All Fall Down

Shall I cry tonight?
Or shall I save it for
another time?
With naught being saved
but the moment,
I think I might
have a cry tonight.
She understands,
and takes my hand.
I cried with her
tonight.

©2009 RA

All Ayes on Me

All I need is a sock
and it's Espionage.
I fear none of man's Armies;
none of them can harm me
like me.

All I have is a cock,
it's hard as rock or flops.
I'm made of light so blinding,
but I'm being blinded
by me.

All I need is to stop;
say no to self and walk.
In this world it is just me;
if only I trusted
in me.

All I have is this song
to soothe and move me on.
This hymn here is a lesson,
and no secret weapon
to me.

©2009 RA

Kindergarten of God

In the kindergarten of God,

I'm naught but a pawn,

spitting in an infinite pond.

And in this universe

that knows no wrong,

I've done become

distraught and oblong.

Lord knows,

I should be excited

to be alive and writing.

Insight is in sight--

it's not that I'm blind;

I know that light

must come from inside.

I've just not found

lightning to strike me.

Spread me thin

in this existence;

leave the ego broken,

no room for a friend.

At this place in space,

I'm no more penitent

than patient;

I won't wait

for judgement--

I'm above it.

I do not grudge

my relation's ships;

in any one I'll sail away

to a simpler place.

And it will be in grace

that I seize every day.

©2005-2009 RA

There's Always Room for Vegetables

O! how full the cupboards

had been;

full of enough victuals

to feed a couple fattened

by evening meal rituals.

O! how full of pastas

and sauces,

exotic tea boxes,

and chocolates

to eat or bake with.

O! how full the cupboards

had been;

until, one day,

the vegetables had had

their fill of sitting still,

and carted to the landfill

all foods that filled

the stomach,

but made one a lummox.

O! the revolting shrill

of the good wife

(used to the good life);

and O! the resounding clap

of her husband's fat

as he collapsed flat on his ass!

"O! how full the cupboards

had been", they cried!

But up they hushed

when they spied

the vegetables.

And, salivating,

they made a soup

of lentils and carrots

and potatoes;

and then baked

garlic cloves and onions

into flour-dusted,

honey-crusted,

savory rolls--

and when their bellies

were full, they felt sillier still

for having never appealed

to vegetables for a meal.

©2005-2009 RA

Hither & Thither

Here I am again:
thinking of you
as if I've ever
not thought of you--
IMPOSSIBLE.
Apart is the same
as lips parting aflame,
passions trapped in
God's immaculate contraption--
you.

Here I am again:
still thinking it
impossible
to not have thoughts
of you.
So it goes.
So it shall stay.
And, come to think it,
I quite like it
this way.

©2005-2009 RA

Sole Full of Roles

In this Universe,
it isn't you go first.
It's all for one,
or all is undone.

In old Sol's System,
it's equally vicious:
step out of line
and you might

as well walk on the Sun.

©2009 RA

La Gravità Sociale

Emotion ran high from the onset--

then came the condescending non-sense
of gossip: an impossible process
born of broken promises.
There's no armistice
in derogatory comments--
astrological comets
flying, falling, flaring down--
blaring sounds and varied nouns,
confounding the people I meet,
the people speaking to me....
Free speech is not always enlightening--
in spite of the peace I've tried to keep,
these sheeple keep on bleating at me--

until I'm defeated by deceit.

©2009 RA

Love & Be Loved

The greatest thing one can learn, is to love and be loved in return. Or so I've heard. Yet love is not without its incidents, accidents, and happenstance. Love is but a moment and infinity. It is a cry of suffering and of paradise...It cannot be, then, that love, given and taken, is the greatest thing.

At best, it is a makeshift thing.

I loved her. Yet we are no more.
Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps it is not.

In her absence, I'm wide open--soul exposed--my outlook less than hopeful. I am uncertain of what my direction is...So I walk all directions. No sense that I've bitten off more than I can chew, or that I could choke on my own ambitions...I spin and spin, and where I'll stop...There is no stop, only go.

