poetry from another dimension

Archive for October, 2010

interior warfare

shifting sands
trying to stand
call it a truth

and it changes

no absolutes control this show

can you see God in a cockroach?
or only where you want to see
her him it
try all aroundyou
nothing excluded
these things you don’t like
and the things that you do

we call them unholy
they fire back
holy wars are not just
geographic
they erupt in the corners of
our own minds


the bhakta soliloquoy

a dream within a dream within a dream
he speaks as though to himself
she is onstage, listening,
despite
the apparent soliloquy

other observers too
his “love” for the woman
assessed and churned in dialogue
and yet

he’s talking to himself
isn’t he?
and then goes on to ban marraige

perhaps a loving act

it’s all about him
being not being
she goes off to shed her mortal coil
and is never heard from again

sequences of reflecting mirrors
who is seeing who
in this grand design
does one ever love anyone
other than oneself, really?
or do we love that they love us?
or love the feeling in ourselves
when we love them
and they don’t? (love us)

a puzzle unthinkable
a challenge only feel-able
an answer only taste-able
a sweet essence of all that is
hari
hari krishna
hari krishna
krishna krishna hari hari
they got it down.
to be god
to have only oneself
to love
no fun
too much work
to play with god to dance with god
to sing with god to yearn for union with god
to dive onto the forest floor with god
mmm, sounds fun

there’s got to be an other
for us to project that love onto

to see it to feel it to play with it
to make love with it
the only way to know love
the only way
the only way

activate that verb
conjugate it
sublimate it
irrigate it

to be
to be love
to be lov-ing

and THEN
and THEN
you can slip and fall and drown in it

© 2010 exitsbyalice


the sorcerer’s apprentice

it was an experiment really
that is all
a little of this
and a little of that
I had seen the sorcerer do this
a thousand times
or maybe more
and poof, magic arises

I wanted some of that
maybe, it was
to do good
or maybe not
but doing good is a deadly kind of power
perhaps the most insidious kind
because we are so sure
it’s not about us
it takes a special kind of soul
to execute that maneuver
graciously
(*sigh*)

ha ha
a cosmic joke, yes it is
another one

the great gandhi even said,
we only serve for ourselves
we aren’t serving for anyone else
sorry to tell you that
i don’t know maybe you never thought otherwise
I found that a great disappointment
well, my ego did, anyway.

and so, the sorcerer went on the road
and left her broom
or maybe it was his broom, its all a blur
and told me not to sweep
of course, i had to sweep!
off I flew into the night
well aware that patanjali says
this is a great obstacle
yes it is a great obstacle
on the path to knowing God
to get your hands on a broom of that measure
and think you can handle it
watch out, it will handle you

broom, art, intelligence, substance
power, creation, intervention, invention,
bliss

boom

it’s an invitation to meet your mortality
REAL FAST if you are lucky
and REAL SLOW if you are not
its only at the edge of the abyss
that we can really meet our maker
i think, maybe, what do i know
i learned the hard way
not to think i knew the answer
to the human
story
I’m with Soren Keirkegard
there really is only one choice

to assume
you are meeting your maker
or to assume
you are there all alone
all alone
all alone
all alone

all alone
there’s nothing to do but pick the broom up again
or the lifestyle or the substance
or the bad relationship
or way you relate to the world

Because that’s at the bottom of this
it doesn’t matter if the thing that makes you big is power
or food or sex or being adored
( i like that one, being adored)
the trip is the same
looking in the wrong direction

how about taking a leap
without a broom?

the street doctor, Newarkian hero
feeder of the poor
good citizen
told us once
“what you are seeking
is seeking you”
ah…so does this mean I can stop trying to grab it?

© 2010 exitsbyalice

http://www.nj.com/helpinghands/streetwarriors/index.ssf/2008/03/about_the_authors.html


perfect world

happily ever after

it should be different, right?
where is my white picket fence
my perfect husband in his business suit
and my two point five children?

where oh where was that perfect childhood
wrapped around white apron strings
and fresh baked sugar cookies
brothers and sisters
tumbling in the grass
teasing loving and never falling into that
tiny trap of mean

where oh where is that perfect planet
where conflict never happens
and the skies are always blue
and it only rains….
well, hmmm we’ll come back to that one

where oh where is that perfect god and goddess
protectively shielding us from ups and downs
and sideways
and anything that might cause us to feel a little
uncomfortable

perfect without defect or blemish
without qualification
flawless
accurate
precise

i know
you are a parent
is not your child’s anomaly the thing that
makes them lovely?
why would the world be made any different

perfective
a tense of verbs used to denote a completed action
it says nothing about
an action that others
perceive as without flaw
no
just that the action is completed
meaning whole
coming back to its source

can you imagine?
a world where it never rained?
who would want to?
rain is the perfect action
even on a day we planned a picnic
it’s never incomplete
(“has it finished raining yet?”)
even in the days of noah
when it’s job was done
it was done
and the waters receded.

