a typical image found on channeling sites, source unknown
A poem by Donny Lee Duke
But in your routine,
what is the foundation of the whole thing?
It’s that the technology?
Can you point to God?
What’s happenin’
in your soul’s process with God?
Can you get your soul to speak?
Why always this:
you channel beings
of a particular order?
Can you grasp the inner voice,
hear that on the inside that your record?
Definitely more personal,
it’s got you at heart,
a wide variety of vision.
You’re hearin’ it now.
Now let me speak some
about capital.
You are not Nathaniel Hawthorne.
I hear no substance in your words.
Do you know the power of divine revelation?
It knocks you off your feet,
shakes you up,
makes you confront yourself,
and is really, really, poetic, you know?
No convulsions needed.
We can actually open a gateway
in people’s lives
to hope and possibility.
Wounded by something.
Now let’s go to the doctor,
and the young body
can open now.
Closed it,
closed it earlier,
channeling the soda pop.
I’m sorry,
that is not your next of kin.
I wouldn’t even call it divine.
I’m not gonna be used
by things that destroy
you just tell yourself.
Go get the basics
a little deep man:
we’ve whooped it up on stage.
The eve of creation—
you’ve hit the run around
with a big referral
to some starfish.
It’s got ears,
your soul buddy.
You have to ask it for help
fervently,
ardently.
Your soul rises to the surface
over many lifetimes.
I think you are where it speaks.
I offer you solace
in the form of understanding.
Come with me.
Stupid me,
I am not a perfected master,
not in Realization yet.
I’m sorry I sound so heavy,
so blow your tops off,
so glory in the hole.
I get in trouble
tryin’ to help.
People spit on me
the big bad outcast.
Oh have I sinned,
and so no one lets me speak.
Will you?
I wrote this poem, or my muse did rather, which also serves to introduce the poem I’m currently disseminating, “Tonight on Television”, to a person who channels, Asil Toksal, after watching a video on YouTube where he channels, or says he’s channeling, the archangel Ariel. The video here. I watched the whole video and left this poem both as a comment after it and in an email sent to his site.
This is like fire.
This is electricity,
horses, I don’t know.
Take the sound off.
You have a pay by go guide,
a living tree.
What do I do with it?
It’s not of public interest.
You hear me?
Magical,
it broadcasts the sun.
I just sit here and read it.
It’s got lives in it.
It’ll tell you anything you need to know.
So much to hear.
I’m not fond of it
where poems are concerned.
It’s like a tunnel I have to go through.
It’s got me until the end.
Can you say it?
Let’s twist the words around I’m sorry,
can you meaning?
No, it’s not a broken muse.
I’m godawful sorry
for things.
I don’t know how to show this to you.
Do I take my hat off?
I think about you a lot,
where feeling meets life.
I don’t drag my wrong through my mind at every moment.
I think about how you feel.
I put myself in your shoes.
Remorse has this as a gun.
Repentance means these words
and a lifetime of service to humanity.
I gut feeling this.
I’m racked by your pain,
sit at my computer and cry
when I encounter it,
or in my mind’s eye when I rove around the world.
Your loss rents my breast,
the pain of the tortured child,
the destroyed city,
the puppy dog that’s lost its owner,
the man that’s done something wrong,
terribly hurt somebody.
I want to gather you all up in my arms
a power of God to heal,
but I have not God’s strength,
and I can only feel my inadequacies to help.
Let me tell you my strategy.
I have a world
in front of my face,
all these people I care for,
tend to when they’re sick,
encourage them when they’re down,
counsel them when they need,
cook for them when they’re hungry,
shop for them when they need things,
carry their dreams in my heart
to help give some interpretation.
I listen to them.
I hold their hands.
Half of them are dogs.
A puppy is to me a human child,
and I spend all day with one,
giving her that special attention,
and with a human child,
giving that concentrated care.
It’s how I take care of you.
When I look in their little eyes I see all the world.
Can you feel me here?
I am a servant of mankind.
I am my brother’s keeper,
and I love you so very much.
Have you heard me?
Forgiveness is a model
for the road to understanding.
