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Poetry is Love – Missing Her – Audio Update

 

Art – Matt Chambliss

Music by Epidemic Sound

Words lay still, insipid and bland on the heart

Intellect’s two dimensions churn out clever comparisons

That can pedestrianly pass for poetry

But it’s not

Word games at best

Mental masturbation absent the Lover

Carried out in secret compulsion to

Fill the emptiness, of the page

But there is no love there, no life

Nothing but ego and self gratification

I grow sick of myself without Her

Same tired themes, overused phrases fall flat

Filling empty spaces, with more

Seed, spilled, scattered, words wasted

Poetry is affection

Poetry is passion

Poetry is fervor’s intense desire

Poetry is hunger’s zealous devotion to it’s satisfaction

Consummation of flesh mind and spirit

Ego joyfully surrendered, broken asunder

As I is transcended and dances with We and Us and They

Poetry happens between the ticks of the clock, this and that, You and I

All else is mental masturbation

Poetry is alive

Poetry is Love

I miss Her when She’s gone

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September – Fall Walk – Audio Update

The light is changing

The earth has tilted and cracked the veil once more

Eternity’s magic rushes in as the Mundane surrenders It’s hold

Spilling into and over from that Place where things are as they Ought to be

That place of consummation, the exquisite

Where hunger is satiated and longing finds rest

The light shimmers and sparkles and shines

Dancing off multicolored hues, moved about by the cooling breezes

Shades of green, yellows, reds, and brown

Are alive in the new light

My Soul is quickened

Sweet with a sadness who’s ache stirs a longing now frantic for life

Distractions vanish the fog lifts, clarity calls, nudges, and beckons me

Awake from the dreary dream and its shadowy forms

Smothered Soul surges from the depths desperate to break the surface

Filling the void, the vacuum, with substance

Past and future’s illusions fall away, Now is all

Eternity’s rapture rushes through spirit and flesh

Conquest complete, I am captured and held in the sway of my Beloved

Ego broken, Self surrendered to that which is Real and beyond the senses

Passion rises, staking an unequivocal claim to what is mine by birth

Yes, Yes, Yes, I am, It is, We are joined in the Creator’s dance and feel it’s power

Moved, broken, and remade in the image of what Ought to be but is now not, Yet

Joy and Sorrow live together there in that place between the Now and that which is coming

But that is living.  Being alive brings pain and pleasure sometimes at once

Holding them in tension is living and is the power of creation

First the sun, now the bright light muted in the cool quiet rain

Tender gentle drops fall and break on me

I hear them fall, kissing the leaves on their way

Communion with Her, the rest, the easy conversation heals and renews hope

The changing light transforms the sky’s tears into jewels to adorn my skin

My heart breaks with joy to know the living of it

I see, I feel, I breathe in the magic of what has always been hidden within view

And am grateful for the times when my slumbering soul blinks awake

My Soul’s secret and silent hallelujah erupts and thunders It’s release

I rise on the currents of spirit and flesh knowing the God of life

Then collapse, spent, humbled, sweetness feeds my spirit, gratefulness Her response

Even now Eternity recedes, flowing back into the depths, leaving me uncovered, unfinished

Longing’s lure and it’s exquisite ache points the way

Both sunshine and rain will fall

Bitter and sweet will fill the cup.

Don’t avoid one for the other.

Be nourished by both.

Rapture requires grief to balance what is not yet with how it Ought to be.

This is true living

For, “There are cracks in everything, and that’s how the light gets in.”

Thank you Mr. Cohen

Be Groovy 🙂

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Sunflower

 

Art – Matt Chambliss

Music –  “Sunflower” Paddy Sun

Sunflower

From the day of Her budding She has longed for the sun
Her being is drawn towards the light
The very core of Her aches for the life-giving warmth
In the night-time she hopes for a light to shine on Her
But all that shines is not the Sun
All that has warmth does not give life
So even though she may dance in the reflection and the distraction of the moment
She knows that it will pass
It will not beckon her to put down roots into the dark rich soil
She waits for the morning
She longs for Apollo that she might be made whole
Her face ever toward the sun, seeking the heat and life her Soul craves
Yet to see Her, to know Her is life-giving
The Sunflower is strength
A symbol of beauty and faith and life and vitality and intelligence
She already possesses that which she seeks, out There in the heavenly Sun
Orbiting Her eternally, yet never accessible
She does not understand that she is venerated like she does Apollo
She is longed for like the Sun
That there are those who turn and follow Her movements across their skies
Who mark their days by Her appearance and in Her leaving
Rest O Sunflower, put down your roots
Allow your blues, browns and golden facets to grace the green of your new growth
You are already everything you desire

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Tap Tap Tapping – Live

Art – Cynthia Young

I wish I could write something beautiful
I wish I could write something so real that it would change how things are
I can see it in my mind, a picture so clear, I can taste it and inhale its fragrances
The desires of my heart have burned me, they have hollowed me out
The landscape of my soul has been altered
Or perhaps it is just the overgrowth that has been cleared
For now I seem to see better the rise and fall and shape of me
It seemed as if the fire would consume me and I would be no more
As the last ember died and the wind hurried away the final wisp of smoke
I remained, still there, naked, scarred, and raw, but separate somehow from all that had been
I found only dry bitter ashes and the black barren solitude of my grief
I wandered in that place, alone for many days and many nights watering the ground with my tears
Remembering what was and what could have been, wishing for what is now, Not

I hope I will write something beautiful
I hope that my Soul will find Her voice and learn to sing a new song, one that has always been
I can hear a simple sweet strain rise and fall, strangely familiar like a dream of home
For now I make my way like a blind man, sight requiring new senses
Cautiously my words tap – tap – tap before me, through the ash and the unknown
Seeking their way, reaching out, feeling for the next step along this new path
Scribbles on a page, symbols seeking structure enough to contain the melody of Her
Clever words and ego were burned in the clearing of me, the illusion of my intellect brought low
Yet with what small vision remains I catch glimpses of green arising from the soot
Life indomitable pushes through the ruin and back into the light, buds break and blossom
The landscape is bare but not barren, even the ruin enriches and reveals the soil of me
Salt tears are still needed to water this place and in my laughter new seeds are sown
What was is no longer, what is to come is yet to be, so Now patient I wait, just tap – tap – tapping

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