I want to say to her: 'We crashed, we banged; we are forever changed. But, please, will you know me again?'
And I want her to say to me: "No. Go Away."

And away I'll go...to spin once more.

I will know then that love is a funny, fickle thing--neither a possession or a right. I will know, too, that to give love is to receive love...and to receive love is to give love. But, above all, I will know that love is best sewn and grown with the devotion and compassion of, not one, but two gardeners. And when in bloom, this love must be tended to, lest it wither into an hollow husk unfit for the flood that's only just begun....

©2009 RA

Traitorous Traits

I don't bash myself out of habit. I am not the self-depricating type. I do find it necessary, however, to reflect upon Who I am and Where I've Been. Not always, mind you. From time to time. When the Moon is on the rise.

Most often, I stumble upon traits that are unbefitting of my soul, yet terribly suiting to my temperament.

After a recent late-night stroll, I tread upon and was smacked in the face by the rake that is my overt impatience. From some distant corner of consciousness, a protest arose, stating its case: "Impatience is your guide". A part of me believes. Another turns its back, arms folded. And some other piece knows not what to think.

The Father, The Son, and The Hollow Spirit. Am I completed by being "what I am"? Or must I be like the river, and go on ambling, until I am all smooth stones and ebb and flow?

The highways, the byways--all ways are my way. I need only keep my senses sharp, supple...I will amble. I will stroll. I will take the beaten path, the one less traveled, and the road to perdition.

Awareness, be my shepherd. Guide me to my Kingdom of Heaven.

If the vice grip of impatience will not let me be, I shall spit and kick, I shall pry away--I shall set my self free.

I don't bash myself out of habit. I also don't make it a habit to ignore the beck and call of Pre-destiny.

©2009 RA

Amidst the Glades of Time and Space

To walk the wide and blurred lanes of memory, is to walk in the shadows of the past.

For those of us seeking the light of today, it is important to know that there can be no light without shade. and no shade without light.

For those forging the pathways of the future, know, too, that the shade is where we rest ourselves for the steps we are to take next.

So, then, it would seem that all travelers of time come to the same impasse: a signpost that says, simply, "go forth and multiply".

©2009 RA

Dial-Tone Silence

The sound of allure is round in her mouth--
words flit about on the air of her breath;
vowels are sighs and consonants
her caress--she's smooth in her
part--so soothes my heart.
I'm not interested, Lady--
not today, no thank you.
What I don't say as her tone
transforms into dial-tone silence,
is that I'm sold on her, not her service.
There, in her soul, the code of my purpose--
her signal was loud and clear--still, she slipped


away.

©2009 RA

Out, Damn Spot!

When the Physical Heart breaks,
it may be patched by Man's Miracles
or remedied on the Stage of Therapy.

And though the memory may linger
as abstract impairments or scars,
in Time, all will fade to a tolerable shade of grey.

When the Spiritual Heart breaks,
the pain transcends the senses,
and inflicts the deepest of wounds.

Too often, Grace and Faith escape,
and the Hurts are left behind
to rot within our very cores...

We carry these Ruins of Hurt
from one lifetime to the next--

It is thus that our broken selves re-appear
as Black Spots on the Hands of Innocents.

©2009 RA

Crumbs for the Poor

My life, it crumbles;
in the rubble I bumble,
stumble, and mumble no tune.
My life, she's double,
double, toil and trouble--
all is reduced to ruin.

My life, where art thou?
I write--no sense of how,
why, or what I must do.
There is no us without you.

©2009 RA

Flight of the Finite Spirit

Part I--
I write with an heretofore unknown Finality. My companion, whom I thought to be The One, is become no one. It is over. We are over. This devastating blow makes of me a sunken ship. Aftershocks may remain unknown for a time, or for ever long as I deny the Pain of the Ashes.

Save for the fluttering soul within, I am alone.

At a time like this, rebirth seems a myth; an ancient ritual performed by peoples who needed not the hope of another day, but the faith necessary for survival. A rite of passage gone from this Age.

