Posted on my Twitter/X feed December 20, 2020
This is a photo-poem from my Twitter/X account, and there are years of them there. This one was posted December 11, 2020. It came in vision the other night to post it here.
When you meet people,
it’s said to have a book confession.
Don’t you like camera?
There goes
my hand in.
Unlimited her tools,
creation mother.
I am really serious about my tea.
I don’t pick up girls at happy bars.
I’m bigger than that.
No I live and learn.
I too must lift the curtain of worn-mind.
I can’t go overboard.
I have to go to somewhere.
I can’t get there too quickly.
We challenge each other,
and you hear that basket in my house:
my gravities have to be steady.
I can’t pull the plug on reaction
until I’m right where I need to see it.
I’m pretty much a whole too.
I see my desires.
I’m not habituating them,
and the sex chakra says no.
Hang on,
to the orgasm out the top of the head
I am loyalty tower.
I guess that’s way
I rise behind this consciousness
and enter the Silence again.
Astronaut,
I am that astronaut
torn the curtain
between Nursemind and Supermind.
Okay,
if I get mad at you
for up us in Elvis,
I should just poet you shut up.
Is Goofy’s rig not bad for sellin’?
I’m at the end of my
ferter of dynamite.
You are all young.
It’s a bit of closed up there.
Can’t touch the Gods.
It’s not me
didn’t see.
That’s some awesome shit.
I’m half-grown.
Did you bring it one possible?
Here it goes.
Been there done that,
I need you to do that,
then study me some.
Boy do I look different.
Comin’ here’s comin’ here;
I tried
comin’ here for basketball,
and it left me singin’ monster.
I think you should just go inside.
He’s finished with the pencil,
he’s ready for the expense.
The world is not there
with any street signs on it,
how about that?
Horse please,
you can’t see the world
as a substantial form.
It’s a bare outline.
You’ve lost the world right in front of you.
It kinda gets me in my brother,
and everything’s silent don’t you see
you’re in the background noise?
Oh God it’s principle arrangement.
There’s nothing in your pockets.
You’re not tryin’ to get anything.
There’s no motivation on your own.
The world is just there,
and your oyster’s not in it.
You’re stunned.
You’re taller than mankind.
You’re deep in the Silence,
and you come upon God ways.
We’re almost there.
Just shimmy up that tree
and stop field mouse.
I’m breathin’ hard,
but I’m right there at the gun
a pageantry.
Don’t throw me away.
I know the business,
and I put two and two together.
My little boy’s the land rover
that principles enlightenment.
He’s got the starry list,
and I’m in my union circle.
Is no ants get to bar.
He gets held and catered to,
healed,
and I reach the 5th dimension.
I’m a bullpen
for he comes home tomorra.
I’m in the Silence come home.
Enlightenment is it,
a shoulder's worth.
This poem has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/the-gravities-of-thin-earth/, and it’s been reblogged on The Skeptic’s Kaddish https://skepticskaddish.com/2025/01/05/reblog-the-gravities-of-thin-earth-by-donny-lee-duke/
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.
You’re on live.
You’re still switchbacks.
Let’s see if I can find ‘im,
wife beater.
High on our side,
you’re the premium.
You prove the words.
Put you in the dustbin.
Where you think you are buddy?
This is Afghanistan?
I’m gonna be sayin’
I’m really glad you’re here
in the not too distant future.
Agreed,
don’t let him in.
See you tomorrow.
A new episode,
Aimless By Elvis.
We’re 9:30.
Fresh took from the Mother
they did not realize.
Higher law
would you challenge?
Listen to this bullshit.
I like that medical.
I like that emergency.
Alongside
I don’t wanna bother people.
I don’t want to fucking bother people.
So we pretend we’re okay.
I’m the manager
of a showcase word
that’s totally unacceptable in society.
No one listens to it,
except a few who know what it means,
because they write the stuff,
or it’s in their hands to read.
The city of dawn don’t like it,
won’t even give it the time of day,
who it’s for
where its record keeps.
They don’t listen to it.
They don’t want it.
It’s a waste of time to write it.
I look at the long of it,
and help is on these pages
I can’t get out to the public,
understandings that would bring peace,
revelations enlightenment.
I can heal,
and I can just listen to sins.
