Poetry 2

63.

All that is,
is the body of God.
All that is,
All that is not,
is God.
Sentient,
insentient,
finite,
infinite,
nothing superior,
nothing inferior.

Thou art That;
That art Thou.
Tao art That;
That art Tao.
Tao art Thou;
Thou art Tao.

Oats art Tao.
Tao art oaTs;
oaTs art That,
and Thou.

Mares eat oats,
and
Thou eat doe’s,
and little lambs
eat ivy,
That’ll eat a kid too,
wouldn’t you?
I don’t Tao it.

Oats,
lambs,
kids,
and ivy too,
are
That,
Tao,
Thou,
and
you,
recycled.

Eat
the oaTs;
eat
the Tao.

Sow your wild Tao.
Be oaTs;
be Tao.
Be.

That,
Tao,
Thou,
is All.

You need to know.

Animals
kill for food
not fashion;
humans,
on the other hand, profess
while they mess
up the world;
cruel,
blind,
unkind,
filled with fright,
and narrow mind;
inhibited,
stuck
in
ritual,
religion,
opinion,
self destructing,
destroying
Earth,
animals,
children.

64.

Lucky rabbits foot,
unlucky rabbit.
Sharks
would live longer
if they were
prone to cancer.

Some say
God is mans best friend;
a dog might disagree,
and perhaps
a cat or two.

A parakeet,
an elephant,
a kangaroo,
a teddy bear,
a hamster
a zebra
in fact,
the whole zoo,
have
love,
trust,
and
affection,
without discrimination
to deed,
race,
color,
or creed.

Now a cow,
a snake,
a fish,
a tiger,
or a pig
might squeal,
about how
they’re
tortured,
beaten,
hunted,
worn,
and eaten.

So what can
an animal do,
but
forgive,
and live,
and give love,
with no regret,
while sustaining
strong belief inkarma.

65.

It takes
a lot of energy
to polish
the trophies
of life;

Death
appropriates
them
anyway.

Better to
anoint
your Self
with
“who am I?”.
Bathe in
Gods light,
become liquid,luminous,
ablaze
with love.

When
Death
comes
who will
he claim?

66.

Die,
it is set.
Destiny.

Sure,
surrender,
end,
under.

Deceased,
cease,
dead,
ease.

Goddess.
God.
Dog.
Sod.

Mother,
moth,
hot,
home.

Earth,
father,
heart,
her.

Trifle,
life,
if,
lie.

Death,
eat,
heat.

Decompose,
cope,
depose.

Bode,
goodbye.
Body,
good-
bye.

Corpse.
Rose

67.

There’s more
to me
than meets
the eye.
I am all
that is,
was,
and ever
will be;
the observer,
andthe observed.

I am
everywhere;
invisible,
silent,
veiled,
as light in day,
dark in night,
blue in sky,
green in grass.

Intellects
with
machines
of science,
think
they can
possess me,
make me
perceptible,
perceivable,
explainable,
containable,
document me
on tape

Scientists
merely appear
to peel
away layers,
to catch
my secret.

I accommodate
all theories;
for some
I am only
in special places,
for others
I don’t exist.

To find me,
go within
your heart;
meditate
and
know I
am
everywhere.

68.

Silence.
Soft
thick,
deep,
dark,
deliberate.
Born
in the interval
of
in breath
and
out breath,
where mind - thought ends.

Centered,
still,
steady,
full,
before beginning,
without end.

Idea,
preceding ‘I’.
Abysmal,
infinite.
A mirror
without reflection,
empty canvas,
whiteness
of paper
enveloping
a poem.

Peaceful,
pregnant,
profound.
Music
of twilight
and dawn.

Knowing,
watching,
waiting,
being.

69.

He watched
me come.
Memories
are like
catching clouds
on a summer’s day.

As I approach
the age
of my father’s
death
I
remember
his final moments,
my hand
holding his finger
like I did
as a child.

I watched
him go,
like
catching clouds
on a summer’s day.

70.

The moon
can be seen
in light of day;
the sun,
never
at night.

I can’t recall
the first time
I saw
the sun set,
it’s light
reflected
in the moon
of night,
or
the moon
vanish,
with stars fading
light into light.

As the wind,
I could
follow the sun,
and never
let it set,
or
choose
to live in
reflected light,
by chasing
the moon.

The
mountains
tell me
be still;
have it all.

My friends,
the clouds,
gather
in celebration,
to keep
me company
until I die.

71.

Could have.
Would have.
Should have.
Why didn’t I?

Don’t drown
in the river
of regrets,
or build a dam
of discontent.

Next time
is never
this time.

Keep moving.

Death
is
here.

72.

They’re gone
They have
nothing more
to tell me.

I knew
the secret
of the cloud
I plagiarized
their poetry,
made off
with myths,
annexed
allegory,
accumulated
cumulus,
imagining
iit was mine.

Now they’re gone.
My capricious
clouds
are gone;
poems
no longer
pass my way;
fog fills the void.

My gods are gone.
How can I
invoke
my muse
to mesmerize
and amuse?
I
will
dance
and
transcribe
iif
they do.

73.

I’m not
a who
in Who’s Who.
Are you?
They
want us
to buy
the book
you know.

How fleeting
to be famous,
how empty
like a mirror,
to focus
on the surface
rather than
being interior.

Celebrity
may expire
with you,
or
endure
in deeds
you
did not do.

