Tag: life

Poetry

magic of mind

believe in magic
believe in love
    believe that life is a gift above
     all else believe that happiness is real
not to be attained, but
        merely discovered
pull back the cover, the visage of misery
for underneath,   already there
   is joy,   and peace,   and fearlessness
magical and pure
   suffering’s cure
           such allure
& haute couture
     we make a dress of bliss
a lightweight garb
   heavenly feeling, free of attachment
free of hatred
          free of ignorance
   created with equanimity and compassion
rainbow fabric of delight
not temporary, but everlasting
     not truly existent,
     but purified, transformed and increased!
what sorcery is this!
     not wizardry of external means
    but a realization of mind
             my mind, your mind
     pouring water into water
     mixed inseparable
may I be free from delusions
may I fortify my magic
    may I never wreak havoc
        (more than I already have)
      may I only give Dharma,
        material help, fearlessness and love
          may I be a treasure from above
ultimately,         at last I find
         a magician’s alchemy
   is mind over matter
        for all matter is mind

Tags attainment, bliss, Buddhism, buddhist poem, buddhist reflection, calm mind, creative writing, dharma, emptiness, gift, giving, joy, life, love, magic, peace, poem, Poetry, reality

Poetry

The White Rose

note: poem conceptualized & written in 2020

Petals fall from
the white rose
encased but ignored
left on loop
but no one is there
to watch the rewind
meaning it’s hollow
not empty
still, like
rats’ feet over broken glass
no more to start or
stop a revolution or war.

Petals fall from
the white roses
marking graves of fallen
soldiers who tell their
story of glory after death
words spill from a curator’s lips
or a historian’s pen tip
tales of heroism
what brutality
fighting for peace, wisdom, clarity
against another mind to somehow
find it within one’s own.

War has been on my mind
as it so often is when
I find myself waiting in fatal quiet
reality augmented by the furtive hive mind
observing and denying
battles now fought
in sedated silence
behind television screens
behind cell phone screens
the ones woven through
our own digits
stiffened and stuck to
lite brite pointillism.

White roses bloom
in my smoke-filled room
red petals litter the floor
grey petals fall from the ceiling
ashes in graves and washed on shore
and what does it matter now
hope is a word said
nevermore
hope is a word bathed in doubt
so trade for belief and see
wish for a deep faith to be
the peace already in you
the love already in me

I heard an opinion
like the white rose, inoffensive
neither right nor wrong
simply an idea
made tangible by
a horrific co-creation
of present reality
present time an
indian-given gift
an offensive slur
cancelled at the last
moment – free speech no more.

Forgetting that    to offend
is a mind-made act
    a self-made attack
complete control given
to the red queen
whose only goal
is to hang the noose
about your neck
and wring the pennies
from your purse
yet it’s just     the dream
that is your curse.

Now prick your finger
on the white rose’s thorn
made empty in parts
by how you define
your relations with
the world you find
outside your front door
for all is your mind
and our history written
from one point of view
always makes ignorant
all but a few

Tags 2020, autonomy, creative thinking, creative writing, false reality, history, ideology, individual, individuality, life, life purpose, love, media, mob mentality, news, poem, Poetry, politics, purpose, reality, rebellion, war, writing

Poetry

she didn’t wake up

she was looking for love
      in all the wrong places
lighting a cigarette
       outside the empty bar
     buys her own drinks
       what’s she waiting for?
                      Enlightenment?
she trots off into the night,
      dragging her smoke-ring-halo
    absent lamp light, fog rimmed
starlit trails
     observed by her full moon gaze –
   but does she exist without witness?
she was looking for love
      eyes wide shut
             snaked-eyed-luck
coffee breath and memories
of last year’s shitty fuck
                   did I cum?
skating down an icy street
       pleasantly, legally high
                     wishing to die
            she escapes on by
narrowly avoiding being struck
               ignores the honks
            oversized jacket, wonky look
   she reaches inside for her last dart
it falls from shakey fingers, on ice, wet, breaking
           and if that isn’t the straw
         as she falls to her knees
       and pleads with the dream,
               — her own mind of course —
                                please release me
wake up
wake up

Tags addiction, attachment, canadian lit, caricature, downtown, elements, fiction, homeless, ignorance, life, love, poem, Poetry, samsara, short story, smoking, suffering, verse

Poetry questions

Where is the joy?

the tedium of days
    with their fits and starts
       a haunting melody
lacking rhythm
          lacking rhyme
       a humdrum routine
safe, content, but lacking life