I sit here flabbergasted
the world does not want to heal,
and no one wants to face reality,
and I’m reality’s keeper,
the healer of old wounds.
I can’t count this.
I can’t see its shores.
There’’s no end to the proud ignorance we all share.
There’s no listenin’ to our faults.
There is only straight ahead
bullshitting ourselves
we are honest and sincere,
or just say fuck it screw everybody
I want my MTV,
a cultural allusion
to I want whatever pleasure I can get
to get lost in it,
and some say really wanna hurt people
and let that world end.
Where are we today?
We can’t see ourselves.
We are not there,
honest to God trying
to better ourselves,
to make the world clean,
to have a functioning society.
We hate each other,
and sometimes with good reason,
but who thinks hate heals?
It destroys our world.
It’s a poison in your inner life
goading your neighbor to sin,
like pick up a gun and shoot people with it.
And here we are on the airways
putting thoughts in people’s minds
an unconscious contest.
We are not ready for everybody thinks
in the same pool of blood.
We can’t see that,
and it’s not a belief you fit into.
Painstakingly over mountains of years,
this comes up in dream and vision.
You see the inner connection
interpreting dream symbols
and see them manifesting in the outer world.
You have to see it for yourself.
It comes up again and again.
This in itself would revolutionize society,
make us kind to each other
in the wheelbarrow of our try,
make us join together
as one people
that holds humanity at stake.
You can’t see it if you’re a scientist
studying dreams.
Their field won’t allow it—
too many rules,
but take a choir and put it together,
who sing their dreams to one another over many long years,
and you will definitely see it
in the songs that you sing,
and you will change the world.
God no,
you won’t even get it to listen to it,
and I’m comin’ from one choir.
Hear me speak?
I don’t know what I’m lookin’ at.
Check this out,
there’s this guy on the radio
crammin’ religion down our throats,
the nut,
magical thinker pattern picker-outer
where they’re not there,
magical thinking fool.
We can’t get around this
introducing consciousness into the picture
in a world of material thinkers
who bargain for the day.
AI speaks
and everybody listens,
or enough that endanger our world.
Can I crawl this to you,
an innate speaking system
that spiritualizes mankind
in great healing waves
your own inner voice speaks?
How God you have to be to get there,
how many trials.
It heals humanity,
like a rocket test.
It won’t make the news
because it’s individually run,
a healing system on Earth,
where the Earth loads itself
all shame and everything,
where we don’t want to see.
This is the great test of healing’s ways.
You see the rulebook?
I can’t get this across.
So the city laughs at me
you stupid little thing.
Got no time for your poetry.
We are too busy with our not see.
Can I spell this out?
Auroville created for great change,
to create among its selves the new human being,
based on oneness and I do care,
that brings humanity to the mountaintops,
is closed to it when it comes,
laughs the poet off the pier,
just wants him out of town.
Alright listen up.
I’m here,
and I’m not the new human being,
but I got recipes children
that’ll put this in our hands.
There, there now no.
I’m a fire speaker on your shores,
and I continue with it now
you know reluctantly all systems go.
Art in the nature of its see
looks at us through tall glasses.
We think we’re the audience.
We propaganda time.
Art,
when it comes from its source,
makes us move mountains
to see ourselves,
and therein lies its price.
It’s not beauty you’re looking at,
or ugly turned inside out.
You’re lookin’ at yourself in mirrors of our kind,
so we can sit with it awhile
and put the light on our lives.
Can you find art today?
A little bit of Heaven
is the maker’s bill we’ve lost
in how it's made,
inspiration’s golden ring.
Would you throw this away
because it wrestles with sin and vice,
wrestles with the Gods
to bring Auroville here
to bring down God here on Earth
unpunished Prometheus,
ordered by the Gods no?
You tell me.
Another poem declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International but approved and posted by the Facebook group Auroville, INDIA.
This poem was sent to the editorial board of Renaissance (BharatShakti) of The Sri Aurobindo Society, who I’ve submitted poems to that use obscene language and present ideas people don’t like to talk about. It has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/harms-end-blog-by-donny-lee-duke-in-dire-straits/
We have that place where,
yep, you need to turn on that character light.
I would say he does not deserve the title respect
call him.
