Spirituality

A Spiritual Valley

Sunday morning Gospel

At a southern Baptist church

Praising with the choir

Listening to the Word of God

 

Where grudges are forgiven

And friendships re-united

We sinners find forgiveness,

Family, and a home

 

But here I sit

Alone at home

I couldn't be roused

To my own Father's house

 

I can hear the church bells in the distance

Calling white-washed tombs to repentance

Calling broken souls to be renewed

Calling crushed hopes to stand firm

 

Yet, here I sit

Looking out the window alone

Listening to their tolling

Refusing to be more

Than an armchair theologian

 

If my “deeds” are just words

Then they are not worth talking of

If I didn't speak to my Father today

Then why do I expect answers

 

If we are “the Body”

Why are we so apathetic

So CONSUMED by our own lives

That our faith wastes away

 

And as these thoughts come to me

I make myself more comfortable

Still refusing to be any more

Then an armchair theologian.

Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 










Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 

 

 



Her guises were stripped off

Like paint;

 

I had wondered where she could 

have gotten to—to act like a saint

 

The earthquakes have multiple meanings, after all:

 

There are moments of truth. 

But our attitudes, in facing them, such are several.

 

Why should we try to act on certain

situations, just to make us huge?

 

Her views of change mattered to

me, for lacking subterfuge

 

'Tis so raw, so fresh, 

so debilitatingly godly

 

When fake media is stressed, let all

disdain blasphemy.

 

Are we just spirits in human bodies,—

in the physicality?—

 

 

For, when— it makes it clear,

our true selves gather up

a multitudes' spirituality!











Author's Notes/Comments: 

"Transcendence (And Body Politic)", w/c is also an affected poem, previously titled "Transcendence", is a repost from my Twitter platform (inevitably composed on April 29, 2017/at around "06:58"...based from the deemed quirky causes & that perhaps had sprung from thoughts of a possible love interest (rather assumptive [on my part] & my motivations were unclear; thus, a type of a poem like this was done).  Also, I had edited this version (a little bit by modifying the use of punctuation marks & perhaps the stanzas/form, those were minor tweaks).

 

 

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Thy Code, Thy Choice

 

 

The bugs of thy code, hidden like a virus

Steals not your data, dates thy compiler

The mem of thy soul, stressed and archaic

Already knows a thou, c, perl, hebraic

 

The code of thy soul, enough long to rule the world

Willn’t compile if thy seed is a virus

Will not even, case done with the python

‘Tis, ‘tis a problem, the poison of a viper

 

Living through thy blood, bleeding through thy fingers

Spreads on a zip and it lingers, and it lingers

Can’t know what you want, or what thy code’ll be

If ruby, java, just a virus or php

 

Remember that the evil has no single, single patience

You should run, not compile, through the code, through those piles

Just remember all these words, these words of the matrix

Now tell: red or blue? Fast, fast! With no waiting

 

 

Hadley Valley/Lower Spring Creek

Existence, all trapped in one

Myself, and all that's around me

I discover spirit, reigning supreme

Over landscapes lonely and alive

The ice and snow gloriously rises up

To meet skies drenched  in indanthrene

Staring across fenced suburban valleys

Shadowed by painted brush stroked clouds

In these moments, I get that mystical feeling

In times such as these, I seem to transcend

For a fleeting second, all seems to blend

I grasp uselessly at the air, as I start to

Ascend these majestic goldenrod highlands

Holding onto love, with some sort of ancient

Eternal longing, that never seems to cease

Or ever fade away, here at Lower Spring Creek

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Lower Rock Run

Imprisoned, rustbelt cities entrap

Souls, careless and untrained

My intent is to revere the flowers and streams

To hold sacred these stars that glow luminous

To honor divinity in billowing cool pastel skies

Submerged, my naked fingers

Explore earth, steeped with richness

My dream is to flow like wind  across the prairie

To kneel in jubilation underneath the forest canopy

To seek shelter in the eternal solitude of sappy pine

These eternal truths

These natural laws

Revealed through the simple

Act of observation and silence

Teach us and guide us safely through

The shadowy valley of fear and unknowing

Effortlessly transforming

The first rays of early dawn

Into majestic afternoon sunlight

All this I have learned

By walking a myriad of paths

That led to some transformation

On Lower Rock Run


 

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Revelation at the Forest's Edge (Winter Dwindling)

And at the edge of the forest

I looked out upon mankind

Taking notice as winter days

Began to dwindle and fade

Meditating along snowy fields

Contemplating life and death

Observing simple revelations

Passed down from our elders

Gifted to us freely by the earth

Hinted at by glittering galaxies

 Illustrated in fleeting dreams

 

This I hold to be true

Everything is a circle

It all goes around and comes

Back around

Gently in an infinite arc

In the endless flow of seasons

The revolving pattern of night/day

The orbits of the planets around the sun

The luminous profile of the ancient moon

And the mystical enchanting eyes of an owl

 

I close my eyes to look inside

An iridescent world constantly

Shifting and forever evolving

Our spirits rotating on a wheel

Of birth, death, and all between

Nothing is random or by chance

Everything so strangely familiar

The inside implodes outward

Startling ghosts still unseen

The otherworld still inaudible

To the untrained human senses


Philosophy subsists

In realms of harsh famine

Words sprouting from parched

Earth left unclaimed

These fractured degrees

Tormented by plagues of discontent

Leaving the masses in a hazy vacuum

Of senseless wonder and disillusionment

Melodies pass through ethereal indigo skies

Cascading into meaningless remnants of broken love

Resurrection at Hudson Lake

Blindness.  I quietly open my eyes.  Under the glittering stars, I detect consciousness and vibrancy.  There is a certain depth to this darkness, the velvety richness of the night.  Ill disposed,  I resurrect the forgotten constellations and a myriad of pulsating galaxies.  I passed by Hudson Lake today, the icy sidewalks canvassing the town, I felt immune to the cold and the sparkling frost.  Powdery Memories, cascade like snow drifts, creating mountains that will never disappear.  I plow into this metaphor, sculpturing the texture of love, in this endless winter abyss, still haunted by the spiraling mystical ghost of you.

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Multnomah Rain

Portland bound

Seems I'm lost

and then I'm found

In luminous rose gardens

I just gotta get my feet

Back On solid ground

The backdrop of this city

Is quietly drifting through

Countless Thoughts of you

and Emerald colored dreams

Under dark angry skies

Mount Hood and Rainier

Rise up silently majestic

In distant snowy white

I beg the misty shrouded

Coastal Mountain cascades

And rushing waterfall canyons

To not forsake me

To watch over me

To shelter me

To love me

And grasp me in the arms

Of this great Multnomah rain

Along this breathtaking Oregonian coast

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Devil's Tower

This infinite amber Wyoming

Landscape devours vast horizons

Under the grand shadowy vestige

Of Matho Thipila, the bear lodge

This is all so new to me

This is all so breathtaking

This is the genesis of me

With the red earth, rocks and trees

Circling trails under lush peaceful

Endless cerulian western skies

Lush Ponderosa Pine so fragrant

Cracks, columns, and ridges rising

Like a sacred tree suddenly cut off

From its sole divine source

The Milky-Way and a myriad of

Glittering frozen stars emitting blue

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