It’s not something you do
like a magic out of thin air.
We know not yet the issue of our deeds.
We cannot see their fount.
We have a whole ride to do that,
a great big storybook to learn.
It takes inner searching
to a degree most are uncomfortable with.
Understanding comes that way,
in the middle of forgiveness.
Can we learn forgiveness?
Can we bring peace on earth?
Well I’m Mr. Big.
A lot happens in two hours.
You ever hear of the Pathfinder Section?
Bad idea
YouTube channel,
a big mistake.
You’re free in the top part.
You’re not in the reality of the moment.
This video’s about you.
We run out in the street—
check it out!
Have you heard the sounds of New Tall Torio?
A rather embarrassing moment.
We aren’t being who we are.
Yah hear me kids?
That’s the storyline:
this guy over there
has got the worth of the moment.
I’m on the phone.
I gotta talk to Him,
not the new banjo the sky keeper.
Hey God!
I wanna be where I’m at okay!
the real me,
the one beyond ships.
Look at him.
He is the reality.
That’s who we are.
Take your head out of your storybook.
Get that mountain in your hands
I’m it.
Surround the place,
even a universe,
and I’m so big I’m free.
You have to look.
I am really free.
My God the paperwork
just to speak about him.
It’s not online.
It’s in your kitchen.
Think
just like this:
it’s not beyond us now.
I have to look for a channel:
the real thing.
Don’t stop believin’.
God on Me
He thinks out of your field of consciousness.
Field of consciousness,
an opportunity
to be involved in His masks
—shy Ram beyond be said—,
an opportunity to field some notes with Him
Nitisheh.
They’re family.
They are together
that man and this little boy in this mountain.
It’s where they belong.
You wouldn’t put them apart.
Yeah we went down to everybody’s but King Lear was here. Spiritual enlightenment, I’m past gold card. It’s hung up in the bank. I just keep getting tested I’m sorry. Now we call on rabies to get vaccinated. Will I die? I’m a patrol boat. I turn everything in. I’m strong in squares. Everybody’s down on me yes.
All night jazz somebody. Is it overkill? I’m talking about the Frenchman in the harbor, my toe broadcast to the world. The muse is my bedfellow. Stranger coming. And I hear the voices at night. All along the shores of reason this infinity swirls. I’m a gust of wind called. I produce alphabets, stacking up reality in pictures that are not what you usually see. Can you reason with them? I’m an explosive marinade. I paint past pictures.
I’m edifying you. Would you laugh in thought or take my hand? I’m a dumbbell. How many reps can you do? I mean read to understand. We are for folks. We sing loud and clear. We are fro friend in need. Look at this as a gift. A microcosm, I’m a twilight zone. I do pronouns bigger than you.
There are voices behind this bigger than me. It’s all fountain keep. I love it in the afternoon. Who doesn’t want to sleep at night? I get paid. Divine love in boxcars show me the way. It’s substantial rhythm taking my life apart and going to harmony work. I know my own business. And here we are.
Rolling pin anyone? I just got so much to say. No problem, he’ll be joining the first one. How for? How could I do that? It’s so funny, my moon face. Social media, I’m a strong count here. Of course use me.
Everybody’s model, now, this is gonna be difficult. What baby? We throw in the dog, and Luna. Well ride ‘em on my puppy is not as single as all that. An emergency takes aim at afterlife. Where’s Luna, Bruno? No this is Lisa. Lisa’s like that, is a to herself dog.
Can I get to know her? She’s easily put. It’s hard to put you there. This is exploratory duty. You need to tell Lisa you care. Talk and say things. Your puppy’s not gonna order her light bulb in the next few days. Well we love about her. We adore her. I mean sound her name every time you turn around, she’ll grant you some special privileges.
Why can’t she go? She likes it so near you. Is she suffering? She has all this radio station. She is so occupied with you guys. A lot more wood had to be put into the system. Just rises in that is the toppest dog you’re hearin’. Keep sayin’ her name. Lisa baby please come with me. This is so close: you’ve got to be human baby. Lisa baby, I’m on our way.
