OM– WHICH CHAKRA?

Ommmmm. . . .
Which Chakra’s
in my tummy-tum?–

You know,
that one
that drums
quite sadly,

since the running
rain and gray
went quick away,
and now, again,
they come?

Which chakra’s
spinning in my brain,
so fast
it renders me
quite lame. . .

and makes me lose
at my own game?

How will I
bravely undertake
this vicious spinning
then, to tame?

Which chakra’s spinning
in my feet,
that touch the mud and earth
where they sink in,
according to my weight and girth–

the stabilizing and the driving
one that lets me free
so that I may
my mother-maker meet,
yet still drudge toward
a spring rebirth,
that comes another time,
again?!

Which chakra’s spinning
in my tail?–

And which, above that end,
in my entrails?

One reaches down,
hooks up with deepest life–

the other,
fuels my blood and guts
and is at its very best
whene’er I let
myself succumb
to doing something
nourishing and right.

And, then,
besides these things,

continuing,
I see two more,
of which I’ll sing. . .

the one poised at
my very top
sits at the lid
a little stretch
above the box
that makes my noise,
and shields me
from high heavens,
and from God. . .

And then,
the one whose spiral
springs
from that inimitably deep,
swirled-blue-and-red,
strong fire well
that pools within a heart that throbs
with gripping of
the thickest web
of strings and rings
that starts my pulse,
and gives me oomph
and wherewithal
to merge me thus
with Earth, with Sea,
and all the wondrous, shiny things
that do the endless dark of Sky fill. . .

with Good, with God,
with Nothingness–

and too,
with all–
with every tiny and great thing
and absolutely
+++++everybody
++++++++++else.

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MONDAY– A VERY COMMON DAY

Monday.

A very
common day.

Shaman-, layman-,
indeed all man- and woman-day,
and also precious-small-ones-day.

Begin again,
refreshed or weary;
and know,
that for all
the whole wide world,
it’s all one day,

in which we walk,
we work, we learn,
we rest, we play,
we pray,

and start to get,
not just in head,
but even in each
deep gut turn,
how it feels true and best
in the times when we the least
from our bright-vision-fed,
bold-and-steady-action-led
directions and intentions stray.

Let’s you and I
discover
and recall these things,
and not forget,
and start into
our surest possible
first steps,
right here, right now,
this second,
minute, moment, hour–

for
only once we
up and start
will we see how
and truly get along our way,

so, yes!–
right now!–
breathe, stretch, get set–
and set out that first foot,
today!

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WINTER SUNSHINE

Winter sunshine.
Blink it, drink it,
note it, ink it,
breathe it, feel it
till next rain and snow repeal it. . .

for right now
here we are,
yes, I and thou,
in this very
trice of time,
and this low-slung, sunny day
is mine
and thine.

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SEIZE THE DAY!

Seize the day!

Cease
the endless,
needless chatter.

Take charge
the helm–
like mighty Saturn.

And steer
the brightest
and most fruitful way,

to grow
your gladdest
Saturday.

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LIFE IS LIKE A CONSTANT STRING OF PRAYERS

Life is like
a constant string of prayers
.

You breathe and breathe
and pray and pray,
on your feet,
in a too hard or very comfy seat
lain prone or supine
or bent upon your knees,

without really knowing
if the answers
or the air
are there.

For,
none of us,
neither in limo
nor in bus,
is a consummate, infallible soothsayer.

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DON’T FLATTER ME!

Don’t flatter me!–

What does it even mean–
that stuff you say?

How can I
really matter?–
Me?

Don’t shower me
with adulation!m

I’m grown up now,
ought to’ve outgrown
the need
to feel
nice ego strokes
or hear
some sorta
pre-mortem
true cathartic ululation.

Don’t love me,
like me,
or tell me anything
too nice!!

It really doesn’t
feel quite right. . .

I wonder
how
+++++to find a way
+++++to let it in,
++++++++++in a receiving,
+++++++++++++++flowing, giving way,
+++++and answer back
++++++++++with heartfelt thanks
+++++++++++++++with glibbest ease
+++++++++++++++spoke in a trice,

and whether,
+++++for this
+++++I must
+++++till my next lifetime wait,

or else,
+++++if I can pass through
+++++some kind of
+++++tight-closed iron gate
+++++to a different feeling, being space
+++++in THIS incarnation.

Fodder
for this baby-stepping plodder
to use
+++++in quiet meditation
+++++and
+++++in boldest, bravest
+++++pioneering, far sea-faring
+++++brands of exploration.

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HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU’RE ALIVE?

Just
how do you know
that you are alive?

How do you show others?
Do your eyes meet their eyes?

And,
just how do you get,
with regard to those who are dead,
the reasons for which
they no longer survive?

If you knew all these things,
I just have a feeling,
you’d be quite distinct
with an eye and a heart
quite incomparably wise.

Posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments