I had to work in a cave last night. I’m afraid. Bring me back. Wastin’ the water when electricity was comin’. [sing verse]
Can we be expendable? I don’t even know if that’s the question. Do we just acquiesce to everything, ride out time like it’s a bump in the road? I feel my larger spheres pent up in here, and I know I’m expendable.
I don’t know how to find time. I’m just a hole in the ground in any largeness I make. People just want to get me for it, counting victims in my pen. A few loyal survivors have the guts to hear me and not have me taken off.
I just wanna do away with it all. Do you say that, overwhelmed by existence, how it doesn’t all work out, how you go home one day, and people have put a fence, blocking your access road, how you get slapped for kindness and sincerity, how you can’t even trust yourself to be good when your free will’s compromised by the shade from black night?
I’ve put on this flesh I know. A body of man I’ve put on. I wear existence’s sleeves, and sometimes I think it’s a punishment. I just want my boy to come home.
How do you know a poet’s worth? They remind you of yourself where you touch ground. They grab existence and almost show it to you. They tell yah where you’re at when you’re on the moon, and they will lay with you in hell if you’re sorry of the pentance you’re payin’. I’ve grabbed a purgatory slot. Hear my worth as I try to find my time today.
Who you be lookin’ for, someone with words better than me, someone who can grab the times today and get all Tennyson on yah? I’m alone with Shakespeare you know, grabbin’ his hat and puttin’ on my day, all sound and fury. I get all field on yah. I life this to you. I'm not an idiot. I’m a Neptune in the history of fishes.
I can get Barbra Streisand. I can put on symbols like they’re lunch. I can really tag you in the sound of these words when they’ve jumped off a cliff and pulled a child’s pants down to show you they’re lost there and grow up fighting any sticky business that puts you there.
I’m about a wheel and chain on the road to time. I want you to grow up and give chances out on freeways. I want you to be kinder than you are, not as clannish always in control. I want you to be better than that, not even giving me a word I’m supposed to touch.
I’m your poet today, like it or not, that brings poets’ meanings home. I’m Jack Field. Test my word in life. No edit summary.
We have everything to do with being creatures on a role planet. Our time in space blackens our time in thought. I promote myself spits in the wind. Art and thought, I wonder if you feel anything derelict. I’ve perished this bloom. Since everybody’s here, except any majority of people, I might as well clear my throat.
What do I hog to you today? I wanna pull existence out of the hat, be right on the ground of being. I want you to say, "that’s me." I put it in flower pots. I sit here all day and fight it, our anonymous with each other. This is stadium big.
We are all points in space too big for our britches. We see ourselves huge in other’s eyes. I’m talkin’ about ourselves. We feel and think and be the center of any room, so big to ourselves, and even if we are not the reason everybody’s there, we see reality that way.
Take us off the megalomania lists. I’m just talkin’ what it means to be human, or the dog in the corner, or the ant in the windowsill, and you know that plant think? It’s just not corralled its self-aware. It just does not pedal to the end of the room. Those thoughts aren’t in motion, but you’ve got a plant big there, everybody in the room.
How do I toll the star-gate? We are stuck on one world in our rounds of thought. We cramp existence here. Oh my God the experiment, would it be the same in every laboratory? Can we count existence a cheat? Does it handicap worlds, universes, or does it just stage things properly?
Do you know you’re blind, deaf, and dumb to what you see on the inside of the person sitting next to you, or leaving a comment, or submitting a poem, or who’ve you’ve encountered on the news? Their inner reality is blind to yours. We have bleeding cakes in dream and vision and in our thought wares unawares, but these things are disguised.
You can’t hear another person fill reality’s room. You only hear yourself. Hey Jim, let’s create a world… Screw this. You handicappers. Can I explain the problems in the world?
Taste another person please. Know they’re there as big as you, and if they think they’re bigger, well, how many times does this happen in any given day? We have to mitigate it.
They’re just stupid that’s all, like we all are. I’m sorry you’re stupid too. Do you treat everybody as you, give them a break, the benefit of the doubt, or forgive them their trespasses? You will have a million excuses why you can’t identify with them.
Come on people please. You’re the center of everybody’s pole, as you imagine them looking at you, but they put themselves there, you know? We can get better at it, givin’ people the credit they deserve, givin’ people their own self in our very own eyes.
Who’s humanity in the room? Can a poet speak that voice? Can we ride poetry there? The productivity’s there be a hurt bag and find humanity. And watch everybody spill the beans.
I am so very blacklisted, I could rise to the occasion and blossom humanity in my heart and write it down in gifted speech, and they would just turn and look the other way, the stadium managers in humanity, who’s who who block poems. Now do you hear me blossom humanity? Now do you hear me blossom poems?
A bridge is the universe. We are reality big. It’s a major crossing. Focus on the many aspects of this visual poem heard while doing science. In a round about way put it on your shoulder I’m your friend. It’s been a lot of Scottish in here. I’ve done a daily put people in the shoes with me. He put the swim in there. I am the render in time, the render in space, that’s the One I’m worth.
That farm, that house is play, here’s where you too, not the separate consciousness but the localized in space, God of the whole evolves. That’s the cherry blossom. That’s where we all rise in sync. I’m an American band I’m comin’ through your town, [sing line] this is exactly what the stadium room, that cherry bloom.
What’s the biggest love you ever had? The receipt is in the bag, and you’re probably torn apart by it. Good how you doin’? That’s the ode of life, our first knowledge of it. You can’t get over its size. It jumps out and bites you all the time.
There’s somethin’ here. Your love has nothin’ to do with it. It’s a list of hard. You can never reach it. Look at the dog. That’s payment of love let me tell you. The point of this somethin': Donny get your head out of your ass. Get so close makin’ it look like people look, hear their voices, hide their fears, and they are the lovers of your life.
You want me to tell yah this dangerous love? You look awful. Do it, love you in the perfection of love’s care, and you’re this simple little organism that must awake to itself as the horseman, that you are the starship, you are the unicorn, that shatters time and all barriers to arrive back at the house the One, who wears time as his robe and space as his molecule.