Thank you sadhak.
Nat started a story.
It was obscenity of being,
the crazy what’s up nails trauma
a bunch of us go through.
Are we on your calendar?
You’re nice and pretty.
Does that mean you’re good
in the sense of good to all of us?
We’ve got a world here in a tin can.
It hurts everybody.
You would not like a story that makes you mean.
Is that transformative?
Watch movies that’s all you see,
a blight of entertainment
“televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo]
that tells stories
to pit you against one another,
to make your blood boil,
to let the demons in.
There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not
on your local TV.
This is what we’ve gotta get out of,
get back to our dream maker
as the one we watch and write.
Is that a perverted slam?
You would boil at the inner consciousness
because it pits you against your morality papers:
don’t say cuss words;
don’t mention sex;
don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five
by your mother.
What have I just done?
I let the inner consciousness in
in language that grabs you and moves you,
that has the day on it,
that gives you a porn whereabouts
so many faces are into these days.
It hits you where you’re at
if you can’t tell right from wrong,
if you’re lost in all this sleaze.
We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.
A dream comes out
from someone who suffered this
in the language that it felt like,
and the elect can’t take it
because they don’t know how to deal with it.
They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity.
They look at spirituality as the cure
and not addressin’ what’s wrong
in the language that needs to.
Everybody just be nice.
Make your concentration daily
and let no wrong movements in.
Be cheerful and happy.
There’s no end to the advice
in spiritual seeking.
Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life.
Let’s use those quotes to solve problems.
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that,
applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet,
because you’re religious and one-sided.
We need to heal,
so many of us.
You can’t imagine what it’s like
where hell has opened in humanity.
This is all over the globe,
terrible stories
that’ll make you cry
if you had your empathy on.
We need to heal the world first,
then spiritualize it,
and spirituality will be healing,
because that’s what it’s made for,
if it’s the soul involved.
You don’t know this.
Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote.
It’s not test the limits of humanity
in making healing the order of the day.
This soul is wide and free.
You don’t know that either.
You look at the Gods of Overmind,
the lowest rung.
They’re moral and straight.
They have seen God in passing
one time maybe.
They are closest to us
in the ways of deity.
They make rules and regulations,
put experiments on vice
and get rid if it not heal it.
Our whole world is taken by Them.
It’s what we need to change
and bring a new order upon the Earth,
soul healing
in the dynamics of Supermind.
You don’t know how wide God is,
when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. /
That’s been my path all along,
and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you,
all Sri Aurobindo’d.
What else can I do?
I’m his disciple
and a seer of his wisdom,
and I’ve been told to talk to you.
I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft,
a lifetime before that as a poet.
You can’t fault me
in preparation,
all prepared for yah.
Grab me by the balls will yah
and throw me to policemen,
or at least try to shut me up?
God’s will be done.
One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel. I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.
Control ball,
now you record it.
When night
go for it Nithish,
knock phone numbers.
If he gets caught he’s killed.
In Tamil the people who put worse seem very powerful.
I wouldn’t put it that way.
It’s just in good English we’re learning to mince the Devil with words. /
I’ve localized the economy,
and I’m takin’ English to new heights.
It’s not artificial anymore,
a poem that comes from inner sights.
I throw that devil out,
but I show ‘im to yah.
I don’t play with bones.
I heal them in your shelf.
What you got in the closet,
I ring around the rosy.
I’m not here to play dice.
I wanna get to the bones of reality
so that we can live here
and not ruin each other.
I wanna talk about it, you know?
I wanna get down to bloody business.
I wanna show you you
a danger
to let’s all grow up.
Will you find me?
I’m blacklisted for that.
Let me cough.
That danger I present
is right there among you.
I’m not pullin’ any punches.
I wanna heal myself and be free.
I mean I wanna be a proper human being,
no longer stupid.
I don’t wanna block my own trail,
get mad at the world
because I stumped my own toe.
I wanna forgive you
for the same stupidity.
I wanna look out on the world
and understand the miracle of each day.
I wanna see you in it
the very Self I touch with myself,
no cigars.
That means I’m right with you.
I hear my stomach growl,
and we all feed on each other like it’s conversation.
I’m learnin’ not to do that.
