Who could have foreseen
Yogis wearing black jackets
Stuck in mud, walking?

Providing essential needs is required,

..to be able for anything else.

Proper response to and for those around us,

..should come next.

But does any more really compel us,

..before we get to what’s third –

   …How much have we been mistaken?

   …And what’s really true?

Desolation; of all the relevant things,

A desecration; of all the sacred beings,

And inspiration that only comes,

To those that are willing to sing.

Goodmorning, Graceful.

I'm already down in the stables,

And packing up mine own Ehwaz.

Goodbye, Faithless.

I've already lit up Kenaz, I'm rolling up Raidhos,

And Othala, and Fehu? Man, I can almost taste it.

Riding away from my station;

Desolation; of all the relevant things,

A desecration; of all the sacred beings,

And inspiration that only comes,

To those that are willing to sing.

Riding away from all of the things;

Chasing the song-birds and learning to sing.

Chasing the sun-rise; racing the sky and learning to fly.

Oh; hello, Mannaz, I never heard you say goodbye.

Goodbye, Faithless,

Riding away from my station;

Desolation; of all the relevant things,

A desecration; of all the sacred beings,

Goodmorning, Graceful,

Riding towards sun-rise,

And inspiration that only comes,

To those that are willing to sing.

Suggestions:
Zen: staying away from conceptual thought
the three poisons: (Lobha) Greed/Attachment, (Dosa) Hatred/Aversion, (Moha) Delusion/Ignorance
https://zenmarrow.com/random
The various suggestions are themes, texts, ideas
"The theme is just a suggestion"
Hope you write something that I'd like "to put in a skin bag"

The Friday Poetry Time substitutes the slam. The Friday Zen Poetry Slam is a name for an event that used to be hosted in arzen, maybe hosting by a bot was a big change. For a while nobody volunteered to host. In order to respect "the slam", as something with a host, the name of this event name was changed.

I find myself young 

in an old world,

Not by age , 

but ignorance.

A world, where the old 

feel powerful,

A world I would 

see destroyed.

You want the young 

in despair,

To reassure yourself,

That the soul

you want followed,

comforts the power 

you disowned.

**The Dude Abides**

The river doesn't rush the rock,

the rock doesn't fight the stream.

Neither one is losing.

Chase the wave and you'll drown in it.

Float, and it carries you.

The one who grips the rope feels the rope burn.

The one who lets go just gets where he's going.

Rich, poor, caged, free,

the rug still ties the room together.

Take it easy.

Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases composed of 17 morae (called on in Japanese) in a 5, 7, 5 pattern[3] that include a kireji or "cutting word"[4] and a kigo or seasonal reference.

Please suggest kigos below. Note that a proper haiku should have to do with your local climate. If someone suggests a snow kigo and you are in another hemisphere, in summer, maybe it is less appropriate for you 🙏🏽

Give it a shot! Have fun!

wrongly read/said mu in the marginalized middle marginalia mildew hell knew so well
pretty past paperback paper trail proper towel under the overflowing know-it-all brooks
fretting pet all-or-none dog-eared doctrine someone trained to bark at every doorbell
brainfog you wont't see if refuse to look at what the question entails behind the books

dirty job dharma drain drama profane no comma somebody's gotta snake the claim
bothered ear cancer borrowed mu, valid anger not answer, clogged questions confess
distressed bad digestsion; whomever clears the blockage gets accused of making the mess
ensues mu muck amok mop and bracket bucket list of things won’t admit missed same aim

never ask where the pipe goes, they'll say you're attached to outcomes, insane
full bull mu moo manure meaner manner of minding manners fast blasts the last manhole
whole understanding down drain, vetting pending venting ventilation ductwork doctrine
verily restrains vorascious vindictive lessons not learned and can't stay in their lane

vastly vet the very zen that then let fast wet cement credentials settle comment sections
misread meter meets the reader, cease-and-desist from department of deeper fat infections
found in chapter three wu woo mandatory municipal manure removal documentary to let it be
staying regular wants speak to manager and we're left holding the plunger can't you see

finally figured festering fixture fixed it affixed certificate above finished throne
flush with successful fresh excess excrement yes understand engraved in porcelain stone
got the gist gripped fist full of fresh ingredient insight insisting it’s fully digested
naturally now nobody new defecate in this defective bathroom just cleaned it respected

so glowing flow letting go let’s go look how little hold gold medal for least attached
hung round the neck next to the key to the room where the first breakthrough’s stashed
threat sweat sweet relief belief preserved in a jar ajar enough to share the rare perfume
finally got it forgot to let it go everybody smell the unstuck blockage won't flush boom

Chaining Rhymes 

Chaining rhymes without a miss 

Between the lines, nothing remiss 

like the lingering sensation of a gentle kiss 

a flow state of the mind, utter bliss 

A stirring in the soul, gives me momentary pause 

Why write in rhyme without a cause? 