Ever the mystery of God finds God, and God himself is a station of the One, created before time began. He bids you a self-discovery bigger than himself but that can fit into an atom and a plant or any ring around the rosie, but only the human being can make it real to itself. The dog just loves its master.
Now I am clothed in time, but I have worn this identity in an unimaginable sphere, and that brief moment has determined all my life. I have to deal with God’s love putting me on those tracks again, day in and day out, and I have been given a load to bear that makes me hated by you. Only the most exceptional people, and they are few, will make my life easier with their care and concern, give the comfort you get every day from friends and family. I am almost completely alone in this world, and I don’t think you can grasp this isolation it hurts so.
So I have taken the world what to make of it, and I have found God. Wrapped in unimaginable mystery, he holds my hand and lets me see things you don’t and gives me keys to man’s change, and I can still love my boy and my best friend and my dogs. I can still love the world. I can love mankind. I can love it all because I have gone through a holocaust of human abandonment, and I discovered what love is. God is love my friend. God is love.
Tribute to the poetry of tradition. I’m an art student. I’m blowin’ the lid off poetry. I can’t get poetry right to save my life. If you study poetry you’ll get it. It’s just about our choice words, painting things right. I dare my pen. Let’s follow some tradition, and I’ve exposed poetry to be in the lair of predicament, every syllable counted and every i dotted. Someone on the internet will like it. These Germans, they like system and order.
Picked her brother apart, except that Skeptic’s Kaddish fella, who goes around publicly and discerns poetry, and he can make you meet poetry in a formula. It’s not weathered beat. It’s not the formula he’s lookin’ at. It’s his heart and matter. There’s a haiku, or a whatchamacallit he’s discovered that no one’s ever heard about. A poet has these easels, and he makes them shine with the testimony of word.
He passes the feeling test. He goes beyond words into something else. How elusive it is to say. You know you’ve met a poem, but let’s hand it to ‘im will yah? David Daylight, ben Alexander, measured right everybody call home.
You can’t find this on paper. It’s in the poet’s test, what he meets inside himself to write the poem, a sensibility in time that’s brought him world after world of be the horseman in the room. He moves humanity along in great waves of identification and another brand of thinking that goes for the goal of everything, its reach and purpose in time, how the world was made and why, and can I be pretty in it?
Every little thing is a poet’s mule, the suddenness of his mile (the traditional lift to pronoun stutters my feet), not to figure out and keep, to brandish science in the room or the philosopher with his stone. We must show them to you as they are with their mystery still behind them made greater by the sacrifice but revealed in the paradox of life. Oh my great big friend David thank you. You’re the bravest man alive.
Alone for you, state it and I’ll bring it. That’s our duty. I’m not a poet I’m a blog artist. These are thousands is that so? Would you gear with me the impossibilities of paint another form of blog?
I wanna get in your living room the poet speaks aloud, the blog artist refashions the internet, and it is as legitimate as a piece of paper sayin’ things. I’ve got out the bugs, the pieces of electricity put into us electronic think.
This is my whirl with you. I take the possibilities of poetry and group think and put them right in your lap. I’m a rebel I’m a holder. I’m sincere with you. God it all stinks, and a better world is coming in the kitchen sink.
Sylvia Plath did not Gertrude Stein. You know what a kitchen is thought, and how many people sink there? I bet you didn’t include the kitchen sink, and I double meaning my poem blog post.
It’s all gone to hell ain’t it? I sit and count God on my fingers. I can’t get at it that way. I’ve got to get bigger than your living room, your apocalypse see. I’ve got to get bigger than the loss of my boy and Auroville stinks. I’ve got to be a bigger poet than a blog post. Fuck you I said. That aughta do it.
Oh my fucking God, I’ve got to get bigger than my pen. I’ve got to say to you words that open up worlds inside you that change the world. I’ve got to make you see for one goddamn minute we are not animals in a bullpen. We’re not even That. We’re ourselves in time with the means to change out of this skin of loneliness and disease that even all good people wear.
We can improve the human condition. We can get better at ourselves. I’m finding that in myself as we speak. Adopt a belief? Change yourself into the bigger man when met with the opposition, your own damn faults or the shit storm of others.
You can be a bigger person to life’s faults. You can be the skies all take room in. Do you hear my apologies?
About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. / From Don to poet in 30 seconds. I’m on poet duty. I’m a hole in One. Can I tell yah our range card? The ego sits in its bunker wonderin’ over friends and family, excused about relationships the very center of relationship. Hey you I’m a world, a big planet unto myself, the center of my see. You have not that validity.
You’re just out there, and I’m in here the substantial train yard. I wanna melt these barriers down, but I grab myself again, and that’s impossible. I really love you, and that’s sweet and kind. No it slaps you in the face sometimes. I’m all animal whirl when someone gets my goat, but I mitigate it with you must be in there too, just fightin’ your own wars really feelin’ yourself a wounded soldier.
Can we get out of this? I try. I don’t know where to put you if you don’t see my worth, if I am just a blob in a corner to you. We sing awhile the injustice in that. Oh my God do I compensate. I think I feel every hole in humanity. I so understand your pain, and it moves me to tears I’m embarrassed to show. My God you have a rough time little Gaza boy alone in his bed of refugees. I don’t know where to turn from your pain Parkland shooter realizin’ what you’ve done.
I’m a hole in the fence to a greater life I can’t fit my own self through, but I’ve been there a time or two, on the other side of that fence, miraculously arrived in the very vision of God’s eyes, and I know we are safe caught in the lifetime passage dream to bring us all out of strife at the end of the tunnel.
My God I would be there now if I could unrealize the dream. So I sit and suffer in a peculiar sense of humor that sees beyond the show. I know we will be made right. I see this in my puppy dogs trying to crawl into me to feel safe and ease their loneliness. I am the master of love to them, and I am but a prototype based on God. We’re headed somewhere, you and me and the whole damn crew, so I hold my dog and comfort you, who set bars alight wantin’ to get at this lust’s core to dream to change it.