You would not know I feel you
when I’m just some guy you’ve met on the road,
or you’re my landlord or niece.
I cry for you sometimes.
Okay I cry for you a lot.
It’s really rough in here, you know?
There’s just so much pain.
They got buried in an earthquake,
a daddy holding his little child dead in a news story.
Can you imagine how that felt?
I’m tryin’ to wash away the tears
that we symbolize time,
and I’ve found out somethin’.
This is just a single show
in a movie house with infinite theaters,
and each one pulls on the next,
and each one supports the next.
We are its base,
the last of the free worlds
before Hell begins.
Of course we suffer.
We support Heaven.
Our blood, sweat, and tears
hold up Heaven,
all the ascending worlds.
It’s not cruel.
Existence has to have everything in it.
I don’t think we can measure how big it is,
and we are not the only world that suffers,
and we’re just innocent little children,
dumb like animals.
There’s a comic plan,
and our universe sucks on the Void
to bring existence out of nothing.
The devils rose,
an unforeseen consequence,
mad as hell existence be,
and they rape us in broad daylight,
and we don’t even see.
We are a banquet of the Heavens and the Hells,
and I am sorry;
I can’t gauge all the worlds
in their ascending hierarchies
or their status in Hell.
I’m tryin’ to take you somewhere—
understanding.
My little boy wants to know why there’s pain.
Do you know what they did to him?
It woke me up.
Now I’m a fish out of water,
a foreign man in not my land.
I’ve been shook up.
I don’t hear my music.
It’s not my culture I see around me.
It’s not even my language.
Do you know what that does to you?
It takes you out of your little world.
You have to confront reality
more on its terms.
You can spend more time in the environment of your consciousness, /
because you’ve got a strange world out there
that doesn’t speak to you
momma’s titties.
You ever live a life for spiritual change?
You wanna get enlightened?
I wanna be my true self above,
whom you are too,
though we’re individually wrapped,
but I’ve gotta be emptied before I can be filled, you know?
That’s enlightenment.
I put myself to the task.
I’m not sayin’ it right.
My soul puts me.
You gotta get there.
It’s the only way out—
up
Don’t you remember your last death?
It’s what everybody talks about on the other side:
“Goddamnit I missed
it again!”
Look I’m not some spiritual shoes you must put on
because I wear ‘em.
Now I’m really tryin’ to get out of this—
suffering.
Now I have seen enlightenment’s tale,
sat right in those shoes,
not long enough to stay there,
and I have seen Myself overhead,
sat in that Sun and watched it ray out,
and I’ve found the soul inside,
made the inner journey to Spirit
in innermost us.
It just accentuates your suffering
if you get these little tastes,
‘cause it’s so plain in your face you’re not there now.
But you want suffering to end?
Can you hear a threesome with your hands and feet?
Any one of them will get yah there.
Realize time
as a vehicle to get there.
We are not animals you see,
and this is not a world buttressed in the Void,
astonished at its meaninglessness,
wondering over its one-trip pony.
There is so much more than Earth
right here upon Earth.
The teeming worlds sing to us in our sleep.
We make contact with the dead.
Even in life’s little room,
we make measure with immensity.
I’m givin’ you God,
what we are becoming,
what even matter becomes.
It’s all there.
Once you see God you’re safe.
Bullshit.
Every devil in the neighborhood will come to fool you,
alarmed for the end of their rule.
Sometimes a world devil steps in
and makes you pay for every man’s sin.
Here’s the bull:
if it’s all God who are these?
Knowledge of God is terrible,
but you forgive ‘im for it.
You’re in a movie.
Neo seein’ the Matrix,
you get there.
What a goof in moviemaking—
take that Matrix and make that a real steak that traitor’s eating. /
Take that Matrix there.
Oh the bones of analogies,
you can’t make them right.
Bhakti, do you hear it?
I’ve got it for the whole damn thing,
but if I stump my toe I’ll cuss you out.
Well,
I’ll least look mean at yah for a minute.
Yeah I’m still in school.
World knowledge does that.
It makes you right with God,
not some moral timekeeper,
the whole damn show.
Okay I’m signin’ off.
Pleasure doin’ business with yah.
I’ll see yah on the rebound,
when another poem is born
from the matrix of my be.
Got that Sin Wood?
