Conch/Bug shadow

Memories give us amnesia
about what we could know:
spooks telling truths
in cunningly coy
closed, secret sessions.

They wrap us in myths,
conjuring dreamy, alluring
vapid mirages
                         which may guide us-
                         beguiling as
                         stars in the distance
while receding further, further
as we approach.

Memories shatter moments
of fragile truth, (unwillingly)
drawing us
irresistibly, to their
tinseled cocoons.

They corrode love’s
fresh childish rapture with
sugar and rust
syrup and dust.

Memories lock us in
windowless rooms
as we stare longingly at
faded, curling photographs
of the way
we once wished
we once dreamed
we might have been,
but may never know-
for haunted oldness coats
new moments like thick, black grease.

Now forget all this
and peel open your heart.

I wasn’t too happy when I wrote this. I had been rejected by a long term lover. But it has a certain bitter truth to it about clinging to the past.

Incandescent Nectar

Incandescent Nectar of Life,
conscious of Itself through our senses,
breathing our breath; and which,
with our caring awareness of one another,
breathes Life full with Love.

Here only, forever Now is,
which, breaking with by and by
becomes again the Full Emptiness,
where the billows of ruminating Dust
show in relief the shadow of Time,
and a brief glimpse
through Fate’s curtain
into who we are.

This sums up my mystical take on life. It’s a “glimpse” of where we came from, where we are, and where we’re going.

This poem is also featured on my new Zaadz profile: GarnetDavid. Stop by and say hello. Peace.

Babbling Drops

Rain plunks babbling drops on the skylight glass above…
                 Xylophonic riffs
                         ( jazzy counterpoints of
                         clustered rhythms)
                ebb and roll
                singing a sweet, wet, tinkling blues.

Shiny, chartreuse oak leaves
born just days ago
                joyfully jiggling under the gurgling drizzle.

Spring froths forth, foaming green.
My eyes limp across this languid scene.
The dripping tunes, tipping drooping leaves
become my only need.

I’m a little late with this poem, which was written in late Spring. I tried to imitate the rhythms of the dripping drops in the poem.

The Nothingness of Everything

Turning, Not Turning
I like asking paradoxical rhetorical questions. Sometimes just asking them gives insight to the unanswerable ones. I like pondering extremes, ultimates. It gives me perspective. I feel more able to handle the little ups and downs in my life.

These questions are not new. They are certainly influenced by Lao Tzu.

How can we know anything until we know nothing? Do you think it’s possible to know nothing? How can you know it if it is nothing? Is “anything” better known if seen with the awareness of its opposite, nothingness? Nothingness is like the star you can only see if you look slightly away from it. It’s only there in absence of everything else. In the above illusion, the wheels turn where you do not look.

Somehow everything, anything, has a little more presence, aura, after a little absurd discussion about nothing. The presence of life is more poignant when seen in the shadow of nothingness. We all get caught up in the drama of our lives, and we often forget the void which gives everything perspective. We forget the soothing comfort of knowing we are timeless, that we were always here, that we will always be here, even when our bodies go back to the earth. We forget the freedom that affords us, the fearlessness it affords us.

In the rare moments when I feel completely (in Krishnamurti’s words) “free of the known”, I am most capable of making decisions, solving problems, attending duties. I am capable of throwing myself into life, filling it up.

For the next few weeks, I plan to ponder the nothingness of my blog, experience its absence, to see what it really is. (we’ll see how long it lasts!)