I would not be bothered safe. Now tell me now would you? Would you give it to ‘im, this poem over there, if he were your little boy in trouble? We can fly the world on a single point where suffering goes and capture the whole poem. Oh my baby dog Nithish, we wish you a happy birthday on tomorrow’s wings.
We all understand tomorrow. I’m goin’ somewhere. It’s not dishes. I find my boy, bring him home to me and do something bigger than life right there in my homegrown. It’a about my consciousness and its see. I arrive my boy first, giving him healing. This is a new brand we will get good at so it can be mass-produced.
I’m in enlightenment shares healing my boy, a spiritual consciousness override. They’re dealing with a mass showdown. Right now it’s all black. Not even a pinpoint of light gives hope. It’s all gone, the whole save my boy plan, and spiritual practice has fallen by the wayside. I’m merely drifting to no ends.
I count my stupidities now, where I am half-crazy in rants. I sound good on a piece of paper: I’m gonna see my boy; I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again; it’ll all work out. I talk to his parents like I have the power of God. His parents have the absolute power to rule his life. I just make them mad and guard him more. You’d think I’d learn by now my voices are deceiving me; my voices are derailing me.
You’re in trouble. You’re on a stage. Are you there with anything bigger than life? The world’s not gonna listen to you. Everyone ignores your pleas, and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head. You just sit there and sing. This is the gist of life. This is how almost everybody feels the world. It’s impotence sings.
I’m a diamond in the hall. I’m on top of everything. I really know my business, and I understand the rise of the world. I don’t spit there. I feel humanity like it’s my very self. I can see the cutting edge of time. Movements I see, world shaping movements, that give me a great yard. I’m of few people see them. Now I come back to myself again. I’m not the stupid guy.
I have reason to believe my boy’s comin’ back to me, and I will put on the Silence once again. It’s evidence I can get big as the world in tellin’; I can wrap the hours around God, and I can make you examine yourself in your hands on children. You sit there and believe me, some of you, because you hear the angels sing in this poet’s gut. I’m a strong one you know, and I hold up the world an Atlas unknown. I really do it, take the ideas that change the world and transmute them into verse, one rocket at a time.
You know I’m there because I love you in that special formula that makes you feel me in the very place we meet, in the intimacy of a poem that’s got handles on it that bring the world closer to you as God sees it, dangerously in love.
You must have some grace to journey this day. It’s the vulnerability of a poet I give it, just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”] You doin’ okay?
I’m on the edge of time. I stand here and sing. I’m not about the braggart of time. I hold my voices down. I’m all the way down where you know me invisible. I did not carry this to my car. I banished it. I operated on you right where it hurt. I hit you in your social glasses. I tried to be free.
For all the noise I made a scarlet letter came down and banished me, but it’s not there where I pet my dogs and clean my house and cook for my best friend caring for him. I greet people like they’re the node of the day. I want them to know they are big in my eyes, just to help them ease the day to a better feeling for them. I hold knowledge in my hand, but I cannot shake their hand with it. It’s an alien spaceship, fairies in the wood. It’s who they are beyond time, and it is what I can see ails them. I turn the page and spew this out on a page to you, dear reader, where audience is as big a mystery as God. Do you hear me?
I see where the world’s going and how it ends, edging universes towards yah how the impossibilities of the one fulfill the other. Look at our goat today, but look at our supernal skies. I’ve painted myself wood of a lone seer in time. Silly me I bark too, and I cry for myself in moments of abandoned self-love. I hold in my hand the wrong sort of type, the wrong font for you to see reason, because it is way out your door. Can you gauge me?
I’m in your toilet bowl. I’m in your lunch pail, and I’m around your cookery at night. I get in bed with your children, and I’m in the love of your dogs. I take your glasses off to see society, and I break you down to see your soul. I’m a view of the vision of God, and I’m this little man next door. Hear me climb to the skies a poem rider, a poet mile, and I’ll get you one day, to get you to say hello world it’s me, and I love this poem. Don’t you see?
This poem also was declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International, and neither their admin nor anyone else from their organization will yet speak to me.
image by the author, photo of the Earth by NASA (public domain)
Upholder of consciousness, can I call you a name? You just got laid off, and you’ll get laid off again, and there’s nothin’ to get ready for tomorrow. You’re not a big man on campus yet. You’re an embarrassing little thing, and no one will hear you sing. This is not standin’ in the air. This is not wide enough silly in the air. You’ve got tall trees growin’, and you’ve reached the limit of your room. Things get bigger. They envelope in consciousness.
Wow I believed you this time. I thought somethin’ was gonna happen. I don’t even worry about the fish, the fallout from this. Nobody understands my shores. Take ‘im away Bob. The irony in all this, and I have the light that shines on Earth. Foiled again at the book nodes.
Where’s my superman, my help you with it? I’m not just a fly on a coffee table. I’ve actually seen what I saw. Answer your question: your art and poetry put out, look what’s happened. Nobody wants to see you. They’re all put out, and they’re hungry from guess room again. How can you say such things you measly little piece of paper? And we shut you down. You are not making us mediocre; we are.
Now let’s ride to the end of this chapter. You won’t get it, and I will stand by your work. You’ve got a major 2 o’clock comin’. It’s in your show/window now. [two above words heard spoken simultaneously] Don’t sit just there read somethin’.
He hadn’t looked around. He was not just a horse in time courting sincerity. He grafted you upon the tree of life where you mattered and held count. One, they don’t know you play ball with God and life and time, and second, they don’t know there’s more than what they’ve got. This played with you, and it didn’t mean anything a thing you did, and you were not big in that boy’s eyes as you saw him lookin’ at yah. You were not important to him, as you saw him glow. This bothered yah and really made you think. Listen to her, listen to that boy in pain. You alleviate it and he knows it, and he can’t wake up to himself yet. That’ll come soon enough.
Oh wonderful thing hide in Their character, hide on Their tongue. To discover the hidden reasons of the Gods. [vision with the line of my own hand writing this in cursive on a sheet of paper] To come down on student terms and find out why They tick. Why are They a decade ago, never where man is right now? They don’t know people like we do, and They can’t gauge human life in our exact location. They are tall and kind, but They propose to us things we can’t do.