I’m not countin’ sin.
I’m fulfillin’ my obligation as a poet,
and I’m sayin’ look at this
in the bowels of language
that’s there to say it right.
Musical or not,
I’m gifted speech.
Answer it with a question:
what is bigger than the Whole?
The unimaginable sink.
You get lost there,
frightenings on the tail ends of nothingness.
It really makes you think.
It’s too big for sky.
It’ll shake you up.
It’ll make you cry
it’s so alone,
so unimaginably deep.
You want it like you want your very self,
coils of room
on which existence is but a fin
to glide it sleekly through nothingness.
Will it put out its eye of existence
and just be its lone self
nowhere be?
A frightening thought.
Okay world,
can I comfort you?
Everything has to be in nothingness.
In existence all is,
from the most horrible to the most profound bliss,
and our world is but a tier
in that world stack,
and we are That you see,
that unimaginable thing
on lone oceans.
Have I reached you yet?
Good, let’s go.
We have to reach forever in a day.
I’m on bended knees,
and I’m not embarrassed about it.
You there,
little animal,
prideful nation,
take down that war.
It’s time for exultation in humanity.
Do you feel yours?
It’s always hands on,
good poetry,
right where your heart is,
right where you feel.
That’s the name of the game.
That’s where we find each other.
I love you did you know that?
And it hurts, you know?
It really does.
Die in some way
take care of those
who absolutely have to have us.
Those are our children.
I’ve got one now.
He’s 12-years-old.
His name is Nithish,
and I will move Heaven and Earth,
overcome the world,
to put that little fella
clean out of suffering
and back where I sacrifice myself to take care of him,
the intent of this poem.
I’m worthy to be there.
I’m his daddy.
You see us upon the roads of time
I love that little boy.
You don’t know the arrangement.
Alright Aristotle,
put the boy to sleep now.
Alexander’s got a big day tomorrow.
Put the poem to bed now.
Alright Aristotle it’s dawn.
This poem has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/harms-end-blog-by-donny-lee-duke-whispering-softly-at-the-end-of-the-world-how-loud-i-sing/ and has been posted at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, in David’s Poetry Partner series. He wrote a companion piece: https://skepticskaddish.com/2024/08/27/whispering-softly-or-screaming/
To know on the edge of your screaming
that you’re gonna be alright,
to see it plain as day
in the darkness,
you go on steam engine,
you take your task with God.
I don’t know if it’s gonna rain
mud puddles in my mind,
firecrackers in my heart,
but I’ll be okay.
The world has caved in,
and sunshine has found me lying in the sun.
Do you know sleep?
Do you know how to sleep?
It’s a ridin’ all night long
the team fellows of the mind
with what you need to know liberty
while you’re still in bonds.
It’s a conscious sleep.
You hear it talk to me now.
You can’t spend me.
I’m a waste of your time,
but I will speak to you from the hours
the training of the ways,
deep soliloquies of love
that hasn’t found its purpose yet
but challenges the world with it anyway.
You will laugh at me,
but I know time like you know your own hair,
and I can stand up and sing when God is killing me.
What is a poet for?
Can I quote my little boy?
It’s for blankets in the sea.
I can only grasp his hand in verse.
I can’t see him anymore.
Whales sing,
and they bring in the ocean round to itself.
It’s more than call letters.
It’s an attempt to dare fate
and expose ourselves to bright shiny blades,
so we can give time its meaning,
even if that’s just a language cloak.
You sit there and read us
those bright and shiny blades.
Fuck you I love you the poet says.
Nithish did you hear that?
It’s how we meet the world Planet Us
and not die in the telling.
We undress in front of the world
and give it its mic,
all the while singing our hearts out
in front of I don’t care.
I am loud in a sea storm,
Prometheus battles night
on top of an angry world
because he’d brought fire down of the Gods
into the people of his sleep,
and lit the poet’s tongue on daily cares,
common battles,
and everyday falls
to know we are more than these.
1st Part
I am Nithish a growing poet.
I will write for the world and me,
and I will take big steps anywhere, anytime.
I am opening (muse) my marker
a bag with development.
If the bag doesn’t get bigger
I will fly away.
Oh I am high on poetry.
Get me a ride home.
Hey god, how tall are you?
