time
     not to be ignored

life never goes up in flames
just sizzles and fumes
                    unfavorably

ends not with a bang,
     but that goddamned whimper

three hundred thousand miles

(sounds better than five hundred thousand
                           kill –  om (ah hum) –  metres)

                         and you drop dead
(I surmise only one of us wanted
                      that camping trip)

smoke
        siren
      embarrass-
             meant-for-someone-else

smiling ‘I’m sorry’s,
       hoping to get out

(dashed hopes)

    just in case you were still wondering:

you’re here to
            stay put

            (is that an order?)

Categories
Poetry

Unilluminated

having over-assumed wisdom
having been used for others’ own ends

             I am puddled

a fractal coastline
                       after catastrophe

             where should I find fault?

Categories
Poetry

A sad song

I am hurting
   deeply wounded
to my core
only this time –
it’s not personal
it’s nothing I’ve done or haven’t done
       at least not recently

it’s not who I am, rather
it’s who I’ve been

it’s not what I didn’t do
it’s what I’ve done countless times over

self-cherished, ignorant
      born into imprints, big boots to fill
innocently believing in myself

not as an enlightened being
     but merely inherently existent
                    (betraying myself)

harmfully,     forever non truth
making up our non reality
                       collectively

   O, to escape a cage that has no bars!
   Where’s one run? Where’s one go?

we dance and shake and make do
     and then – handed instructions,
mapped, a perfect escape route
     tested, tried, and true
     a happy result, always

     I would dare – but alone?
why will no one come with me?
         will no one come with me?