Venture, wow, what a year it took bulldozers getting people outta here. They not deserving and not needing synergy, the sadhana circle. Can we grace them please while they go? I hear the heart in your room. I’ve got this incredible heart of my own you’re not balanced with. Bye people, go. We used to it, taking advantage of Steve McCoy. Now this affects her thinking. This is written on our desk.
That’s what I’m gonna be doin’, gettin’ into world thought. I do that every day. Now I have the plans for you. I’m gonna move in and question reality. Save the country, there’s something there. There’s a being. The people to become better. The being to see the world as its friend, educated on family. That’s the thought, ride family to everybody’s related on Earth.
We finish with this blog Harm’s End. When he goes back up here, now harm’s end I will reach you. Get ready. Now Lisa, I’m going to find my dog.
If you wanna touch mark on the spiritual path and be seen by future doctors help this guy get published. A scientist didn’t study reality. A seer did.
Pope Francis in Rome, photo Credit: AP/Alessandra Tarantino
What is it about to see a priest? Be reviewed by God doesn’t happen. You’ve just been given time off from that urge to find God. It satisfies your religious sense, nothing else.
That’s the big lie: popes and priests grapple for you God. They are the wellspring of our inability to find God. You must believe in them or else. Have I mentioned the clergy?
We think they’re holy men and women. They don’t know how to tie their shoe: be a system unto God. They are a profession in a bank, are not knowledge of God. They can show us the way to enlightenment very few.
What do you do with them? Helping men and women for causes just we give them credit for. Something in them has a calling they’ve mistranslated into religion.
They could go deeper, and some have. I don’t think you would find them in today’s textbook, but I’m sure there’s one or two out there.
So are they obstacles to God? In a manner of speaking yes. Desmond Tutu would not find for you revelation. You quote man’s ways on his greater path. You are not a stark naked outlook on God.
So, do we just find God ourselves unaided from God? What is a seer? They’ve opened God unto their lives, can express the spoken word they hear from on high or from their being’s core, the hidden speech that labors out the world.
It is not God talking, but it is the sound of His voice, clear with His meanings dim, for God cannot inhabit human speech, but revelations still come down, and the mystic word gives us bright hints of God. This the seer does.
You have heard him spoken in cities, heard her upon the mountaintop. Can you find the inner Guide? That’s the clergyman in every home, the minister everywhere. Can we come to this? Can we be unto God? The minister of the Earth God everywhere.
(Note: from July 2016 to December 2016, I posted seer poems on Facebook written specifically for our educational page Harm’s End. I know FB was aware of the posting at the time, because some poems were boosted and had to go through Facebook’s review process, with one being rejected, one about the prophet Mohammad, although FB did not take it down or flag it in any way. On August 4, 2020, I copied all the poems, along with their images, to my computer, and a day later a poem from 2016 was taken down for violating their community standards, showing me my activity was being closely monitored by FB. I then deleted any image I thought FB might object to, unaware that an image of Hitler is now flagged by FB as a matter of course. That it is now but wasn’t in 2016 reflects a growing trend of censorship on the net. It won’t be long before anything that seriously questions the generally accepted reality construct or tires to introduce things that construct isn’t seeing and doesn’t want to will be banned from the major social media platforms and taken as far as possible out of the public eye. In other words, the net will become like TV.
This poem along with this image was posted on FB September 10, 2016. It was flagged August 15, 2020, but not taken down, citing it violated their community standards, and I edited it the following day, adding material in brackets within the poem that explain the poetry, to make it clear I wasn’t violating their community standards. Within 10 minutes after editing it, our page Harm’s End was unpublished. Although this poem fits into a poetic conversation on my FB feed and is out of context to post here by itself, I’m posting it here to protest the censorship of art and poetry on Facebook and on the net in general, in this case, poetry whose purpose it is to heal, not harm, however controversial it may be.)
Executive order.
Anyway she just surprised me.
Hitler, the 1st letters of incest,
rape.
It started World War II.
Half the money
the gate come open.
What come out?
I know it,
the material,
the material of war,
the material of concrete war.
Incest gun,
check it out.
That’s not a gift.
It’s an orgasm
your mom gives ya,
or your dad,
an adult in the family.
