Category Archives: Poetry

The First Eon, Part 1

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Posted by on in Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

April 27, 2017, Prescott-

Because of the nature of this poem, I will with respect to my schedule, offer it in two parts.  The unquoted lines represent my own thoughts.  The quoted lines express what my soul hears from a friend, when in deep meditation.

We first encountered one another as atomic substances,

so far back in the Creator’s Time,

that I have scant memory.

“Yes, my friend.  I, too, have only slight recollection, but we knew each other, in those misty, hallowed moments.”

I told you then, that my feeling was that we would encounter one another, when it mattered most.

“I recall, and so it has been.  We have seen much, mostly side by side, but often separately.”

Most of our experiences have been in worlds far more treacherous than this.  We were nearly extinguished by the Dark Forces, several times.

“The Creator does not allow for extinction.  I was never worried, in all the frightful moments.  Were you?”

Only in the earliest of times.  Back then, you were my rock, almost maternal in your strength.

“We have always been peers, equal in most ways, stronger or weaker in others.  Thank you, though.”

It’s amazing, how our Soul Energy has taken us, from one level to another.  Here we now are, in a corporeal form.  I have often wondered where you were, and what has happened, over the past decades of this seemingly finite level.

“I’ve sensed that you have struggled.  I’ve struggled, too, and have prayed God for your well-being.”

I’ve prayed for you, as well, wondering when this time would come.  I’ve done this, at each level of our existence, and yet, you always appear, when the time is apt.

“We’re expected to go our separate ways, much of the time.  It’s that way with all of the others, as well.  We’ll be together, though, in the subsequent levels.  This, I feel, deeply.”

I was happy with my mate, in this life, much as I was with her, and others, in the previous levels.

“I’m happy with mine, also.  He’s been a source of strength, throughout, and I think he will continue,so.”

(Part 2, to follow.)

Weeds, and Craziness

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Posted by on in Community, Poetry, Social, Striving

April 23, 2017, Prescott-

I spent a good part of today

dealing with weeds.

The thing about weeds is

they need to be pulled out,

by the roots,

and attention needs to be paid,

to the seed pods,

much as is paid to nits,

when ridding a person,

or animal,

of lice.

I got a vote of confidence,

this afternoon,

from one of the few

living father figures,

still in my life.

He thinks, sight unseen,

that she is worth my while.

At the age of ninety-three,

though, there is much

that is seen,

through the inner eye.

I won’t drive her crazy,

that’s for sure.

At my age,

things happen at

a reasonable pace,

even in matters of the heart;

at least,

that’s how it seems to me.

Speaking of craziness,

a man with a gun

went way overboard,

engaging our city’s Finest,

for several hours.

No reports of injuries or deaths,

yet.

“Shooter in custody”,

is what we hear.

Local media is silent,

but  not social media.

Why do competing

personalities

have to

choose a time like this

to bicker

over who’s accurate?

Craziness, indeed.

 

 

Ridvan

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Posted by on in Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Poetry, Spiritual

April 19, 2017, Prescott- 

The Sun of Truth rises,

whenever the darkness is

so thick,

that one could cut it

with a knife.

The Creator promises

truth will be resurrected,

whenever Creation gets

rough around the edges.

New life rises,

from composted soil.

Buildings rise,

from the rubble

of edifices long rent

asunder.

New ideas stem

from new applications

of the old.

From one of

the world’s oldest nations,

comes the call

for mankind to finally

unite,

in the Light of God.

(Baha’u’llah, founder of the Baha’i Faith, revealed His Teachings for a Divinely-inspired unification of the human race, in the twelve-day period preceding His departure from the Ridvan Garden, in Baghdad, from whence He and His family were to go to what is now Istanbul, on a second stage of exile.  This period is commemorated each year by Baha’is, as the Festival of Ridvan.  This year, the Festival is April 20-May 1.)

 

 

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part XXV: Purpose

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Posted by on in Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Striving

April 18, 2017, Prescott- 

What is the purpose of public criticism?

Is it loving admonition, or mere oneupmanship?

What is the purpose of public displays of affection?

Is it sharing one’s heart’s desire, with the world,

or rebellion against what one sees as restrictive and outmoded?

What is the purpose of road rage?

Is it an outlet for uncontrollable frustration,

or a neurotic means to power?

What is the purpose of coarse language?

Is it exercise of one’s freedom of speech,

or the lazy person’s way of off-putting others?

What is the purpose of a failure to love others?

Is it a reaction to real and imagined pressures,

or a reflection of one’s lack of love for self?

