Beingness
trapped in words
Then comes Freedom

You say it so well,
dear Arsenio

Wow, I come back from a long weekend with all these treats. Your poetry is beautiful Arsenio. Thank you for sharing your heart with us.

Love, Char

There is only striving
A lighted cross around my neck
Reminds me

He enters in
And I shake and shiver
And call it rapture

She comes and lays with me
And I melt away
And call it ectasy

All is mirage
Cause You alone are Real
There is no loneliness
Cause only striving, again

Ah, a St ah..rives again ;)

Pleasure to see you. Thought of you only yesterday!

Grandpa.

To Grandpa,

Out of the house I stole
In the middle of the night

To the deep dark woods
A Jack-in-the-pulpit to become

O hapless happy plight
That I might preach to
the woodland sprites

And no one see me
And I see not myself

O for that night
When I in Him
Live invisible and dim.

(have used phrases from Christian mystics, a poor poet am I. Miss you and your multifarious names. I repeat: Who are you?) love, me

My dear Sherry
I am simply ed
Grandpa to some
Whippersnapper orphan
(work of the Devil)

Multifar-outness maybe
And in you fulfilling.
Multifariousness is
Of another and another
Seems there is no end.
Did you see him in 'The Matrix?'
I'm just this One
This ed.

From England's southern county
Single is my eye
And tickled pink my heart.
That's all.

nb.
Poor poet, my ass....rich is the imagination that can tickle me! But you must know that?

More than static visions
I have visuals
Spontaneous and interactive
Colorfull and storytelling

If they tickle you
That's well

But I must see them
Tickle you
I must

I'm blind

(must you swear like that? my arse, indeed)

hi Sherry,
your comment caught my eye and brought me back to Arsenio's poem from July.

colorful story-telling and imagery
that's our Arsenio,

and Ed for wordplay
he makes words spin like a top,

and UT has branches that catch words on their leaves
and then lets them drop where they may.

You can't fool me, love
You're a keeper!

Dear Arsenio,
Thank you for posting your poetry here. Without it I would not have an place to lay my thoughts.

As Milarepa said: keeness of intellect is invaluable for overcoming the fascination with all phenomena. So, in reviewing my above poems, followed by thoughts in parenthesis, I just realized and have analyzed that the thoughts expressed in the poems are more real, as far as states of mind go, than my thoughts in the parenthesis. And this is a major conclusion. And I may be high as a kite when I write them. But to just now discern this is major, and I'm sure that conclusion will be hard to hold on to.

Nevertheless, thanks again. I look forward to your next post and I hope we all have a beautiful Indian Summer.

Agreed, Sherry, poetry is a much closer stab at one's reality. A lass, even with poetry we are still daggers drawn until draggers dawn. (word has it)

Okay, my apologies; you are not MY ass. Can I be your guide dog ;) (I'm a bit thick)

You can call me Betty
And Betty you can call me Al

You can be my bodyguard
And I will be your long lost pal
---Paul Simon

You are toute de suite!

Ma Cherie, Betty?

THERE OUGHT TO BE A LAW

There ought to be a law against it
You make it too hard to find You

sweaty faces/dirty places

lovely lakes/cakes to bake

painful sickness/musical picnics

horrific horror/and again, tomorrow

You make it awfully hard to find You

It's Brahms's fault for sticking to the program
I guess He knows no better
No better than what You told Him

That's double hard, triple hard,
and yet we struggle
chard on chard.

WHO AM I

Who am I
that You should make me feel So

I looked for Truth
You gave me Love overwhelming

That I turn away and find
another way - in Wisdom

I look and see You try,
In every guise, to bring us home

What, in effulgent intimations, I embrace
And see more and more of Your Face.

Good God! What does E full gent mean? ;)

FRESH CRISP AIR

purple mountains
in the afternoon

shivering blue lake
at noon

white clouds
over high

air so clear
like a drink of cool water

food in my cupboard
a nice bed to lay in

what a wretch am I
to want only You

what a difficult wretch
You have to deal with

A JAPANESE TEA CEREMONY DAY

I'm having a Japanese Tea Ceremony Day
Things are slow
Movements precise
They have focus
With meaning concise

No ruminating
No perseverating
No calculating
No angst

No hustle, no bustle
A master of me
except, unfortunately,
my sphincter muscle

It's nettle tea for me
The greener!
As for the movement
I'm no keener
Ah, yes I weep
Sea water
But it's
For me
And Milarepa.

What was before me
Is now above me

What was striving for
Is now clinging to

Thanks Master Po

Grasshoppers can fly
But they've never caught my eye
Like this.

O that I would want
More than You want for me
It is less Sweet

On my horse
And I the rider
All dressed up
With no place to go

Can I
Now whisper
To thee
Horse?

SMALL ORBIT

You're in my small orbit
Not the kind that goes around the sun

The one that holds no memory
If not for my diary written on

So I can't remember
When You were here last

Only yesterday
I think

How I cried so hard
When You went away

How is it possible
To miss You so much?

Does that mean
...We once Touched?

once touched,
you can never
forget
...

Dear Kate,
You already know me.
What was it Mieke said?
Nevermind.
What was it I said
"in every guise, You try"