A seed planted
Virtuously
Grows fruits of happiness
A seed planted
Non virtuously
Grows fruits of suffering
Tldr: karma’s a bitch
💋
Categories
Your Karma
Tag: Poetry
Categories
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
Categories
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
Categories
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
Categories
loathsome whispers
the voices whisper
people loathe you
the voices snicker
alone alone alone
a false chant
separate separate separate
a real deluded rant
awful awful awful
in four-four time, or sometimes three
you can’t count anymore!
I used to play the violin
and you can’t read anymore!
the voices tell half-truths
and you believe us!
the voices are half-believed, half-won already
you’ve lost, give up
a nasty thought, a remorseful tale
we are the guards!
I’d rather be the hammer than the nail
your mind’s in jail!
I’d plan escape, but where to run
we’re just beginning our fun!
for the mind will follow, as shadows after the sun
stop with the rhymes, already!
the voices whisper
people loathe you
the voices snicker
alone alone alone
a false chant
separate separate separate
a real deluded rant
fearful fearful fearful
with the ability to abandon
no no no!
I expel the poison, the voices
so long good bye adieu
and freedom pursue
footnote: if you’re going through hell, keep going
footnote 2: to love, to cherish, to be patient, to be kind, to be virtuous, to remember all is mind, this will get you through
can I hold your interest?
captivate you?
a butterfly, aimless in a breeze
or a moth, suicidal to a flame
I only live to entertain
are you not entertained?
how we exist
appears only in name
I only stay to go insane
are you not the same?
Categories
divination
I am the speaker of the poem
divine entity
beauty, grace
flowing robes and lovely face
sent from heaven unto this place
pure imagination
I am water streaming,
a silent river, sans creepy songs
absent dark tunnels
I, a speaker, fantasy
I, fucking magical
I, ever unseparate from an I
a true personality
untrue
glistening, golden, unafraid
tattooed
cling and clung and am clinging to
lacking inherent-existence-goo
a samsaric stew
a real fuck-you
I, a speaker, falsely accused
lacking permanent subsistence
a temporary view
constantly made anew
I, changing perspective
a bit see-through
emptiness-clue
with good ideas I then undo
I, ever introspective
meditative
on the swift escape route out
I’m wishing you’ll come to
I, the speaker of this poem
invention imagining the spoken you
inception in the meta sense
write it in the present tense
I haven’t really any plans
except to collapse into this poem
when your eyes are diverted
to some other interest, next deserted
from whose side do I exist?
I, the speaker of this poem?
divine entity
beautiful, strong
stunning, intelligent
rarely wrong
who from your mind
came and soon
from your mind
gone
Categories
mistaken identity
I’m sorry
have we met before?
you say you know me?
I don’t think so
I don’t remember your face
I don’t remember your feel
and though you seem congenial enough
I can’t be sure the emphasis isn’t on con
for you act like you know me
I can assure you, you do not
you talk like I can read your mind
I assure you I cannot
you walk like I know you
I assure you I forgot
you look in my eyes and I think you try
to put a thought in my head
but my soul is dead
and I’m filled with dread
amongst this bread
it’s crummy really
but I can’t!
I cannot read your thoughts
I know not how you feel
I feel not what you know
I hear not what you sow
I quietly mind my own business
so how surprised am I
when I see a glint in your eye
as if responding to mine
as if I should try!
try what?
I cannot try any harder
I can’t try anymore!
I feel as though I’m nerve-wracked
and body-wrecked upon unknown shore
I never knew another soul existed
and I wouldn’t, couldn’t trust one here
so excuse me, though you have insisted
I don’t think we’ve before been near
and though I find it’s hard resisted
I don’t think we’ll love sincere
though I bet your touch starts fire
and somehow sets my heart aflame
I hope I lose this damn desire
for you’re a stranger, only friend in claim
so I must say, I’m sorry sir
I haven’t got the time
though by some you’re called master
it’s your imagination, not mine
I wish I knew a bit more, boy
like who you think I am
I wish I knew your mind, man
there’s no mistake I’d be a fan
though you’ve mistaken my identity
mistook me for somebody else
I became curious, intrigued
fuck it all! it can’t be helped
Categories
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?
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
The Halfwit Writer 