HOCUS POCUS. NONE SUCH, UNLESS. . .

Hocus pocus. . .
There is none such
that you can name
or see or feel or touch–

Unless you count
the simple power
our upright bodies
and our rippled, wriggly, winding brains
have to truly focus.

If we’ve got a dream
we’d like from little seed
to swell,

well,
we could choose
to put it in a pumpkin shell,
and with luck, there
we’d maybe keep it very well,

but with that wet and dark and still inside,
it might not live and thrive
its best
in that specific locus.

If we want a dream
to shape into a plan
and actuality,
we need to limit
what we let enter
in our mind’s reality,

but air it, feed it,
give it light,
so we can see it,
tweak it
to give it its best chance at flight,
seeming to our existing life
more a bonus than an onus.

Our focus
lives and gives
from our mentality,
which forms the things
we think and do,
that that tend stick to us like glue,

So that with the appropriate,
associated follow-through,
we can transform ourselves
perhaps as if we’d waved
a starry magic wand,
or else,
pricked wee doll limbs
with nasty pins
that act as sure
to cause us wicked pain
as expert, pinpoint voodoo.

But, if we want to cultivate
ourselves’ best bloom,
large, fair and bright
like flower of lotus,
we best to root
and grow ourselves,
through times of sun
and frost and rain,

in happy dreams,
and the soft and solid nurturing
we only get from
our native given
soaring vision,
and sustained, sustaining focus.

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This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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