They do not understand the human state. They punish us for our condition, and there’s a discrepancy between time and fate that no amount of mercy can absolve. We are lone here, surrounded by Gods. They know our every thought and deed, climb your mind like it’s Their jukebox, but they don’t know how to understand you in the ways of sin. They say no. They don’t heal. They do not integrate the mountain with the sea. They meet each other and collide.
They are on our backs all the time to ever showcase new lore, to be an instrument for Them, but they cannot reach us with the love we need when we need it, and they will let us go down doing Their work. They will take from us our most beloved just to test us. They will treat us like human souls not like breathing men. They can’t be trusted. They will always put Their work first. In the quarries of the Gods we labor under the breath of death, and we don’t get out of it. We don’t even see it.
We can’t know it’s there, all the labor for the God, least we separate our life from our sanity. You can’t take a God’s force bearin’ down on you, a God’s thoughts. They are too immortality for us. They take on airs we cannot breathe. They give us one commandment: worship Them in time, letting Them be the light of your life. You cannot go astray from Them. They will hound you in life’s deeps, and you cannot stand against a God. You can only pray.
Why am I telling you this? The liberation from the Gods is our aim in how we count human. We don’t need Their scaffold that stops us in midair, that bullies us in time. We don’t burn Their scaffold down. We understand how inadequate it is. We accept Their help but go beyond it. We go to the back of the plan, what started all this universe and show, a whole other order of being testing limits for itself where no limits are, its growth by us into the unimaginable of its see.
We are bringing this order down now in the great upheaval of the Gods. Can you fathom this change? It’s a whole new way of doing things that has harmony as its base for righting wrong and oneness as its lookout for all it sees. It does not shy away from one. It incorporates all into its grand plan. It is the substance of itself it’s planting into the universe. It knows its great self by itself, and it knows itself as all, is not some cosmic God looking down on the riddle of creation.
This way of doing things, this Supermind, knows by identity and never strays from that. It’s a Truth Consciousness. It’s a vast Truth Consciousness, the exact truth consciousness ridin’ everything that is behind its base. It does not lie, knows not error. This is what we’re bringin’ down. This is what we are. It will change the world. It’s what we need to see today. It’s comin’. It’s here, and that’s the master plan. It’s the truth of the universe understandin’ time.
Look at it in the hours, and you are in transformation, God’s glow. I show this to you now with my head half in it. I’m movin’ forward now towards a completeness of my see, towards supramental change I see in my Lake, the figure of Silent Mind flagging me its approach. I stumble and fall and can’t keep up, and it’s an everyday pick me up, but I can see it HD.
So I sing my songs early morning vision brings, so I can look out now on what needs to be done. You’re in my field today. Hello, are you there? Auroville, are you there?
The epicenter of spiritual change, modern life Auroville, it can’t see itself. It’s bigger than the sky no. It grapples with human problems. It grows its children to grow nature in her room, to be the normal round of human being. It has high ideals that are not in the hands of the city in daily worth. Impossible to describe, the mounting towards a change in consciousness that’s Auroville’s aim. Human unity will not field show.
Where is the city goin’? Can you see ordinary where Auroville meets its road? No amount of spiritual-mongering can put it there, the spiritual consciousness. The gap between Auroville and her spiritual aims throws Auroville out the window as a city of spiritual change. It’s a city of proud belief, yoga tags, conferences, spiritual workshops, sound gardens, the green munchies. These move the city along a false bravado. No spiritual revolution seizes its day.
Can somebody tell me what we’re doin’ and why’s not the change? We’re in plans with yesterday, not the new planet in the making now. I ring this to you now. Can you ring with me and not vote me out? What’s the plan? It’s not the issues that divide us today. Are you gonna help?
The drawback for spiritual change to say nothing. We substance where we change. We tell you in the manner befitting our service. We tell you spiritual change, how it’s happening to us, when we can tell it without spillin’ it, the purpose of art and poetry when you’re undergoing spiritual change. You talk about it the inner voice, unprompted by your decision making process. You don’t let out a word, otherwise. Now it dawns on your community.
Got so many minions, so black, speakin’ in the voice of your word. This is not a mere dictation. It is a battle of the spiritual word. Great variety sees that, honed in occasions. We ride versatility to its source. Okay I choir now.
Who inspires me but not the Gods? The runner up open to Supermind. To see this distinction’s life and death for the city. Crucial for the city to go beyond the Gods, the strength of Overmind. I explain to you now. I explain to you how. Lemmie guess, you’re starlight? The advent of Supermind where Overmind opens to it, you know this source, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, their hills, a few that give us their glad tidings of wide birth. Here we establish things, put them in order. On top of that I show you a weapon master, the rays of the Sun.
Insulated against it, the Auroville that makes its bed, that Auroville that goes international. I have this title goin’ international, The Writing on the Wall Dummy’s Paradise. You don’t know you’re Belushi’d out a poet in Auroville on comic stops. It’s behavioral 9, and it’s comin’ soon to where you can see it in Auroville’s front page. It doesn’t suck they way they’re doin’ it either. This latest poem is his Red Cross, a fix it paper. You know how it ends. They’ve made their decision. Just throw it out but keep the paper. You too much for them, and they Riviera the day. Donny this looks terrible. Thank you.
Finish the job. I want a divine crossword puzzle. You’ve got branches on it. You’ve got the cookies stuff. It’s delicious. What do I do with the title? Tell God to show up a whole little ice cream. We get our pieces together. Larry Seidlitz, empathy? identity? Ah here, declined.
Do you know what spirituality is? To feel right at the zombies zone. Donny draws the neach of us. Speak a following a fluid law and love from your mistakes. It’s Auroville’s paper we need in Auroville’s hands, true points of the consciousness of God. Round house to an extraordinary boat on the sea, we can lift the consciousness of God up to new heights and stay there. Can you count Auroville’s aim here, her mission in words?