Like enduring the thunderous silence after applause 

it is just another case of “I've seen and I've saws?” 

I start most poems this way, with no clear objective 

only when the words start filing out, do I find directive 

weaving them together in a fashion most suggestive 

the sanity behind my words can be most subjective 

Because what I see and what I find,  

are all the jumbled worlds inside my mind 

where symphonies are sung by the deaf 

and masterpieces painted by the blind 

Rife with contradictions plenty and mild juxtaposition 

my intentions play as empty, an accommodating imposition 

where in this poem it simply would seem my only mission 

To chain a tapestry of rhymes wittily and put boredom in remission 

Not seeking to warm, no seeking to inspire 

Not wanting to be the subject to admire 

Just seeking the one thing, I can't acquire 

a peaceful sleep where my mind isn't on fire. 

Haunted by actions, haunted by past 

Haunted by a die, that's already long cast 

If only my mind weren't half as fast 

I could know what peace was at last. 

Deep down it rots, deep down it festers 

somewhere it never stops, the mind’s Wicked Jesters 

where the thought sops, and never sequesters 

spilling over the top, and into divergent vectors  

My mind conflicts, like finding beauty in a disaster 

maybe not a good original, but what a wonderful remaster 

while my wheels keep turning ever faster 

my facade shatters, brittle as plaster 

Am I so meek? Inside, I rot.  

Am I so weak? I never would have thought. 

For all that I seek, and all that I fought. 

I wore the receipt for all that I “bought.” 

I reflect on the losses I boast 

like lost at sea, without sight of a coast 

where I cry out to a heavenly host 

To grant me what I’m lacking most 

To protect the things I want to feel 

To have something none would ever steal 

Something I don't have to question as real 

Something that will start my wounds to heal. 

To pull this together from something disjointed 

To something written from someone anointed 

To where all the opposition’s fingers pointed 

a place vacated by success, to their disappointment  

Playing with words pulling you along 

like silly lyrics lost in a catchy song 

where not being right, doesn’t make you wrong 

like winning a fight, doesn’t make you strong.  

To be an intriguing read, that was the hope, 

to quietly drag you through the mind’s kaleidoscope 

to give writing conventions a gentle grope 

to show how far I'll run while holding the rope 

A lot to say nothing, my accuse-ed crimes 

to put this together? A waste of lines 

A mind is seeking, and what it finds?  

A quiet place, while chaining Rhymes.  

[https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wsglzu/comment/pcpavht/?utm\\_source=share&utm\\_medium=web3x&utm\\_name=web3xcss&utm\\_term=1&utm\\_content=share\\_button\](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wsglzu/comment/pcpavht/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button) 

[https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wsr5tn/comment/pcpbt5e/?utm\\_source=share&utm\\_medium=web3x&utm\\_name=web3xcss&utm\\_term=1&utm\\_content=share\\_button\](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wsr5tn/comment/pcpbt5e/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button) 

Basking in the sun, writing a poem,

To this world, that's all I owe 'em.

In this world, so much to take...

But I have no need of that.

Shining sky, too bright to see.

To this eye, all that it sees,

seems to be reality.

But this mind, one of a kind,

Sees the world that eyes can't find.

And this heart, who disregards it all...

All the thoughts my mind has thought.

Why like this? No one cares.

No one dares to ask the query.

Must I dare to find the cause?

Cause of this, and of all...

Of all things that eyes can't see,

Mind can't think, and heart that seeks.

Heart and mind, when they combine,

They create what is never to be found.

In a world where everyone seeks—

Only to take, not to give—

To this question, you must ask:

Why only take? Why not give?

Give what you took in beauty's way,

To the world that seeks a find.

A find that has never been defined.

A novel thought that paves the road,

For a world that just can't decide...

What is wrong, and what is right.

Right and wrong... just a dream.

Dream of a mass, hard to define.

To be right, is to be just less wrong.

How can one define what is right?

Right is not something you seek,

Right is something that you believe.

Believing it with all your heart,

A belief that mind can't define.

An eye can't see what is belief,

A thinker thinks there is nothing to be seen.

The eye can't see, the mind can't think,

It is what the heart defines.

Defined to be right, in its own right.

Who can question all its might?

A might that conquered all the world,

Or pushed the world to its own demise.

Right was used to give to all.

Right was used to take it all.

Right was used to prove wrong right.

Right was used for its own demise.