No
thank
you;
I’d rather be
in God’s book,
unknown,
a cipher
contemplating
the koan:
Who am I?

74.

The earth
is neither
flat,
nor
round;
it is God.

Truth
and
belief
rarely
coincide.

I heard
the sound
of
one hand
clapping,
of
‘why am I here?’
of
'who am I?’

There were
no weeds.
No us.
No them.
No you.
No I.

Only
fullness
of
the
void.

75.

Joseph
just suppose
Mary’s
immaculate.

Bris
Baby pictures.
Bar Mitzvah

Messiah
I
am
the
same
as
he.

Jewcifix.
Refrigerator.
Traif.

How
was
he
to
know
what
would
be
done
in
his
name.

A shame
he didn’t
keep kosher.

76.

Time
seems
of
the
essence,
whereas
quintessence
is
beyond
time.

Pyramids
return
sand
to
the
dessert;
mountains
boil
up
under
water;
oceans
of
stars
burn
in
the
void.

This
house,
soon
to
be
ashes,
will
vanish.

We
flicker
and
are
gone.

77.

The ultimate illusion:
Being
right
side
up.

Figures affixed
feet down
to a ball
project
at varying degrees
of
upside downness,
and
right side upness,
none being parallel.

Without gravity
I might fall
from the Earth
into a sea
of dreams,
or float
head down
upside down
in the clouds,
or
perhaps
project
perpendicular
from the Earth
for all to see
as they pass by
in their gravity suits
of skin,
body fluids,
and bone.

Life was
easy
when
Earth
was flat;
we were all
right side up,
save those
in hell
hanging
underneath
by their feet.

Space ships,
viewing earth,
always
look down,
never seeing
the sea
as being above,
or
mountains
as suspended.

Why does
right side up
and
upside down
seem the same?

Perhaps
we take turns
being upside down
while asleep,
dreaming
right side up
dreams.

Relativity
speaking
it’s the other guy,
on
the other side
of the world,
who’s
diametrically
opposed.

No matter,
gravity
is
the
glue
that
keeps
us
grounded.

We’ve been
misinformed;
there
are
no
parallel
people.

78.

Quarks
are
up
down
strange
charm
bottom
top,
colored
red
blue
green;
anti quarks
anti red,
anti blue,
anti green.

According to
the quirks
of quarks,
one’s
point of view
affects
the outcome,
and
is directly related
to the plague
of
no problem,
mutant virus
of manana
syndrome,
running rampant
in society.

Don’t worry.
I’ll be there.
Count on me.
All’s fine.
No problem.

Wave particle theory sheds light
on matter.
Quarks
inferred
not seen,
are
implied by
black holes
in the brain.

No problem - for me.
Not my problem.
Your problem.

Relativity speaking,
problem
is both
wave
and
particle.
My-
the subject - wave,
your -
the object-particle,
therefore
no problem
yes problem,
quark
anti quark,
matter
anti matter.

Consider
Chaos theory,
dangerous
opportunity
relating
hard science
to social
processes,
thus
the flapping
of a mouth
in Macao,
can affect
the course
of life
in Louisiana,
creating
changing
relationships
between
order
and
disorder,
non linear acts
in which
we cannot
predict
outcomes
with certainty.

The language
of anti quarks
precipitates
unpredictable
anti social
behavior.

Our problem.

Seemingly
super symmetrical
String,
theory
of everything,
ties up
loose ends,
places
the four
fundamental
forces
of nature
on equal footing,
shows
space time
to be
approximate
perception,
explains
gravitational
interactions
naturally,
indicates
ten dimensions,
six too dense
to distinguish,
and
is concerned
with
higher
dimensional
objects
generically
termed p-branes,
bringing us
full circle
to the plague
of
no problem.

Finally
M Theory,
a new
eleven
dimension
notion,
exact formulation
not yet known,
should contain
membranes
and
5-branes
leading
scientists
to conclud
there’s
only one unique
quantum theory
after all.

God has no problems.

79.

All there is
is now,
forever
changing,
forever now.

Permanence,
nonsense
created
by man
in a world
of perpetual
motion.

Dark
defines
light,
as
death
devours
life.

There’s no escape.

Most likely,
anti-belief
in imminent
death chemicals
continuously
released
in the brain
explains
elemental
attitudes
toward
non belief
in impending
expiration.

Looking back
a blur,
zero to sixty
in ten seconds;
memories
that never were
me’s
not to be,
my time
this time
more than
half gone.

Too secret
to sense
seen only
n retrospect,
I am
this sum
of subtle seeds
sown
in the garden
of life;
one
never knows
what
will flower
with time.

God
failed
to
follow
my
plan.

Of course
I considered
immortality,
however,
it’s not an option,
a wasted wish,
bodies are born
to decay,
souls to travel on,
they say.

My birthday wish:
to be heroic,
alive with intention,
present
to each moment,
fully
knowing
I could
perish
before
finishing
this poem.

NOW!

80.

Tai Chi Chuan,
Supreme Ultimate Fist.

Swimming
in air,
silent snow
blankets
my soul.

Mind
moves
my
center,
eye of the storm,
waves
rolling
toward
shore.

Anchored
under the heavens
in concert with
the north star
I am Yellow Mountain;
doing without doing,
my spirit soars.

Essence,
equilibrium,
eternal spring.