And the Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

Children of the stars they say
Reaching
Shackled to our feet of clay . . .

The coin that knows but one side
Seeking
Self-knowledge history denied.

Almost comprehend, not quite
Feeling
Never growing to full height

And stepping to an off beat

Fated

Trapped beneath the sun’s bright heat.

Stars pattern in the night sky
Small ones always asking why
Doomed to crawl and then to die
Children of the
Stars can’t
Fly.

April 30, 2018 2

Imagine

Light breaks
yet no one sees
and fills the room
with clarity
Brilliance
old fashioned style
Men’s ties
vibrate
with spoken
and unspoken
color
Charmed I’m sure
beyond reasonable doubt
In collective harmony
the minds create
collate
thoughts and ideas
matter and dreams
probabilities
counterparts
and parts unknown
Fragments of our
imagination and selves exist
in and in between
time or space
as we know them
and particles laugh
with uninhibited
Glee

Light breaks
with joyful sound
Laugh too
and you will see
lovely abandon
procreating
and co-creating
Look and see . . . .

April 29, 2018 10

Implied Linear Time

change is motion, moment by moment
all eternity dependent upon you
memory hinges upon one moment
un-tameable. moments. unapologetic.
passing you by, sometimes speeding
they don’t look back for you or cry
as you cry for them, needing
traces of time streak down your face
knowledge is motion. moment by moment

time-kHxE--621x414@LiveMint

“I walked backwards, against time
and that’s where I caught the moon singing at me.

I steeped downwards into my seat
and that’s where I caught freedom
waiting for me like a lilac.I ended thought, and I ended story.
I stopped designing, and arguing,
and sculpting a happy life.I didn’t die. I didn’t turn to dust.

Instead I chopped vegetables,
and made a calm lake inside me
where the water was clear
and sourced and still.

And when the ones I love came to it,
I had something to give them, and
it offered them a soft road out of pain.

I became beloved.

And I came to know that
this was it. The quiet power.I could give something mighty, lasting,
that stopped the wheels of chaos,

by tending to the river inside,
keeping the water rich and deep
keeping a bench for you to visit.”~Tara Sophia Mohr from
Your Other Names: Poems

time-kHxE--621x414@LiveMint

An Essay Concerning Time Perspectives

“You act like mortals in all that you fear, and like immortals in all that you desire”

Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

The problem arises in almost every Western society and it is one that will hinder many people’s abilities in life; that is how we are foolish with our time. In this essay concerning the perspective of time, I hope to explore and shed a light on how we, as humans behave and act in accordance to our beliefs about time. For instance, most men believe that they can get much more done in a week than they possibly can and much less done in a year. As we explore the idea of time perspectives, I hope to make it clear how we, as humans waste so much time on this planet, not only on trying to acquire certain superfluous belongings, but also on activities that do nothing but ruin our wellbeing……..

April 28, 2018 0

102 Degrees F

She stands in the warmth of the sun,
hot thighs pressed together purely for the pleasure
of the feeling of skin against skin.

There is tension in humidity.

In the heightened suspension
of water particle after water particle parading
in the dampness of the wet, clinging, air.

Her skin is strangely aware of itself at times like these and
she of it and it of her, though her mind notes only the
discomfort, ignoring the rise and fall of its corporal rhythms.

There are hiccups

in the air

hardly discernible disruptions

of the slightest degree

pockets

of coolness if you will, a temperature interrupt

an honesty laid bare.

She stands in the warmth of the sun, burning
yet dripping moisture, seething with an untenable fire
of the inner kind, restless, moving and yet unmoving
finding not comfort nor expression
pain nor release.

From what?

I don’t know.

I only see her moving, see her
becoming awareness of the existence of her skin.
And her body hears hints of whispered thoughts
and is surprised
though still disbelieving of the fact of a
consciousness besides its own.
It does at least try to grasp
the concept.

Molecules begin dancing more quickly now
pregnant with the fires of intense friction
murmuring in their own muted language

the self-same language of babies, and of children
that secret language of twins and animals
defying a hasty description
or any kind of competent judgment.

They become breathtaking in a
most literal sense, stealing her concentration
yet all the while teaching
her how to breathe.

Wet and hot embrace
breathe one another in, gradually
while body and mind mix the rhythmic
memories of their comparative souls
all under the guidance of

temperature.

They have successfully grasped the first precept.

She stands in the warmth of the sun, contemplating
what she cannot figure out, hearing her name
in a thousand places, at least.
She glances up and around but by then it’s too late
with her thighs pressed together
then apart purely for the pleasure, or is it

comfort?

And in perfect time with the humid air.

April 25, 2018 0

The Difference

I bathe my face illicitly
in the heat of the rising mist
and then I begin to court disaster
when I bare my naked fist.
The people sit insipidly
rolling their eyes at the sky
pictures of aggressive indifference
these people cannot fly.

Or will not. As the case may be.

The barren land before me
accuses me in its dust.
I journey to the mountaintops
the objects of my lust.

Unrequited. Or not, as the case may be.

Where the clouds mingle with mortals
here is where I’ll reside
stepping through portals of compassion
I feel an urgent need to hide.
Breathing my madness
in the heat of the swirling mist
Courting disaster
in the face of my naked fist.

Obsession. Or compulsion . . . ?