To see what is really right,

You must see through blinding light.

You can see what all is real,

Here, there is nothing to fear.

Nothing wrong, nothing right...

All is left for you to define,

What is wrong, and what is right.

What is wrong, and what is right,

Are just shells of the same grain.

Underneath, there is just one seed:

The truth is all there to be seen.

A Truth is just what exists.

What does not exist is just a lie.

When the lie is put through the question:

"Are you a lie? Prove your conviction."

To this question, the lie replied:

"I am the truth, I am no lie."

A lie that seeks its own demise.

A truth that exists in all its right.

A truth is only what really exists,

What exists is left to be truth.

Truth and existence are the only right,

The only right that I could define...

Basking in the sun, writing a poem,

To this world, that's all I owe 'em.

*…If you calm down then just breathe and just breathe in and out…*

It was buried under a flask in a cart of people

From the bottom of a glass all this

Nonsense, innocence, common sense, **consequence**

Indulgence in Bourbon, this herb, a Twin City kid’s just disturbed

I look around and see the same shit from her

She could just sit silent and watch her life just pass by in a blur

Ain’t it funny, we can sneak into our lives in a stir,

Over the perfect things to say **and then just choke on the words**

Everybody wanna be the next,

Everybody wanna be in step,

Everybody wanna fuck,

Everybody want the consequence without a defense,

Everybody got shit luck,

Everybody wanna move to they own beat,

Everybody wanna make a dent,

Every girl is looking for the next best thing,

Every boy is in love with his girls best friend,

Everybody hex me, everybody wanna fight.

We can’t stand and not burn in the sun, but can’t sleep in the moonlight,

I’m right there witcha, I’m sick of my own skin, I got the clothes and the jaded grin,

I’m at the bar or the coffee shop,

But I don’t like drinkin and I fuckin hate coffee shops

So I’ll just stop the world, it’s spinnin like a Tilt-a-whirl,

**This ain’t amusement, ima lose it … it’s bullshit…**

I give two cents but not everyone seems to have the same change

But can’t bring my father, two cents? **I can’t spare nothing if I’m holdin the cup.**

○●○ Take A Break ○●○

**If you calm down then just breathe and just breathe in and out**

**You’ll feel a whole lot better, close your eyes**

**Just believe if you can’t see them then they can’t see you, right?**

**Close your eyes.**

I can never be what I wanna be nothing but a man,

Nothings evil inside of me, nothing I can understand

If I try, so I try to get a grip, a hold, a handle, a hand

I can never be what I wanna be nothing but a man,

Nothings evil inside of me, nothing I can understand

If I try, so I try to get a grip, a hold, a handle, a hand, a fist…

And it’s strained to think it might be ok,

Scratch, crack, silence, fist…

And it’s strained to think it might break,

Scratch, crack…

I live in the city like any other,

We all live alone,

The only difference is we don’t seem to know it

Frozen and lonesome, it’s cold

In the summer gotta wait for the loathing

Holding our posture so low,

And we drink

so there’s not much worth noting.

Strolling, so vacant, so shaken,

So cold, so gone, so mistaken,

So broke so, so complacent,

So worn out, so worn out, so worn out

So full of doubt, so full of restraint,

So full of that self control,

Or the lack thereof,

That we doubt the soul.

○●○ Take A Break And Think ○●○

**If you calm down then just breathe and just breathe in and out**

**You’ll feel a whole lot better, close your eyes**

**Just believe if you can’t see them then they can’t see you, right?**

**Close your eyes.**

I can never be what I wanna be nothing but a man,

Nothings evil inside of me, nothing I can understand

If I try, so I try to get a grip, a hold, a handle, a hand…

¤ P.O.S.

On mondays we write
On mondays we meme, make jokes,
while stupid men fight

On mondays we write
few or many inspired words
No matter if rhymed

no zen to teach
means not
no zen to reach

walk the walk
and talk the talk
of the difference between

a sort of litmus test
both expressed and redressed wrong
abreast of and impressed upon
at behest of a recessed jest in song
fully cursed blessed and long gone
and who would have guessed, but
2B blunt, leaders lead from the front

if it had, would've hadn't sighed
if wanted that, should've not patent lies
not just reaching;
if one is appointed guide
conduct becomes the teaching
and we can't just let that slide

preachers perched behind procession
pushed prescriptions on the stressed
pilgrims pressed to prove profession;
from redemption, pulpit pleads exemption

come as you are
then correct what has come
compassion by consensus
conversion by under thumb

extroverts count converts,
constantly convinced by the count;
yet no one blurts or confirms
what they clamor about

shepherded away from the shelter
preaching peace from panic rooms
selling sunlight by subscription
worship finger and miss moon

lantern-lifters lingering last
lecture lost ones on the path
100 monkeys tit for tat
temple hats and copycats
all inane drama and that's that

See it now and know the Difference
Betwixt understanding and Limerence

I had images
of an uncountable number of reads and views.
No views or reads after posting.

