Wednesday, September 26, 2012

What is love? (repost)

The gifted, the wise, the pastors, the wives,
the noblemen, preachers, and poor humble beings,
turn feelings to words in attempts to describe
the emotion of love, if there such a thing be.

Not gifted or wise, no longer a wife,
I stumble through love with the pen of my mind.

It’s lacking in substance and cannot be seen
yet in the market it barters a give and take fee
but the fee is a feeling exchanged for free
so it could be construed as an invalid deal.

Too it is given with no earthly reward
so the gold in our hearts must be ill gotten gains
and the castles it builds are made out of air
so, therefore, love’s castles are not meant to be.

It doesn’t have legs to cross the divide
between mother earth and heavenly sky
so it’s surely not love when we think we see stars.

If love is the greatest, who taught it to play
sweet lilting music to which we all sway?

Its mission I’ll say, but then won’t deny it,
is to find a “something” that’s missing inside us
but whichever, however, it destructs if ignored
and, therefore, must be as if it was not.

What is love? It’s a thought, an idea, a wishing to be,
a prayer, a hope, and the longing in me,
but if one day it knocked, would I even know?
Would you?

Monday, September 24, 2012

In the genes

Love left her there, love left her here,
and so she travels place to place
to test this usual norm
but love’s desertion so entrenched
she knows it’s in the genes.

Not in her genes, oh, no, no, no,
but in the one who cannot love
or will not love not ever, ere,
for fear invaded and conquered
the blueprint of his soul.

And there’s no magic here today
to fix the torn and tattered
and so into the after-life
goes the now ill-fated. 

To wander there not as before
forever searching for the lost
must surely be a bad outcome
for one first made intact. 

But I just sigh, again, again,
for what the world has torn apart
remains to be forever more
and follows like a shadow does
in the light of knowing more!

Monday, September 10, 2012

In the field

And there in the field of her own consciousness
she drapes a veil o’er heart, mind, soul,
seeking so protection from
her inner view of life.

But there’s this thing between the three
that intertwines and bubbles up
into her clear blue eyes
and she can see, oh, God help her,
the lie behind a smile.

She tries to do a sideways shift
but that’s no way to know the truth
and somewhere in that intertwine
the need of truth abides.

She wonders sometimes why the lie,
why sometimes it can fool the wise,
and why it swings so fast and free
to confuse the best truth seeker.

But as the sun rises up, higher up,
she bows to life’s state of affairs
and sews every day beads of ignorance
to make of her veil a more solid safeguard.

She sews and wonders each/every day
how many beads she’ll need till demise
and if her supply should ever run out
what then will she do to survive!

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Turn, turn around

After the whirlwind stillness abides
and the heart remains passive inside
and does just enough to survive
for the remainder of mortal life.

Come day, come night, and the breath in/out
no longer soars above ground
but slinks in the shadows that always abound
on the earth’s ever turn, turn around.

And that sense of movement passes one by
when the mind on memory alights
and settles around a roaring camp fire
deep into each and every night.

But always there are fierce thunder storms
and cloud bursts that shatter this norm
to leave a survivor not as before
come the calm after the storm.

And so with the earth we turn, turn around,
until no longer seen on the ground!