Where is the life?!

excuse me, for every so often
              I must exclaim
       there’s something pent up —
         they call it rage?
                      desperate yearning?
              I can’t explain!
          but it has to come out!
        how much can I take?
           (thankfully art is a good outlet)

now my prayer be heard by all
    I just want to meet a happy person!
        doesn’t have to be particularly
               handsome or tall
                   (not that that’s not nice)
    never mind lover! maybe friend?
       it’s a very very mad world
      and the time for being particular is near
      end
but we’re not there yet!
           how about a little happiness?
                                  I’m not some joker
                         ‘put-a-smile-on’-quack
                 just a halfwit out of whack
    who to some could be a little woker
                 (not gonna happen
                          you’ll never guess why)

so with all that exclaimed and said
I must admit what I want instead
is to keep my queen-sized empty bed
and lose the roommate I’m lucky to stand
but would much rather be alone each night
I am never so lonely – I’m always alright but

mixing the mind
         with the depressed masses
has brought invisible clouds
          to winter’s false sunny days
lacking warmth
     lacking love

it’s that time of year
        hawks swoop and call up above
       while this nest remains cluttered
        with dog fur of all things, poison
        what can I do but wait and pray?

        what can I do but appreciate
    these lucky opportunities for easy practice
    things were once difficult
           and could be hard again
      so upon which minds will you depend?
          (I hope the happy ones!!)

if the days grow long and tedious
simply rejoice and practice
there’s never need for sorrow, tears
when refuge in Dharma abounds
once more, rejoice!

let the ring go
those who know will know

let go

let joy arise

Tags boredom, choose happy, creative writing, depression, friends, happiness, joy, lackluster, lament, life, poem, Poetry, question, relationships, writing

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

Tags creative writing, fate, I, ignorance, life, memory, past, poem, Poetry, projection, self-cherishing, self-grasping, self-grasping ignorance, self-portrait, selfish, selfishness, shadow, writing

Dreams Poetry

On Being a Writer (this time)

Post author By K. Samways
Post date November 11, 2024
No Comments on On Being a Writer (this time)

I have entered the dream world
          it is dark
                  madness ensues
      I’ve come unglued
monsters lurk and
      a peculiar quirk
has taken hold of me
      reality      not what it seems

I have entered the dream state
           it passes over my waking eyes
a film, betraying a wild guise
      a darkness taking over me
absent     absent is the light
      in a nightmare world
full of haunting fright
         how could it feel so right!

I have entered the dream
I see its walls surrounding me
seemingly limitless,
      yet I cannot run further
than my limitations
      in a meat puppet state
I cannot wait any longer
      to start becoming stronger
I must lucid make
            my dull dreaming mind
I cannot afford to become unkind
                             — not now! —
and forget …

I must remember the dream
             has taken hold of me
it’s pulled me in and under
and threatens to rip asunder
                        all that I’ve worked for
all that my continuum has worked for
                  to lose all I have and more
           futures of past work
            I cannot be the jerk
that throws it all away
and yet,
            I cannot be the one to stay

I must wake up!

Still, I have been pulled under
         I have metamorphosed as a cicada
to scratch my way to the surface,
      crawling above ground
            to birth such sound
and to shed such skin and skeleton
     like the selfless king
               abandons his crown!
while in samsara’s sea they drown
                                          no more

I must wake up!

In the dream world
     imagination is the creator
of all sights and sounds
   and smells and feels and fears
      and tastes and don’t forget
         the touches you don’t get
      — your mind creates those too
in the dream world
     the artist thrives or dies
depending on will and disposition
          — or is it now our despotism?
for it is time I must remind
                                                   (who?)
      it’s pure       imagination
         —   creepy factories aside    —

I have entered the dream world
     and so I say goodbye
to the ordinary people I once knew
   to the human race in which I grew
      to the good friends, in numbers few,
oh how when I write, I will miss you!
      but only a solo journey ensues
(the synonym is madness)
      for it’s certainly not entirely lonely
with all those characters arguing in there

          CAN YOU SHUT THE HELL UP
                   FOR JUST A SECOND
           SO I CAN PRETEND
                   TO BE NORMAL?

Nope.

Not fair.

This familiarity is based on
     past impressions
          with no guarantee of
     future impressions
           (& little return on investment)

you think I’d shift gears

Alas! like so many lifetimes
       before me
                      I write
   I enter the dream state
                      I strive
   I will realize my mind
                      this time,
   with a qualified Spiritual Guide.