Poetry Blogs (2020, spiritual)

The Morning, So Calm

Ujjal Mandal, West Bengal, India

The morning was taking a shower
in the honey dew, I asked her
why are you so calm? She told me,
'the deep I am, the less I speak'.

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occult curriculum, whispers of the ancients, leave for letting out secrets
oil lamp kindling catching flames; shining begotten light from passerbys
in between classes, shifting penrose stairs lead into underlying framework on occasion
halls lined with rooks adjacent and curators searching for a select
rites of secret passageways proclaimed, karma to the dark is just a means to an end
time and...

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in your essence I sense resplendence
could do no wrong by me, your personably impressioned defendant
your honor is what I strive for
it's why the day turns to night, sun and moon argue back and forth
fight about what's wrong and who's right, tug of war
light bends but doesn't break, shines through the prism, and is perceived in different waves

I met you once but my memory is starting to fade...

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We met when you needed me

I saw the suffering

I saw the pain

I came to comfort you

To take it away

I did not know you would follow

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And one day,

the sun stopped,

the rain stopped falling,

the flowers didn't look high,

the sky emptied of stars,

then a tear dripped

from the heart and became our breath.

We need a sacred tear,

before the fall...

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My vitality feels resuscitated with every breathe we share

two halves of a heart

you are the oxygen that pumps, vestibule, pair of consonance heartbeats

bounce off the walls.

we jump up and down hand in hand

your touch warms through and lights a fire inside and around

sound mind when your whisper incites a riot

the night is charged, god particles in the air.

our souls dance...

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I'm posting this following a conversation I had with the botanist John Parker (Director, Cambridge University Botanic Garden, 1996-2010) after a public reading from the book Deciphering Ancient Minds: The Mystery of San Bushman Rock Art by David Lewis-Williams and Sam Challis (Thames & Hudson, 2012). The South African San "bushmen" and their culture are a particular interest of John's, and we brie...

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Where is the magic?

We all start out knowing magic.

We are born with hurricanes and whirlwinds,

oceans and galaxies inside us.

We are able to sing to birds and read the clouds

and see the destiny in grains of sand.

But we have forgotten the magic

and we feel without compass, alone and desperately,

only selfishness, only pain, fear and darkness.

But, magic of love has nev...

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Let's let our thoughts tango and let our souls mate

my heart on my sleeve, on display

she is my armor, forever with fervor

worth the search for, pain couldn't hurt more

Her radiance blazes, visually a spectacle

her calming presence.

In essence, my mind linger.

Drift off to the cosmos. to a place where space and time coincide

I see her constellation and engage, warp drive

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Roses in bloom as i scale the stairs from my tomb

I've been away a long time,but the sweet scent of morning dew brings me closer to you

Felt like the fall from heaven was endless

but our hands met when you picked me up, foreign land for both of us but you never lost your gentle touch

I wake up and send praise to the gods, the woman of my dreams persists into my arms 

she p...

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It's easier to believe
I am a child of the most high God
than to live a life of despair.

It's easier to believe
everything happens for a reason
than to question fate.

It's easier to believe
love is everywhere
than to give in to hate.

It's easier to believe
in forgiveness
than remain a victim.

It's easier to believe
in abundant blessings
than mounting problems.

It's easier ...

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I saw God today

the sun shooting rays down between the clouds

I saw God today

in the tears of a friend who was hurting

I saw God today

in the smile of others and the pride in their eyes

I saw God today

as I looked in the mirror and realized my eyes were clear

for the first time in a very long time

I saw God today

in every raindrop and in every lightening strike

I s...

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grassy green pastures,
brown skin pastor
singing rhythm and blues 
about the crimson red flow 
that makes me and you 
white as snow

snow, fades as it melts 
but the sky is left 
with a colorful belt 
that reminds us that this green earth 
will not drown in muddy brown waters 

let's sing the rhythm and blues 
about the crimson red flow 
that makes me and you 
white as snow

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I fly the birds around this place

We chat amongst the trees

The wildlife up in this place

Contains a rainbow breeze.

The truth rises to the top

A quiet frozen mountain

I fly my birds up to the top 

To chat and to surround it.

Discussing the monopoly,

Folks with greed in mind--

I'm the messenger of truth

Sending my birds to fly.

The Greed-ridden dictators 

Own...

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Coffee for Two

the coffee shop overfilling and ringing

with mirth and memorable conversation,

floating and finding ownership in the

crooks and crannies of the enclosed room.

no longer smoke but steam.

spent words between friends and strangers alike.

the aloneness cuts through and slices

the moments like a dark dagger cutting

through the thick fog offered up by the

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All sides, when darkness me envelop
Hopelessly, when unthinkable seems hope
A chimera, when the abyss
With saw-like teeth yawns
Expectant me to drop,
To cling on, to cross over
There is a tight rope
God-for a single second
That doesn't stop
To emerge atop
Up all problems that pop!

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Warning, not for the light hearted, contains very strong poetry concerning the darker side of seeing.

Thought I may aswell open with something dark and hard hitting, take the warning seriously though and be aware the Poem is about true life experience.  

www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tLS__ATuS4

Please feel free to post comment/ critique.   

Thankyou 

...

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The soul of an artist,

famine or harvest.

An exercise in extremity,

symmetric serenity.

Raw yet crafted

a tool made from bone

fleshed out by interpreting existence.

The soul of an artist,

famine or harvest.

An exercise in extremity,

symmetric serenity.

A fusion of real and surreal

a soulful symbiote

intertwined with their ver...

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Hope is ...

Carried away on ocean tides.

Treacherous waters,

surround the lighthouse.

Sometimes wounds bleed a darker red,

staining blurred snippets of memory,

from impoverished depths.

Bubbles rise to the surface

pouring out bottled tears.

Rotating light shines,

illuminating the edges of sadness.

Waiting to rescue lost souls

and abandoned ...

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