The house owner
outside of somethin’.
It’s American.
We know it’s German.
It’s also England,
all countries,
just a story on it
broken.
You wouldn’t hit everybaby,
enough to organize
the required material.
Is that war?
You said it baby.
It’s German
under the feet.
That means it’s right there:
kill ‘em,
thousands gas.
Bring them on the table
but be careful.
Daddy was good wasn’t he
or mommy special?
We do this in an orderly fashion.
Got that right.
Just line ‘em up
and shoot ‘em,
terrible.
I’m gonna
keep comin’.
What’s this?
An orderly compound,
an orderly room.
Procedure, procedure?
And we built the gas chambers,
and we built
orgasm.
Give that kid
trouble,
not between his legs,
not
now,
not now.
Look out the window.
Go to the door.
It needs an umbrella:
the night of the generals.
They have a very detailed IQ.
THEY.
People are bad.
Not everybody.
He doesn’t like,
he has a very knowledgeable
presence with Jews.
Art school,
they wouldn’t let ‘im in.
Art college,
they wouldn’t let him in now.
Okay make them unworthy,
lump them with all the undesirables,
society’s degenerates,
but blame them for everything.
They are the masterminds
of all that’s wrong with the world,
of all that’s wrong with our country.
[understand the poetry: those are Hitler’s views, not the poet’s.]
Fell down –
see a war,
a war,
a world war:
give to me
my mountain.
You have to understand
orgasm.
It changes war.
It’s a blitzkrieg
of physical pleasure
on an I unformed.
One second.
There’s an I.
Is there
more like the animal I.
Is that me?
That building centerfold
the earth
is removed from the scene.
I’m a baked chump,
burn in a holocaust of pleasure.
Understand
repeated action,
all this mess over time.
It has a tendency
to rob you of pleasure,
organize your role
an antenna
to try and get things in order,
down
if you know what I mean,
not up in the sky.
Look at
the nice uniforms,
the insignia,
the roll of tanks.
You’ve been robbed you see,
and that damage,
and you in ego formation,
and God did it,
your parent.
Any questions Paramount?
That’s it.
(There is, it should be understood, a personal interpretation to this poem throughout, since, in truly inspired art, in seer poetry especially, it’s at bottom, however remotely, also about the artist. In this light, the verse about Hitler being rejected from art college and subsequently scapegoating all Jews because of that can also be interpreted to be about the refusal of my entire society, Jews, non-Jews, everybody, to let me into the art of the day, but the personal interpretation isn’t tit for tat with the poem, as it just lights upon it here and there. If you want to know how the personal interpretation applies to the main subject of the poem, infant orgasm, read this comment I posted on Medium before my Medium account is also suspended, because I color outside the lines.
If you want to know the occult truth behind Hitler, read the book The Light That Shone Into the Dark Abyss by Maggi Lidchi-Grassi, 1994, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press (not available to read online). Facebook, which almost a third of the world’s population uses, has such an unwarranted and inequitable influence over the knowledge that we pass around, and it (like not only the other online mega-businesses, but also the major news outlets and the great majority of the entertainment industry I might add) is in its core beliefs reductionist materialist, however many employees it has that doesn’t hold those beliefs. If that’s not enough, it’s in it for profit, and if Facebook encounters material that makes people feel uncomfortable, a loss of profit steps in and makes the decision, and even if it doesn’t violate its policies, FB will simply ban it. Now, the truth of us, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it might hurt to hear it, you know?
Is the human matter finished? I mean, is there anything more to discover about us other than the fundamental beliefs that we’ve built human society upon, and those are that we are individual human islands expendable to the sea of humanity and inconsequential compared to it, islands possessing an absolute freewill and a consciousness that doesn’t extend beyond the island that we each are, and, in the intrinsic ground of who we are, we are nothing more than that island? Here we are at the cutting edge of humanity. This is the denied knowledge trying to gain entry: there is more to discover about us, and we are more than that.