You climbed to the top of her mission with children. I know; it’s that background girl. Nithisha not there. He’s missing from action. He reads his own music a sad story, and I’m mentionin’ firecrackers, indo in human hearts. How is the school? You’re gonna help us out then admire how beautiful it is. This is his nanny, Earthen Pull.
Now we met each other in consciousness. I’m about the boy’s height, and I’ve got a poem to show yah, where we live, talkin’ about consciousness one night sharin’ pizza. Open the door. Watch how that decline button does things. You miss the table with that. You miss everything. Can we call you Auroville International, giver of gifts, provider of boons?
You will delete me for this, if I don’t hurry up. I would like to stairway your mind. Why is pretentious the first word that comes to mind? How do you talk about facts you know? Hurry, you gotta see this. I have, saw it with my own eyes in just a seconds’ grab up out the top of my head to that nice familiar form you know Yourself perpetratin’ all these lives without involvement in them, like remains untouched by the whole show.
Anyway I was up there. Let’s go. I am at the period in this poem you hear me, like really bold perfume that talks about the important stuff. Meanwhile on the ground I have reactions and do my duties. I don’t react half as much as I used to. I’m gettin’ round that. Calmness is a commodity that comes in long waves, and then it goes out again. I’m waitin’ for my boy to come home so’s I can see it. He’s safe and sound, and that removes the ants on my consciousness floor. Children come first in the scheme of things, and I’m holdin’ mine to safety. Bear with me here. You don’t know the half of it.
Okay now start your poem. Can you leave me alone? Come here mountain climber. Okay do it, behind the scenes you weren’t lookin’ for in her gala. Where you goin’? The party’s just gettin’ started. Patience man patience. You’re not gonna trip over wires. Alright put your feet on. We’re walkin’ to background love. It’s an emergency. Auroville’s dyin’ all over again. It’s not the first time. God gave her a bulletproof vest. Bet you didn’t know that. It doesn’t work sometimes, as you can see now. Roll a joint and pass the ammunition. There’s a fight goin’ on in Auroville over spiritual aim. No worries, many efforts bless this mess.
And now you think I smoke pot. It’s just a figure of speech to unhand you. It’s a flashpoint in Auroville, and people don’t like it there. The Mother said so inflexibly no. And you got her lists. Not all of them work, and she never got down to business with the master plan. I’ll tiny tiger this in myself, somebody that listens to her quickly in tales of the inner voice. I don’t believe it’s me either, but there you go.
My little boy was complainin’ the heaviness of the knowledge of God, oh for example, did you know daddy the world’s in pain? He calls me grandpa. I’m his spiritual teacher, and he’s woken up to world pain, bein’ yanked so hard by his own. You got to know consciousness as a spiritual aim.
Now let’s go to district 9 and give this poem some perspective of the deepness of the knowledge of God. He calls me master. You know the relationship, and they lesson there. Wow, kangaroos, and he really matures in that pouch. That’s been keeping me here. [heard spoken in Nithish’s voice] Gonna go soon, back to daddy and our spiritual endeavor, the node of our relationship. Where is it? In that field of love.
Now the brass of Auroville don’t stomach these waters. You have to admit a little Reagan post. Carrying a seditious act, no I’m not. You must be mistaken. You must have me confused me with the wrong Donny. The scaffoldin’, it’s too much. Find it on paper, consciousness poem.
Huntin’ to see you again, your big-eyed boy. He lays in bed at night sleepless worry, and he can’t soothe himself. Headaches and dizziness spell his day. This is suffering. Glued to him from the inner consciousness, you manage to hold him and speak into his mind where his heart meets the road. He knows you’re there.
I’m sorry sweetheart this is burnin’. Warn title, will you lie to me? A terrible story that come in the place of him? Another body than pain he had to be aroused, another program: he loves the Mother. She was something down where you lost God.
You know what I mean: you were born in my commitment. Now I need yah to look up and sound off the important test, a poem in your stadium write that helps us all to be feet to the Mystery who cares, balancin’ time on a rainbow, the supramental transformation in children, what is on your tops, I kid you not, waiting for Hollywood to get with the lesson plan and surpass Disney there’s a child in need of imagination. Get it ate at the light of the new world you’re figurin’ in the verse you’ve already written. Hold on I’m comin’, my sweet, beautiful boy.
Town’s end, and miracle show up, wonderful ridin’ spiritual love. Honestly, this is brand new eyes on God.
The above poem too was declined by the admin of the private Facebook group Auroville International. My muse wrote a short poem in response, suggesting what picture of go with it, “A picture of a rainbow,” before I even found that out, which I posted on their page and which will, no doubt, also be declined. Postscript: it was declined.
In Sudden Splendor Facin' Rainbows
No one has ever done this before. I'm a threat to everybody's system of order. I want a new world see, and I want it to work, and I want it to plan. You delete that in Auroville, too ordinary to let the world happen there, oh you bunch of men and women blocking the Sun. I'll tell everybody. [a link I left to this post]
Auroville International
Auroville International (AVI) is a worldwide network aiming at the support of the development of Auroville in all its aspects. Founded in 1983 it is legally registered in the Netherlands, with a representation in 34 countries around the world – nine national centres, which are registered associations in their respective countries, and twenty-five liaisons, which may be smaller groups or single individuals.
It must be said that the Facebook group Auroville INDIA approved and posted this poem, as they have several others everyone else has declined.
Come check your bag out through his porch. A porch explore us, the name of the explicit program, miles above the current thought, miles above the existing program. Sit by the door. You went there. I offer you holy ground. Insert I mean the new superman, a new way to Supermind.
My goodness you’ve gone over the top. We got a new thing goin’. You’ve got a brand new pair of shoes. He’s all mad at yah, Sonny— I’m not sure all the time. Who else? I’m not sure about Nithish. Lookin’ at yah. Can we get better at ‘im? Door to shopping opens in a little while. He’s your prime target. A dark smear settles keeps him in a corner. I gotta do everything to get him out of vice. These are my papers, and that’s what I’m workin’ on.