ah wait
this IS the perfect world
its the place where action
can be
perfected


jai ma

I remember a lifetime
a billion years before
or maybe more
draped in a chaise lounge
in a mansion
way up the hill
licking lips and
eating cake;
chocolate
with white cream filing
and a white curlicue
on top

the magical cake
never went dry
no matter
how long
it sat

Gazing at painted toenails
brushing crumbs off my lily white
bosom
I
dozed and ate
and
dozed and ate
and
dozed and ate

as servants brought
more cakes

falling into a deep deep sleep
a languid torpor
redundant
and dark
no dreaming
about the huddled hungry masses crying out
at the foot of
my isolated peak

Waking later
a lifetime later
or maybe more
amidst concrete sidewalks
and burned out buildings
no memory
not a wisp
of recollection
of the being i had been
or how I had arrived here

immersed in a sea of
brown and black skin
the mountain peak transformed
into a raft
drifting in the ocean of humanity

I did exactly what you would do,
I think

I took shelter
planted a garden
and found a friend
in my case
a wildebeest
with four tiny paws
and a tail
or maybe he was just a kitten
i don’t know

I learned from my neighbors
in their skins of brown and black
the arts of survival
on land composed of deep green earth
rather a mound composed of the backs
of others
a land where an everlasting cake
was a frivolous thing
and there are children to love and
promises to keep

versatility arose in me
and so did a sense of
responsibility towards my neighbors
those with skins of brown and black
and in between and covered with fur
and scales
and feathers
the days of lounging on the chaise
with nothing to do but eat cake
long gone
and very much forgotten
there was no mirror
in which to see my lily white skin

The change began as a trickle
and then a wave
first the beings who arrived from the other lands
took a parking space i’d had for years
planted a meter on it
and charged me money
that which had belonged to no one
they took
as their own

they took our smartest children
and implanted them
with the virtues
(or so it was assumed)
of everlasting cupcakes
straight lines
and the wearing
of ties

prefabricated nooses

in case,
just in case, mind you
those children got out of line

And so the conquest of my people
unfolded
ear placed to the concrete
i no longer heard
dancing feet and congo drums
now
only jackhammers
and the cries of a dying culture

the insurance companies
charged us more to live
theft, they said
as they cited statistics
but we knew
our children had stopped stealing
with those nooses around
their necks
our village was being looted
by the ones who were charging us
even as they took the words out of our mouths
and the songs out of our hearts

somehow, somehow
i fell into a deep deep sleep
this time full of fear and agitation
flames licking the corners of
my burning mind
i awoke to screaming sirens
the sounds of shattering glass
and the smells of sizzling skin
roasting in
those now, very real,
burning flames

My brown brothers and sisters were hungry
they needed those cakes

And so it went
waking and dreaming
and back and forth
for a million years
backward and forward
or maybe more
and then
i woke up
knowing not what color i was
nor what tribe
I belonged to

and I saw
that there was nothing
that i could do
to end this cycle of suffering
one on top
and then the other
endless revolution

so i sat
and i dreamed of love
i dreamed of love
I dreamed of love
and evolution
and planted a seed
to see a world
where the ambassador of self conceit and self deprecation
obsolete
passion and anger
slain
seeds of greedy desires
uprooted
a world where the demons of too much
and too little
were eradicated
permanently
where love is victorious
in the form of a goddess
riding
a tiger
and the walls between the haves and the have nots
have been replaced by
a chain of linked hands
lifting us
up, together


semi-charmed life

I prayed for wealth

and i dreamed that
the lord destroyed
the home and
the family
and the work that I called my own
had all but disappeared
i found myself in a land of plenty
surrounded by opulent furnishings
and glittering gems
with which to adorn the body
our bodies draped in silk
were maneuvered through time in space
in expensive machines
lined with the skins
of sentient beings

the table was full of food
but none of it was real
we could feel it
we could taste it
but it provided no nourishment
and
when people spoke to us,
we could not hear them
unless they were
not
telling the truth

and then I woke up
and found myself no longer
in the land of silks and gems,
but instead on a hard dirt road
wearing naught but a sheet
carrying begging bowl and walking stick
but this time
everywhere I went
people were singing
and they were speaking of love
they supported one another
through gestures of kindness
and happiness permeated the air
like a fine fragrance
our huts were simple
our needs were few
and when people spoke the truth
we heard them

and then I woke up
again
to find myself back
in my humble home
wearing a ripped up t-shirt
and a pair of jeans
with a small bit of food,
full of nourishment
and friends everywhere
speaking the truth

and i realized that the wealth i’d been seeking
had been here
all along

© 2010 exitsbyalice (because I’m not selfless enough for public domain 🙂


beloved delicacy

nori…..nori
tasting of salt and sea
shimmering emerald green
or even deeper
why are you wasting
your life wrapped around a piece
of dead fish?

you would be better served
if you landed yourself
with a few green sprouts
full of vitality

or crumbling into
unctuous avocado spears
lubricators of the pure mind

or resting on a bed of fluffy fresh brown rice
the most evolved of cereal grains

let it never be said that your B12
is not assimilable–
it is when they don’t overcook you

let it never be said
that you are bland or unexciting–
you thrill those who can taste
the richness
or your minerals

your sublime presence in a dish
is an homage to treasures revealed
only in the kingdom of edible plant
life

oh nori, queen of the sea
may the only fish you see be swimming
in the ocean