Inklings

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Posted by on in Poetry, Striving, Travel

April 14, 2017, Clints Well, AZ-

I like this route to the northeast corner of Arizona.

Bypassing crowded highways to the west,

and winding roads to the east,

is a fine thing,

when one’s main purpose is

to get to a particular spot,

which inklings say,

must be reached at a certain time.

Long Valley Cafe, at this little junction,

that is part of an area

called Happy Jack

is a good spot, at which to

make sense of inklings.

So, my itinerary for tomorrow

is set.

After a Lumberjack Burger,

and time near the gas-powered stove,

I am headed to sacred land.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

 

The Last Resort, and Ignorance

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Posted by on in children, Personal Values, Poetry, Striving

April 13, 2017, Prescott-

A boy kicked his “best friend”, in a fit of rage.

The “best friend” is a girl.

I told her to never, ever again

accept such behavior from any boy,

or man, or man-child.

She agreed, wholeheartedly,

and he is now short one friend.

People have no business,

settling their affairs with violence.

This is true for men vs. men,

women vs. women,

women vs. men,

adults vs. children.

Harm is always foul.

No person, on earth,

need pretend that business is usual,

even after having turned the other cheek.

Either issues are addressed,

and amends are made,

by the perpetrator,

or the perp goes on, alone.

Changes are made,

by the aggressor,

or the oaf does without.

I have never struck a girl,

or woman, least of all, in anger.

I own my mistakes, though,

and have left the person

whose feelings I hurt,

as alone as she has wanted.

My son was raised,

to never strike a girl,

or woman.

To that end, he has

remained a gentleman.

To that end,

I hold myself,

accountable.

 

Flat’s Where It’s At?

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Posted by on in distraction issues, Poetry

April 11, 2017, Prescott-

I opened my social media today,

to see a Flat Earther posting

that there is, in fact, no gravity.

He posits that the person walking

across the Earth will meet only

a sharp, high cliff, at the end of his journey.

The Sun is, according to this latter day sage,

a bright little ball that serves Mother Earth,

around which it revolves,

from a scant sixty thousand feet up.

I have two questions:

Is there a hotel, at each end point?

When will Sun tourism begin, and might we just float up there?

(This is, for the hyper-serious, a bit of levity, in the wake of the Flat Earth Society’s recent postings, on various Facebook sites.)

 

Peter Rabbit’s House

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Posted by on in children, Community, Personal Values, Poetry, Striving

April 7, 2017, Prescott- 

There they were, the day before  the  first demon came,

living in beautiful anticipation

of the joy that is equal parts sacred and secular.

On the day before the first demon came,

a little boy took his father’s hand

and went to call, at Peter Rabbit’s House.

There was where they both went to dream.

On the day that the first demon came,

young friends mused, about just how

amazing that Christmas would be.

On the day the first demon came,

a grandfather started his day,

sitting in his own house of dreams,

and looked out on the school,

across the street.

Then the first demon came,

the little dreamers fell,

along with some

of their protectors.

The first demon died,

of his own hand.

Some other little dreamers

ran to the grandfather,

who took them in,

on the day the first demon came.

Other demons came,

in his wake,

threatening the grandfather,

and the families,

of the fallen little dreamers.

They always come in packs,

these demons,

even though they claim

to not know one another.

We, though, know who they are.

We, who love our little dreamers,

will stand for them,

and the packs of demons,

will fall by the wayside,

far from Peter Rabbit’s House.

( This is inspired by viewing the film, “Newtown”)

 

Khan Sheikoun

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Posted by on in children, Personal Values, Poetry, Social

April 5, 2017,Prescott-

Gas flowed silently.

Children stopped moving.

Leaders ducked down.

(This is in reference to the poison gas attack that killed at least 74 people, nearly half of whom were women and children, in the Syrian village whose name gave title to this verse.  There are those on the Alt-Right, in this country, who have stated they’d like to see immigrant children killed here, as well.  Shame and disgust will follow those black-hearts.)

Mocoa, Mosul, Memphis

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Posted by on in Community, Historical, Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

April 4, 2017, Prescott- 

Three rivers converged,

burying some bodies,

and taking others into the maw

of the Amazon Basin.

Five nations’ armies converge,

blasting some innocents to smithereens,

sending others into the maw

of  pseudo-Islamic madness.

Four men converged,

in a sultry  neighbourhood.

One killed another,

sending America into the maw

of an outpouring of grief,

which the nation has yet to overcome.