A kid gets killed, and we’re in the front lines normalizin’ it. I don’t think we understand the history of science. Our very lives show this to us, but we can’t see it: the whole society ruins children. It’s a combat zone: fuck you do your homework. We lay them in bed a manage them to sleep: oh I’m eager to get out of there you clingin’ thing. Or you test them in their underwear with your dick fingers, rubbin’ butts. Either way, you can’t get the story straight: you believe with them there’s so much more than dresser drawers in the room. Angels glow all along the edges of their minds, monsters dwell. They can see them in the corner, hear them in the closet. You think their imagination wild. You don’t know what’s goin’ on. If you did you’d run out of the room screamin’. Your sanity couldn’t take it.
But let’s get back to business, shall we? Kids glow. They have otherworldliness to them we’ve forgotten about. They live there. We see the form, forget the consciousness inside. They’re lust to us or dreadful things we have to manage, and in-between those two poles most lie. Have I hit yah yet?
My boy is in a livin’ emergency, and nobody cares. I’ve shown this to the room. I’ve shown this to Town Hall: he suffers still. We think there’s monsters there in the love of this foreigner for this boy, or we just want ‘im with his own kind. Can you count that?
We don’t know children are kings and queens of livin’ life, and they need more than us. They need a breath of God on their tops, and they need the substance of their souls to be their playmate in time. They need to get away from the Darkness in the world and not give their little boy’s livelihood to the darkness in the corner goin’ bad in a hand basket. We can’t see Hell edgin’ up upon their life. Another soul down, so many millions left to go They say.
My boy’s there turnin’ inta vice, furious at his parents and the world for making that child obey and renounce his own freedom and tear off of his lips and eyes any mention of that foreigner, who is me, and they beat ‘im until he complied. Can I guess here? I’ve seen it with my own eyes, this tremblin’ little figure afraid of his own shadow, and I can do nothing to stop him from being afraid, his fear of the world, late at night, his fear of death. I envelope him with my consciousness, but that’s not enough. That boy needs held.
You won’t let me do that, satisfied he’s in his parents’ hands for good or ill. Oh the woes of parental not by blood, but yah been there since he was born. You only like adoption papers to make that real. Can we be a kid again? Can we see the emergency that we have known with children all through human history but have never seen? Stop child abuse! oh you stupid thing. Stop you from hurting kids by burying them in the world and sealing that coffin with school and other blind things that have no reason why kids be. You just wanna make them grow up or be a football to play with. You’re not inta their things, their larger than life’s, their Woodstock imagination, and it didn’t rain.
I gave Nithish that glow, what he wears himself in his distance from time. I let ‘em have it, the freedom to take his kids’ reins and mount the world with ‘em. He loved it there— no rules, no spankings, just guidance. I yelled loudly I’m sorry in moments I regret now. He was just bein’ a kid, testin’ limits and naughty. Even the preacher cuss.
What do we do with children? We let them have their head in safety tips, and we don’t vacuum their room with a pain in the ass, and we let them be stars of our attention, and punishment only makes them meaner or more rebellious when we’re not lookin’, when they get out. A submissive child is a dead child, and they’ll bring dictators into the room when they’re older. See the world now? Populist hell.
I let Nithish glow with his own feelings. didn’t rob them, and that was a school for me. I gave him candy. I took ‘im to the movies in the middle of the night, when he liked to go. On the way home we played monster chasing us or zombies in the middle of the road reachin’ out for us. I put reality there by parkin’ my bike and runnin’ off yellin’ eat the kid not me! He would squeal with delight and belly laugh, after his imagination let go of him, the monster had returned to his lair, the zombie apocalypse had ended. I know how to manage a kid with their own imagination. It is prime time for them.
What is my purpose with him? Oh I want that little boy happy with himself now. The adult can wait. I want him to feel the breeze of his own freshness and what makes him so special in a world where everybody’s the One. I want him to love himself, not be afraid of time, but more than anything else he has his own destiny I want him to live for, why his soul can down on Planet Earth. That had nothing to do with small business. I’m the upholder of his destiny, and I like it there.
I’m his keeper, because he’s still a child. Why would jealousy pull him away from me and you let them? I’ll be back the daddy he calls daddy in just a little bit of room, not much time as the crow flies. Come on let’s go, gimmie your will so this can come. Do you hear me stars and all ye people you? Bring the child.
The world is paper thin really. Monsters glare. Angels sing. The world behind the world is bigger than the world. You don’t see this? Your kids do. No let’s go over time. It laughs to be alive full metal jacket. Children’s class, there’s immediately a hole in the water. It bites. Writin’ kid once in you, how far did that go? You’re with Nithish.
Quite a ballgame. I hope that’s my intestines tellin’ me I’m rush. It was one on one flavor. With no little boy here to share it with, it was foreign. Do you know the hole the world makes when you’ve lost your child? It’s like infinity in the room. You can’t understand its price. It sucks. I have to live there. What do I do to get out of it? I can’t do nothin’, my child can. In the blackness of his state, he has to get better.
He’s 12 goin’ on nine, and there’s a football in the room. He’s discovered pornography I hear and sits there with his friends, all hellions, and has them corrupt him to land’s end. He goes there to escape the wild, a single room home where he’s stifled and crushed, the invasion of his privacy a misdemeanor the boy can’t afford, the rule of his mother a felony that makes him question his sanity. She will not shut up. She will not let him breathe. The fear is he will see me, and she took him for her vice not mine, after a lifetime together his end. Insanely jealous, she watches his every mood. Is he thinking of me? Has he called me on the phone? These things are forbidden and when she sees me on his face she whips him for it. His father’s a killer who only comes on the weekends, and he’s plotting another murder I kid you not.
These are the parents you chose him be with. These are the parents you admire. Can you get any worse? I can’t handle this. Protecting children I thought was your right and mood. Turns out you only care if you touch their penis. All else is permissible done to a child. All else is warranted. All else fails to get your attention in any meaningful way that helps. I live this, your hypocrisy. I only get your likes, and damn few of those, but let’s be patient here. There is a poet I know in Israel that cares, and not every reader is a penis-monger. Some genuinely feel this, but I’m courting people right now, in the bowels of the situation, who have the power to confront the parents and at least end the blockade of no outer contact with the child I raised since he was a wee little boy. They’re Tamil and live here in positions that can help. Who says they do? No, that’s online. I am a foreign man and they are not. They don’t give me the legitimacy of parenthood, because how can I? I’m not even Tamil, and I cannot prove my worth with my tears and broken heart and concern for my child. I look like some guilt monster wanting to steal theirs, so identify they do with Tamil people.