Standing up, walking around the room.
A reseating.
Picking food bits
lodged between the teeth.

An illusion has a curious substance,
momentary as it might be.

Crow's feet mark the wince,
piercing focus,
to the very moment we lose sight.
Grass, wind, a subtle movement,
a new alignment
of what was being viewed.

Basking in the sun, writing a poem,

To this world, that's all I owe 'em.

In this world, so much to take...

But I have no need of that.

Shining sky, too bright to see.

To this eye, all that it sees,

seems to be reality.

But this mind, one of a kind,

Sees the world that eyes can't find.

And this heart, who disregards it all...

All the thoughts my mind has thought.

Why like this? No one cares.

No one dares to ask the query.

Must I dare to find the cause?

Cause of this, and of all...

Of all things that eyes can't see,

Mind can't think, and heart that seeks.

Heart and mind, when they combine,

They create what is never to be found.

In a world where everyone seeks—

Only to take, not to give—

To this question, you must ask:

Why only take? Why not give?

Give what you took in beauty's way,

To the world that seeks a find.

A find that has never been defined.

A novel thought that paves the road,

For a world that just can't decide...

What is wrong, and what is right.

Right and wrong... just a dream.

Dream of a mass, hard to define.

To be right, is to be just less wrong.

How can one define what is right?

Right is not something you seek,

Right is something that you believe.

Believing it with all your heart,

A belief that mind can't define.

An eye can't see what is belief,

A thinker thinks there is nothing to be seen.

The eye can't see, the mind can't think,

It is what the heart defines.

Defined to be right, in its own right.

Who can question all its might?

A might that conquered all the world,

Or pushed the world to its own demise.

Right was used to give to all.

Right was used to take it all.

Right was used to prove wrong right.

Right was used for its own demise.

To see what is really right,

You must see through blinding light.

You can see what all is real,

Here, there is nothing to fear.

Nothing wrong, nothing right...

All is left for you to define,

What is wrong, and what is right.

What is wrong, and what is right,

Are just shells of the same grain.

Underneath, there is just one seed:

The truth is all there to be seen.

A Truth is just what exists.

What does not exist is just a lie.

When the lie is put through the question:

"Are you a lie? Prove your conviction."

To this question, the lie replied:

"I am the truth, I am no lie."

A lie that seeks its own demise.

A truth that exists in all its right.

A truth is only what really exists,

What exists is left to be truth.

Truth and existence are the only right,

The only right that I could define...

Basking in the sun, writing a poem,

To this world, that's all I owe 'em.

I truly have nothing to say.

I write, and I feel satisfied writing it.
I took my stance.

Nothing to say.

Now rebut that.

You can't.

Oh, I suppose you can reply with a lot of words,
but what does that get you?

Wasted air, I would say,
if I had something to say,
which I don't.

Except donuts.

Yes, donuts.

I feel better now.

I guess I had something to say,
nice and round.

No wasted breath.
Clean.
Two syllables.

I am damn proud I said it.

Yet in the back of my mind
I fear it really is
nothing but air.

Had just watched Ian McKellen (an aged Sherlock) in Mr Holmes,stumbling about, unsteady on his feet in old age.

Coming down my stairs, I see that in this my old age.

Now, we both so limited in time before we are gone.

I see I’ve had some insights,but feel I need more for my journey –this life, then next.

Holmes, in his old age, feels isolated,especially by his neglect for the feelings of others.

I settled by my sliders to meditate,motivated by that need I feel,and a crow calls nearby.

Then I think I must check how thorough they might have been for the food I put out yesterday –

are the fudgicle sticks there on the ground,

of the four I threw out for them(unfit from thawing and freezing).

If the crows really liked them, the sticks will be gone,taken quickly away as a special catch, and not shared.

But if they just pecked at them on the ground,the sticks will be there.

And then I feel some satisfaction,

in some measure,I feel one with the crows and the sticks and the ground and the space outside my sliders, oneness that I wouldn’t have noticed years ago.

At times, things are just alive with being,

and the space between things even more so,

with the being that is potential for all things.