Ha h aha I’m going to my job.
2nd Part
Exchange the world for some divine,
and my marker call the muse.
Will you listen to the paper it’s right.
Why are the poets here for?
[Although formatted to fit your screen, the poem was originally written in 2014. It’s in the form of a dialogue with multiple speakers: the poet, his divine, various people in the audience, including children, and even a hostile being. Paying attention to punctuation and listening to the poem read, the voices dramatized, play key roles in interpreting it.]
I see my result in the image of tomorrow,
sacrifices for these guys,
sacrifices for children made.
I see a little ahead of us now.
Oh my God,
an image I see,
the sound and the fury of a group called
a rigid belief system.
They deny my answer.
It gains ground instead.
Be useful with my hair.
That’s why I got an office.
Most of the new modem here is for this:
yoga transitions wrong.
It doesn’t recognize itself when the change occurs.
Yoga’s a half light,
an image to see.
It’s necessary.
Yoga at least fields the answer.
Union becomes possible.
A new light on yoga,
a new inspiration on yoga:
flexibility.
Can you come back in about fifteen minutes?
They ask my choice.
Your native place, your country?
American dream.
I hope for your sake as well
it lasts the dream.
Now, the politics has religion.
Doves, a page for arms spending.
It’s a powerful dove now.
I hold you open to everyone.
You don’t know the religion of the Spirit
Mr. Fundamentalist.
American box office,
you’ll allow it
a ten minute jury.
It’s open.
You want a letter hold it down.
Art has business
in imaging ideas.
A new idea
is what we’re looking for.
We’ve got an opening in pictures.
I superstorm that’s fine.
While we’re ahead,
let’s crack divinity’s TV.
It is an image in a notebook
that you write while you’re asleep.
It has what you need.
I’m awareness of God.
You can’t buy that in a bookstore,
nor paint it on a friend.
It’s a personal journey.
I’ll be going down
to the bare minimum.
From there I hope to image this story.
Tagging the program
in the front of my house.
Daddy?
What sweetheart?
Put your finger on us.
Ah ha, that touched my hand.
We’re neighbors you see.
Thought will
go public.
If I understand your meaning right
poetry thinker,
we are a collective body.
That’s our building process
yes.
We can image out thought a new reality.
We could do that
instead of who we hate.
Coconut in my big ouch here,
the rumors of war hate fashioned.
We create its dream,
annihilation.
These are primitive seekers,
but we must understand them.
They need to know they’re safe.
Their belief system is their protection
against immensity.
We hear them regard.
We guard our forefather’s knowledge.
We hope to gain by its creed what our forefathers lost,
the right way to live.
We are a ship at anchor in an empty port.
We image reality
by what we see.
There has no greater value
a living scene.
It is solid fact not symbol wrought,
and God in his heaven sits the same.
We image a pupil
who doesn’t listen.
I kinda knew that in the morning.
I stopped vision.
It was drowned by the world.
Hey man what happened?
If you don’t finish it tomorrow…
I put a poem where God lived in me.
The solid confines of matter’s image
can so easily
hide the Unseen from view.
Is there a land bridge here?
I’m happy to see one,
it’s my son,
my little girl.
If I could put their ship in the water on just the right course,
they’ll put together this image
and pilgrim our voyage.
It’s a hope for tomorrow for a future today.
These are my children.
I give them right of way.
I think we image our house here.
It’s got healing window
all our fans said.
I’m okay.
Don’t worry about me.
Just do your homework:
know what to believe.
I’m not surprised.
Here was fine.
We leave our souls numbered on.
This was a glad space in a bright heart,
charity’s donation.
Down there,
infinity held sway.
He organized his room.
What we put?
What we do?
He made soldiers on stacks of bibles
and passed them out to the world.
He cleaned the inside of things,
rejecting old business.
He heard his Stranger call
and wrote it down.
He aloned to himself,
coming into contact with his own world.
His speech betrayed not the things he saw.
He flashed a light of kindness in his arm’s reach.
It was a banquet now.
What did you catch one of those twenty-four hour things?
This was no question posed by the night.
You gathered a liver to your hero.
If it lasts,
it survives.
Your guarantee for the future.
Can we come in from the cold now?
Okay UK say okay.