* * * * * *

Photo of :
Eris Goddess of discord and strife. Eris is daughter of Zeus and Hera, or else, she was daughter of Nyx. She is often called sister of Ares, the Greek god of war. Eris bore a number of unpleasant children: Battles, Disputes, Famine, Fighting, Forgetfulness, Lawlessness, Lying Words, Manslaughters, Murders, Quarrels, Ruin, Sorrows and Toil. Eris is mainly a personification of strife . . .

(found on pinterest)

* * * * * * * *
And then there”s

“Chomolungma” :

The Tibetan name for Mount Everest is Chomolungma or Qomolangma, which means “Saint Mother”, and the Chinese transliteration is Zhūmùlǎngm.

Chomolungma – the Goddess of the mountain itself, the Goddess of Plenty who who dwells atop the towering peak and provides wealth and spiritual insight to those who seek Her counsel. Her name is the original name of Mt. Everest. (Tibet)

* * * * * * *
I can’t decide which fits the poem best.

April 23, 2018 1

Her Virtue Lies in One Hand . . .

Her Virtue lies in one hand, the other hold her Sin.
She smiles at the disparity and shrugs her shoulder to begin.
She breathes in life one day by day, one minute before the other
Juggling the two like so many balls
Ever mingling one with the other.
To love her life is ambiguity, always feeling the constant tug
Of one against the other, “you can’t have both” or so they say

And so she shrugs

Though she used to wonder what course to take
Which spirit to embrace, how to separate, or to choose
How to settle for just one face
To be this . . . to not be that . . . my god! Her nature was at war
And she did not understand the conflict – at first, but no more

Now she stands awed

Pepsi in one hand, V-8 in its twin, triumphant and complete
With both her Virtue and her Sin. She smiles at the disparity.

April 19, 2018 3

If It Were So Easy

walk away they say, and I pretend
I don’t know what they mean
walk away they say, and I wonder
but will I be clean?
walk away, gently, walk away
walk away they say, repeating
themselves, and are dismayed
by my lack of attention, annoyed
in this point of contention
I know that I need to turn around
but I am moved by compulsion
one I cannot seem to name
I am moved by the habit of years
by the movement of tears, by the
trickle of fears, fickle or not
one after the other, in the night
in the day. I wake in the night, saying
“don’t touch me, don’t touch me”
I cry in the night, begging
“don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me”
dream I plunge a knife deep in
his heart, and cannot stop, and
cannot stop. I am evil in this
dream. Get some sleep they say
but I know it’s best if I don’t
just trust they say, but
I know that I won’t
walk away? I think but I
am surrounded on all sides
I have no place to hide
walk away they say, and I pretend
I don’t know what they mean.

April 17, 2018 3

Darkened Rooms

darkened rooms dot the fiery landscape
eerie in the shadows of impending gloom
masking the startling evidence of the gloaming-apparent

and they shimmer

gods and goddesses step down from perfect pedestals
greeting us with a kindness derived from the universe
sniffing our hair to find the unfamiliar scent of
modern day, the tell-tale traces of civilization

they do not know how to speak to us, as we have all
but abandoned the language; they do not know how
to hear us, as less and less often
do we sound the voice of our souls

they merely stare at us curiously, tilting their heads
in wonder, in a growing sense of disbelief
stooping down from immaculate pedestals
kneeling . . . almost, to peer closely at our faces so\
forlorn, sniffing our hair in mute despair, watching
our mouths move with impotent frustration

“we’ve stayed away too long” muttered one gruffly
and wiped away a stray tear, while
Artemis patted his shoulder awkwardly
saying, “come . . . mayhap we can find a Seer.”

April 14, 2018 2

Thy Rose

I would be thy Lady, if thou wouldst have me
and in my submission, learn to be free
I would be thy Lady, were it thy will
in trust, I would learn to be still

for a time, and then

I would seduce thy ear with soft-spoken words
becoming in the night all that thou heard
speaking words of love to thee when they were felt
reclaiming my power when before thee I knelt
I would feel thee within me odd times of the day
know thee beside me at night as I lay

“Little Flower, now touched by the sun

erupts into hot, molten life and trembles …

poised on the precipice of desire.”

I would drench thee, saturate thee, utterly captivate thee
in the torrent of our infinite possibility
I would be thy summer and I would be thy spring
I would be both thy solitude and thy tawdry fling
I would pleasure thee with all that is fine

hold thy heart beating . . . give thee mine

“I urge thee, I urge thee, Look at me … “

hidden deep in thy throat, I would hear my name

… and we would never be the same.

I would know thy heart if thou wouldst bare it
thy thoughts, if thou wouldst share them
fuel thy whims, desires, dreams if thee dare
seduce thy mind, soul, body if thee care
I would dance before thee and then away
twining my hair through my hands in this way
thy interest through my fingertips

I would tug at thee, compel thee, entice thee just so
I would desire thee, yes . . .
But would love thee more, and honor, and respect

I had gauged his honor though I did not know it

“A quality of trust. I pushed him away.

I pulled him back to me. But in the end

… his face is all I see.”

Thou hast long since braved the brambles of mine heart
I would be thy rose now, and create a new start
I would submit to thee, surrender my Self to thee

I would be thy Lady. If thou wouldst have me.