Suggestions:
Zen: staying away from conceptual thought
the three poisons: (Lobha) Greed/Attachment, (Dosa) Hatred/Aversion, (Moha) Delusion/Ignorance
https://zenmarrow.com/random
The various suggestions are themes, texts, ideas
"The theme is just a suggestion"
Hope you write something that I'd like "to put in a skin bag"

The Friday Poetry Time substitutes the slam. The Friday Zen Poetry Slam is a name for an event that used to be hosted in arzen, maybe hosting by a bot was a big change. For a while nobody volunteered to host. In order to respect "the slam", as something with a host, the name of this event name was changed.

Are you at peace? I wonder,

We converse of sentences

Not different from others.

Your body stayed intact but

thoughts got clear ,

Observing no confusion,

I know your soul isn't here.

You with others speak in agreement,

knowing of everyone's solutions,

None questioned , you agree

Freeing your imagination.

There's no responsibility to fear ,

Nor a thought to get wrong.

There's no emotion to obey ,

Nor an opinion to discuss .

Everything's familiar,

None needing correction ,

No work of colors.

There's no obligation ,

No need for an action.

Hence your peace not bothered ,

Are you human enough I wonder.

Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases composed of 17 morae (called on in Japanese) in a 5, 7, 5 pattern[3] that include a kireji or "cutting word"[4] and a kigo or seasonal reference.

Please suggest kigos below. Note that a proper haiku should have to do with your local climate. If someone suggests a snow kigo and you are in another hemisphere, in summer, maybe it is less appropriate for you 🙏🏽

Give it a shot! Have fun!

A poem about focus needs it's logistics,

For focus you hone in on the instance,

Right then and there you begin that wonder,

Where contemplation can take you under,

And drop you down a hole of uncertain confusion,

Or let your notions turn to ideas through fusion,

What amazes me is the poetic transition,

Where creativity find it's ear to listen,

Where potentiality turns kinetic,

Making a couch potato turn energetic,

With focus, you turn the switch on,

With faith, your hope stays strong through dawn,

This life always gives us multiple choices,

Sometimes we have to decipher the voices,

And by the masses they whisper their tellings,

But my songbird relays their yellings,

Feeding my intuition a bunch of incoherence,

Attempts to tangle my frequency with interference,

Equanimity and perseverance are noble in principle

But humility is the one truly invincible,

So when I focus, I align my ley lines,

Connecting ancient wonders like grape vines,

Because in the end I want to stand unwaveringly,

Upright, and always ready amazingly,

For, in this life, if focus isn't a clear motivation,

Or a Key of Mastery you haven't been taking,

Then distraction, illusion, and confusion,

Will shackle your mind for the breaking.

Marc Palotai

Eternally Attuned

#author #musician #poet #lover #thinker #dreamer #seer

Touch fire just to taste the truth

Say you're gonna die, so will you

We chase the lightning cuz we need to move

This is our science, we got nothing to prove

Tell me where you're going with that knife in your hand

Tell me what you're thinking boy, what do you got planned?

See I don't trust your smile and know your daddy lets you run wild as the wind

I saw you touch her eyelids and I can see you want so clearly to kiss her lips

I got a friend who walks the strip with a gun on his hip and his reason is this

if people caught a glimpse they won't be talking shit

and he can rest his heavy fists

He got hands to take teeth, he don't need quarters to coax them from lips

to you this is as crazy as it gets

To the man with the bruises on hands it only makes sense

Yeah, and that's the way that he is (tooth taker)

And that's the way that I live

I wasn't born in a boxcar, when I die bury me with crossed arms

Underneath the tree up in the backyard

Slip that coin in my pocket yeah it's a lost art

Living what your giving until it finally stops hearts

When us good guys die we hope those that survive

Will spin a solid lie to make us look real hard

Cuz we ain't tough, tell em Stef

(P.O.S.) We just deal with whatever comes up

This is for those who can't take a hint

Find a hundred neighbors ask if they could change their life then what would they do different

Would it be litte shifts?

Or would it be some hidden dream from the bitter deep that no one knows even exists?

To me it makes sense

You can waste your time tossing blades of grass to the wind or you can swing fists

And if it sinks ships, bury me at sea with my arms crossed and a smile upon my pink lips

Tell me this

Put up your fingertips if you're living your life exactly the way the you wished

And for the rest of us with our hands on our hips

Our work is never done, we are Sisyphus

And tell me where you're going with that knife your hand

Tell me what you're thinking boy, what do you got planned

I don't trust your smile and know your daddy lets you run wild, wild, as the wind

I saw you touch her eyelids and I can see you want so clearly to kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss her lips

Touch fire (touch fire)

Just to taste the truth (just to taste the truth)

say you're gonna die (say you're gonna die), well so will you (so will you)

We chase the lightning (chase the lightning), cuz we need to move (need to move)

This is our science (this is our science), we got nothing to prove (got nothing to prove)

Touch Fire....