I have not the tools of those before me. And so perish with Armageddon.

My brusque letters--the Runes of Me--soon to be buried as the Ruins of Me, in the still fertile soil of what could be, but never was. If there were a sole word--preferably one consigned to oblivion--to announce the leaden gravity of the hollow heart, its mere utterance would be my epic telling of Human Suffering.

Mis-pronouncements of my sorrow be damned!


Interlude--
Karma pounds the mold of me, hot on the anvil of my torment,
forging of me a cracked and broken shell.


Part II--
To surmount the Wall of Suffering, one need not physically scale its unrelenting and unforgiving heights. Seek, instead, the keyholes in its structure--and their many keys--to break down its boundary.

The element of Focus is one of many essential keys. Mind-alteration, Change of Perspective, Busyness, Imagination, and Distraction may also come to the aide of the downtrodden. When the alchemy is right, a state of being is achieved that transforms the Poor of Spirit into the Richest in all Babylon*.

In such a state, possibility becomes actuality. The slate of Me, Myself, and I, is wiped clean and the strained soul is left free and clear. Hard, Soft, Up, Down, Right, Wrong--all are on suddenly equal ground.

Where the cleansing stage can go astray is also where it can propel one forward. While in a Heightened State, if one does not summon the Whole of the Self--all that one has been, seen, and experienced--to the forefront of the conscience, then the Core of the Self--with its inborn courage and power to thrive--flickers and flashes until either its signal fades or is seen for the beacon of salvation that it is.

Break or Bend. Give or Give In. Throughout the self-cleansing process, one will be taxed to one's limit, and must trust in the Togetherness of Things. It is the Glue of the Universe.

All things begin and end with all things.
And so will begin and end with this Awareness.

The Bane of Togetherness is the excess consumption of Gossip, Comfort, Deception, Lackadaise, and Peacockery...These latest elements break down suffering in the reverse: their accumulation lends to a withering death of spirit.

With unrelenting effort, one will become adept at recognizing The Bane, and will no more fall prey to its pounce and tackle.

By maintaining one's center--and connection with all things--The Bane will slide and glide from the Self like water from the feathers of a diving bird.


Interlude--
Irony is not known for its Sense of Direction,
but for its Lack of Discretion.


Part III--
The push came without a sound warning. Falling backwards, arms flailing for purchase, anything to soften or delay my inexorable crash and bang against the cold and lonely ground.
And then I knew Nothing.
It was some time before I woke to find no one there to lift me up. Tentatively, my fingers flexed about and gripped la terra sconosciuta**, until I rose from the Ashes.

That was the first Flight of my Finite Spirit.
It would happen again.
And once or more times after the second.

There formed a network of cuts, scrapes, and bruises; marks on the subterranean cloak of the Soul.

I healed, more or less, by faith--but not by faith alone. I told my self that if I could but learn to fall, the hurt could not last, and would, one day, go away.

Yet with every heartfelt impact, a chasm took form in my Spirit--as if the force of impact was itself a catalyst for the tectonics of my Inner Self...The Continent of the Soul adrift on an Endless Ocean of Emotion.
...
...
There is water all around me now. So many waves roar below, in the darkness. What is left of my spine is like to the sharp and gnarled cliff sides spiraling down and around me.
This is the precipice of the Last Stand...Final Destination...Everlasting Bliss.

Her hand is outstretched. She wants to save the remains of me.
I possess only enough strength for the embrace of her Love.

Still, I am falling.


Postlude--
Depression is no reason to write,
but every reason to go forth and live.


Fin

©2009 RA

*One must be made aware that almost any mode of life can lead one down the revelatory path of Heightened Awareness. Know, too, that no sole relief device should be handled for any great length, or there could develop device-reliance, and not the desired self-independence. High doses (unbalanced and habitual use) of relief, excepting Focus Work (eg; Yoga, Meditation, Archery, et al), can leave one Lost before one is Found.

**the foreign ground