I can’t get around that. You’d tell me to be quiet, or end the attachment, like it’s a perverted cross. You should see his song he wrote for me: "all the bad voices are saying bye; all the good voices are saying hi." They say that loudly. His whole life is on hold waiting to see me again. I’m daddy.
Can you gauge love in a boy’s heart. Unexpressed it doesn’t die. Ordered to kill it he don’t. It grows beyond the mountaintops and plays there with the Gods. They have him arm and arm with total control to keep me out of his eyes and ears and me off his lips, because they are jealous of me there, and in all this blackness more blackness comes. In the absence of me he races too see friends they’ve gave him permission to be with, who are the signposts to gangs, boys already addicted to vice, who are the real danger for him to be with. His parents are oblivious to the boy’s plight. They’re just controlling him from me.
This is bastardly sucks. Let’s do away with it. Let’s return this boy home where his heart is. Let’s give him the freedom to do that. Okay crowd, let’s have some high rollin’ here and get that boy off the table and back to his house, the American me. It’s not fun. Hey you two pass my way. I’m not bein’ sarcastic. I’m talkin’ to the two Tamils who can help. See them there? A will collective move on their will and speed this process up. They have the power. They really do. Come on people let’s ride.
I’m countin’ on Syria to kick out Islamic State. Can we get there? I go over the mountain. All I know, judging from your path, I think you’re right. You keep raising your voice. You’re grasping at straws to get him back. You let me know anywhere loaded on ‘im, some trapdoor to sex. My sympathies then, and I’ll call child welfare there in India and get him taken care of.
Okay choir, would you settle for ruinin’ his life? Oh my God chop me to pieces. You’re comprised by sex in Texas. Do you know where the dropbox is? You’re wonderful, and another one’s kicked off the Earth, no tongue. Someone sent me a message. I’m just gonna read part of it. You take unborn babies and make them king, but kids themselves you beat, and punishing them is your right. You want the submissive child.
You’re lookin’ beyond graves, if we can, beyond that boy has a penis but thinks he’s a girl. You’re gonna take it seriously kids need to be protected from abuse. Now “The Use of Animal Freedom” really identifies with kids, what’s about to turn on in Nithish full force. the fact that he has a dick and wants to use it. I can’t get you to see this in a children almost teen. What do you do with their puberty, make them wear church, make them put a sock on it? And if she’s a girl? Is that the one you need most to no button down there? Why of course ring maker. Kids go to perdition so easily when they’re buddin’.
Kill it, kill it inside them, their natural born feelin’. Transgender wars hell, you’re workin’ to make a warehouse of kids to not even look down there to check out what they got, and you are so worried about them in the womb. You’re so cross fingers with them in the womb, but you pull their pants down and spank them just for bein’ a kid. Texas you’re the vice I’m talkin’ to. Hey Texas leave those kids alone! All they are is another brick in the wall?
I liked the sound better with a mouse. That’s great. That’s not acceptin’. Gotta get some lunch bags too. Outgoin’ calls, the hammer is no. I’ll let you feel safe. You’ve lost your mind. You give kids no sexual expression at all, and you think this rides their freeways. It rides their hidden vice. It used to be in your desk, overcoming desires. Did I hand it to yah? Come on, what do you needed to do it? Looking at come here Bruno, come here! (vision of Bruno, our Doberman, running away from me to the front of the house, and I’ve just let him out the back door) Get your pumpkin right. Self-control, self-measure you teach them.
Fit there she goes to sleep. You don’t give her any room to breathe on her own paper. You deny reality and with it the child. You’re underage a God looking in on Himself. You put conservatives in the White House, governor of the state, with your kid’s vote, and you stand around and watch children die. Here he comes. You’re too big to get the world to see my child. You know how it goes. We murder children in their sleep so they are zombies all life long.
A lot of this good agency, what I’m giving you now. Follow their lead. Even playing with themselves they’re bringing in a better world, when it’s not porn-play or adult hand in there. Even thought about kicking themselves up, they’re watching themselves up. When we allow them to get dressed in personal animal freedom, the cops come, depending upon who you are, and ban everything. Oh Texas and my world, you need Freedom School. [a school in the movie Billy Jack] Hello napkin, I wondered why I was burnin’ down there. Such large members, such a tiny space we fit them into, such a large package. Oh my God world see this.
We go hand in hand with proper sexual expression, and that’s not with an adult, and it’s not only with their own hand. I just stepped off the world and into a better science, as I’ve just entered your living room, and I must be polite and leave. What the hell do you want?! Thy peacemaker. Give the kids their genitals, how they are when not one’s lookin’. Let child know they can control themselves how they are around dog: napkin, grab that fucking napkin! And you’ve situated one of the building blocks to peace on Earth.
I’m fresh and alive, aren’t I? I study reality, but I do not rank there. So be it, but I’ve just written into the ether a better way of doing things, a better Nithish brought home. I’m on a rollercoaster can you feel it? And I’m not there to make you scream. I want the end of the world that puts kids in prison boxes and sends them to school, that puts chains around their necks and sends them to school, that pits them against their own bodies. Why do you wanna cut your dick off? Don’t you see reality? Talkin’ to a transgender kid, made there not by gender diaspora, by no one accepting his genitals growing up and givin’ them release. When you slice your dick off, sew up you’re vagina, you’re not expressing need; you’re all wrapped up in society’s handlin’ of your food, and the table’s sexuality. Did I just ruin my poem? No, I just ended it.