I’ll end with an analogy to put the subject matter of this poem into a context that will make what I’m attempting here more apparent:
“This thing no one ever talks about before, and when we are the first ones to talk about it, there are a lot of people that think this thing shouldn’t be touched, this thing is you know, sacred, and the people that think you are going too far, and all of these people are going to undermine our movement, for sure.” Quote from a Thai protester in Bangkok speaking to a BBC reporting about protesters questioning the power of the Thai monarchy. Source: BBC video “Thai protests: Thousands join rally in Bangkok”, 17 Aug 2020.)
d a g
It’s been a long time,
a
long, long, long time,
g a d g
everything that’s sung and in one line.
d a g
Work up slowly your way to it.
d g a
And the folk song’s driftin’ on a better day.
d a g
The folk song’s liftin’ on a inner ray:
d g a g d
the many splendors of beauty’s reign.
g a d g
Here the heart wants to share
g a d
snow covered music for my kind,
g a d
on the wings of the time, on the wings of a dove, on the wings of love.
a g
So many changes for my kind,
a d
everything to do with the divine,
a g
everything that’s true,
d a g
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign,
d a g d
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign.
Verse 2
d a g
Let go,
a
let, let, let go.
g a d g
Land wide release.
d a g
You are llamada up above. (Spanish, pronounced ‘yamada’)
d g a
And the folk song’s driftin’ on a better day.
d a g
The folk song’s liftin’ on a inner ray:
d g a g d
the many splendors of beauty’s reign.
g a d g
Here the heart wants to share
g a d
snow covered music for my kind,
g a d
on the wings of the time, on the wings of a dove, on the wings of love.
a g
So many changes for my kind,
a d
everything to do with the divine,
a g
everything that’s true,
d a g
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign,
d a g d
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign.
Verse 3
d a g
A time of change,
a
change, change, change, change,
g a d g
when the world pipe knows only one thing.
d a g
You have to know it very well.
d g a
And the folk song is tempted by an adverse fate.
d a g
The folk song is driftin’ wrong on the Titan’s urge.
d g a g d
He saw my sun, moon, and stars.
g a d g
Put all change back.
g a d
But in the play there’s a process aware of,
d g a d
Look out of the psychic being’s urge.
a g
And that weakness was no longer,
a d
and that weakness was no longer.
a g
It shattered not
d a g
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign,
d a g d
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign.
Ending
D A G
This is from the sun (3xs):
g a d g
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign,
d a g d
beauty’s ray, beauty’s role, beauty’s reign.
Made images out of light.
Feed them to this world.
Beat me.
I’m a meeting of soul wings.
It doesn’t bother me.
Use your head.
Reflected on the walls of the mirror.
In any event,
where I sit and represent God.
That’s the power lines.
What compassionate consideration.
It’s like he loves himself.
He’s the photographer you see,
the photograph,
all these images,
the poem,
pure,
not an ounce of color.
Do you see the address?
It’s in the face of everything.
Poetry
I need you.
He fell into the bricks.
Thank God let him through.
He’s an image in a photograph.
What visibility.
All citywide wears one face.
It gathers in the gloom.
Was to fight
till the front soul noon.
Let’s give soft yoga shoes
a copy of The Letters
and give those bored little crazies the cubbyholes.
Came out peaceful Pondicherry.
I took this at the theater of Alliance Française in Pondicherry and developed it in our darkroom
An Audience Song
Poetry enhances
our little corner of life’s room.
It’s what we splash on our faces
to get the stories out.
You would contradict this song.
That’s the mystery.
And we look at an iceberg,
it roses from the ground.
Underneath it stalls in light.
A brief ocean
has rounded in our ears
the equity
of a larger see than ours.
Alimony this payment
to that stuff in us
at noontide’s sing.
I’ve rounded poetry.
You hear the contradiction?
It’s a blistery see
with what ails yah,
the exuberance
of a state of being
laughing at the stars.
It’s a transaction
between you and sight
that calls all what you don’t see
into play.
I measure my life by it
one poem at a time,
a poet in my room
attended by verse itself.
You are my audience
lines of poetry.
What people there
the contradictory note,
the flowers of which I speak.
This poem was submitted to and rejected by Poetry Magazine
Harm's End 