Meditate-Contemplate

meditate 08 18

 

how must we be
living underneath the ginkgo tree

does it shade our skin
or venture further therein

sounds of violins

how then do we meditate
when wearing a steel breastplate
our thoughts locked in the crate
waiting for our time of fate
or is it too late
can we ever fully clean the slate
is the task too great

how then will we erase

all the tears gathered in the vase
stained thoughts on paper plate
time to regurgitate
seasoned words of late

layered pages lie in state
sign of fate

august 18 2018

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Contemplation

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If I stand on the point of a needle
the wind will not be altered
raindrop will not glide down its surface
no shadow will be cast
if I stand on the point of a needle

will I be able to tick off each day
will I be in a meditative state
will I still see the sun rise and set
if I stand on the point of a needle

will I need
or will I just be
listening to the bass cello
drifting over me

will I be music
will I be colour
or change the sky
to something duller

if I stand on the point of a needle
will I be able to see
all that surrounds me

june 4 2018

Transfixed

shadow

what makes us live as if transfixed

frozen from the insides

breathing slowly

sitting,,, still,,,

no one thinking of you

where you are

what you are doing

you manifest into a white light 

what makes us unable to function

frozen within our steps

breathing blackness

sitting,,, listening,,, waiting

no one speaking of 

where you have not been

what you will do

you hide within the walls

of the shadow

every breath you take

thins the atmosphere 

shrinks in dimensions

who is this alien 

absorbing all the oxygen

squeezing out all of life 

we have come to know

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Day In Corn Field

CORNFIELD

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between the cobs
secrets held tightly
rows upon rows
little bodies in cocoons
no pink or yellow bows

my world is a cornfield
of endless paths

one – you chose
two – you walk
three – you discover
four – you question
five – you doubt
six – you look back
seven – you rethink
eight – you adjust
nine – you fail
ten – you contemplate
eleven – you decline
twelve – your at the end
my world is like a corn field

the sky is full of the ancients
you might have seen their faces in the sky
as they were drifting by
maybe you have heard one calling
could it have been a crow’s cry

life is full of questions
never do I feel satisfied
when one path I decide to walk
the other passes by

I stand and watch the moments
that mimics me to a fault
then sit in my square of stalks laid bare
where secrets are kept in a vault

still I hear the whispers
chasing me around
sometimes they make me giggle
but often they make me frown

the sun feels warm
and makes me feel secure
secrets of the cornfield
I must forever endure

dark sky draws near
blue figure begins to appear
sound of cracking on cascading stalks
not a whisper heard as they walk
they frighten me for idle fun
I hear the footprints, I don’t run
frozen to the ground, I can hear them come

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like shadows they move through each other
flying like a butterfly
still, sit and wonder
why cornfield children don’t cry

they sleep alone
perched onto the stalk which is their home
leaves layered all around
golden hair falling down

I call to whispering shadow
to stand in front of me
for I would like to dance a waltz
and have a cup of tea

shadows in the field
was that you calling me?
or was it just the crows 
flying up into the tree

I will walk upon your row of rows
till the north wind blows
forever to sleep upon your chest
hold you till eternal rest

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This day I sat, all day in the middle clearing of a cornfield. After some time creating photo poems I began to write. I wanted to see how sitting and experiencing the solitude would change my writing. Observing my reactions to the solitude. With the sun and clouds moving overhead, it was the wind that held me most. The wind whispering in the rows deep. Then like flying birds, it would rise and join the sky.
I was surprised that I became frightened as the wind would jump about for my mind interrupted it as ‘ghosts gathering’. owwwwuuuu
Till in the end, I sort of accepted where I was. As the sun came down my friends called over the tops of the corn tassels. Coffee was brewed!
I was quite content to leave the field and all its whispers.
All and all I think it was a good experiment and one that I will do again, in a different isolated place.
There is also a mini video on YouTube, though I was not able to add a link.