You better run, run, run, run, run, talkin’ ‘bout a revolution. [two above lines heard sung by Tracy Chapman, “Revolution”] Move through ideas the city of human unity, why did you do that? What did you just do? What did I just do? I gave you a whole nuther head on children. I gave you a whole nuther head on sex. Read this thing so you can copy it fast. I met too many here Guests and Newcomers. [social divisions in Auroville, India] You think the divine is divine labor on which you source, rules and how to get there. It’s not that honey it’s more. Rollin’ in agony upon the hills you end up later. Hey picked Asiya and the house is comin’ down. You’re Indian. What right do I have to speak? I’ve been asking my fat emotional body this. I know the score between children and their parents, what you do with a divine in the room. I’ve got expert topics, and I’m not afraid to use them.
This is all prewash. If you’re candy was Disneyland, what was I? They would tell you if they’re at. They would threaten. I talked to ‘im. It was on his computer. He’s a down and under hope dispenser. He makes virtue and art Hitler’s birthday. Down at that office, we’re gandin’ from abandoned puppy too. You don’t know how to lift up the race, but we don’t lead you astray. You lift up the biggest name in evil too, not to condone them, to rectify them. We’ve lots of him. I don’t see him anymore. I got my check balanced. I’m rose in the room, and it just took me away.
What Intelligence writes your stuff? The one that makes the flower, the one that sees Earth a testing ground for souls. I’m supramentalizing. There’s a harmony in my pen, not law and order or we make rules, but I talk about the important stuff and reel you in with it. My God this is not enjoyable. I gotta put rings around mountains: man is, you have to do it man. Now my little boy’s gone. I would almost boycott poetry but that’s not the flavor of this writing: hey Luna, come to yourself any discussion. [Luna Rottweiler] I’m tryin’ to show you somethin: we are not on Mars. That was a habitable island destroyed in such a long, orbiting time ago. We’ll see how it goes with Earth. We help you.
One of your favorite, one of your favorite teams, I’ve tried to photograph me close relationship to understand principles and stars, to go beyond them. I’m divine heavy in your room. I’m tryin’ to lift you up to see the sky beyond Mind. I don’t get to go until you do. We are a connected lot, but I been up there before. To say it’s the writing on the bathroom door, it’s not; it’s just there. I’m a field take, and I’m tryin’ to get you out there to play a roaring game of baseball so we can sees each other, put our guns down, stop shooting people.
You don’t know the price in the room for hating anybody, even those who hate you, and I’m workin’ with Nithish’s parents, who refuse to even speak to me. You’re the judgmental party. For Nithish’s parents, the hatred just comes out of the woodwork, suddenly picked. You’re almost there: understand their stupidity and don’t hate them for it. Gwen, okay? An almost businessman came up. She hates me I’m her brother. She may even read this poem, someday.
I’ve been hurt by hate too. I have this social stigma, and I’m the most hated man in the crowd. This stigma’s hated; people don’t know me. I’m wish I’m done with speaking through alleyways in your hole, but I do feel better doin’ divine will. No one reads me yet, or damn few. The audience and his poet, do you have to have one to have the other?
I did ninety pushups and sit-ups each day. I’m exercising wholeness and healing. Will you give me a hand? We gotta see the wholes, and it’s a together report card. I really need help with my boy, get him out of trouble and onto victory lane. All this dramatic poetry, this is a bank. I’m writin’ poetry for my boy so he can sees himself an inner poet. I pass this onto him in the inner consciousness. He gets it.
The help of Robin, it can help when David, who puts landscapes together, afforded my report. Will they put you in jail? Not your question among you. You just unload this poet on a public conveyor belt. Anyway I got room to grow and so does he. He’s a contact Earth named poetry. Accessible he would make me. I love your fine wine.
Okay let’s borrow mine and get down to Earth poetry. Believe your death you must navigate. I was making a significant Boomer’s salad when I made this for you, when I bear this for you. Let’s see how fast he gets here, once your will’s a ridin’ him home. Yes, yes, it takes a long time just to roll up your sleeve. Gotten Aidia’s attention, hopefully in wheelbarrows.
That’s a great poem. Why thank you, a fresh fish in a factory. It’s got labels on it this time. Great vehicles on Earth the poets are. The print out, it’ll be cave free. We’ll do it in the mornin’. It’s the head of the whole thing. How many wheels does a truck driver have? A collection of poems published in India in a book see. I hope you see there. Can you say large collection?
Even a little bit apart, he’s been us with the whole time. Is what facilities you may use. Him coming home, and he gets not that shit from me, a bad policeman. Three times as big key presenter, I asked the cinema to work it out in peace number 9. I wanna hold your hand. [line heard sung by the Beatles, line song title] I’m expressing need. You need to see this. It don’t feel like something we just said Auroville Press made real— I’ve encountered basically the tune of the ages. I suppose you lookin’ at ‘im, the whole prophet of Auroville, nine inch skin. I am constantly created. Only in summary is he wet behind the ears. On Old Galveston Road he went into the nature of Supermind.
Your heart in your ears, your ears in your heart, oh there you are. (vision of Nithish sitting on the floor one knee up, he running his hand through the bangs in his hair like he’s a bit frustrated) He’s comin’ home soon. I gave preference to The Silmarillion. Gonna detail now the Samadhi. [holds the bodies of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo] The Samadhi— hey how’s it goin’? Tryin’ to watch he’ll come be here soon. I love you, my beloved teacher and master in time. Trapped his voice on this recorder as he measures time Sri Aurobindo and thank you Mother. I’m an anomaly. I look at my boy and smile and look at God later, and that’s where I put God’s eyes, on my little boy lookin’ at me. It’s so we kosher together and have fun. That’s how you manage time.
Let’s go down this road. Look, there’s the really afraid. You do not boy blue darkness, step over him, in how you hold God. You hold God in that boy. He’s not your image of God. I look into your little eyes, speak the account God has with me. Did I say that correctly? We’re on Earth, and we’re here to stay. God on Earth, and we are Supermind, the supramental manifestation managing its creation.
Did I blasphemy? I gave you a measure of God in the balance of His show. God is always bigger than any robe He wears, any riding car, bigger than those little boy’s eyes, and we’ve arrived at the end of the poem. He’ll be home soon, and thank you God, down lower, gettin’ inta those eyes.
Harm's End 