His private door gave lesson.
This was no ordinary show.
Seventh Avenue,
they looked in on him,
but Sri Aurobindo figured the ticket
and granted this place:
you’re an overmental movement
you understand;
take it easy,
Supermind’s there
standing ground.
Higher than the moon
who put their soul?
He hoped in dream’s pocket.
It was a large measure.
His house they used him
and looked not within.
This was his point of friction with the world.
Constant assault the children were.
He had anger
that he could not hide.
We draw him before
that station-house settled.
Good work,
you have to play on it.
We opposite a six.
Is that good measure?
It’s the right issue today.
What I was tested’s the fact
(come daddy)
I can be a father,
whether or not it works.
What’s yoga?
You have to believe it works.
There,
I’ve said your damn lesson.
Now image reality,
a top of the head see.
Do you get my copycat?
Individually.
I’m not sitting next to wrong.
I’m sitting next to you.
Can we habitat this truth?
Man, this is our dwelling place.
It has to do with a song.
It only hits you,
you open your eyes.
The Spirit is alive in matter,
and the Spirit stays.
Matter is his habitat but not his standing ground.
Daddy, can I have a digital watch
that tells the time
eternally?
Here we pause for a word from our sponsor:
the world removes sickness
your body
will be an eternal image;
homeopathic made cure.
A substantiality review,
measure that in heartbeats.
May you grow bigger than yourself.
So many passengers,
they don’t want a heart strong.
It will have to be something that we do together.
Individuals prepare the field.
You’ll have a rough time sitting there
absorbed in your television set
three dimensional.
The hat’s
just a protection
from getting lost in the movie.
Crown chakra,
you gotta wear it.
Do I make myself clear or not?
Daddy?
Can I sleep in your bed tonight?
Okay.
Now do you believe me?
I will challenge you in the deepest part of your laugh.
Hello my associate
you don’t usually say.
Head bothering you?
I have said a window
opportunity set up.
You’re staring at the wall.
You’d have to see beyond it
to understand what I said.
Really?
It would mean
an integral yoga.
Even the masters
couldn’t gather these clothes.
They just never put ‘em on.
You’ll have to step out even,
emptiness said.
Catch my airplane winnebago?
The Spirit is free
in all this
stuff.
I had trouble with that one.
Fix your feet high.
That’s an asana everybody has trouble with.
Keep practicing.
Yoga will work.
Throw a leg over this movie:
moksha reborn
here in the world.
You’d have to catch the plane,
give it your understanding.
The body is carved by it in silence,
listening.
To be totally honest I walked to it
one box at a time.
It was the heart that provided the key.
Once it knew
it was on its way,
the change arrived.
Donny I,
listen to you.
So you don’t have to worry.
That was decent.
That was not about arguing.
Arguing,
it showed me something.
The mind, the heart, the body all integrated,
people solved.
Definitely another subject
(I don’t think so)
the soul is their point of order.
Fits right here.
We begin with an understanding
opening the top of the head
or the heart window
imaging soul.
They will solve each other
if we bring them together right.
I’d like to show you something.
We play music
one measure at a time.
This airs out the difficulty
integration brings.
I’m, I’m good,
unmolested.
This is a substantiality review.
Hear this music?
Boy hears it now.
The public awhile.
Execute this thing.
That’ll take it
off the ground.
We open our opera,
a whole like twenty-eight pages.
One crying.
What’s a matter sweetheart?
Daddy I don’t want to leave you.
We’ll have to have faith
the Mother said.
She’s the one holding it together,
our family arrangement.
I have these children.
Remove the cover.
What do you see?
You’re their daddy.
Touched it,
the front of it.
Funny,
that really appealed to me.
I lesson in longevity.
Where do you put your scorecard?
There’s really a house.
I want to print it out:
my children
are lessons in love.
You don’t want to mess with them.
I give you
clean house.
A story’s been told
infinity sings.
We nowhere near mirror
the calm flexibility that
we in our divinity will show,
as we stand transformed,
not just stuck on the rafters.
Where will this evolve?
It’s in our daily room,
where we spend our lives holding cares.
Is my rifle here?
What dense energy is that?
It’s what shoots answers,
will not let us see the way out.
Go ask people,
and they figure it out:
if we do get up there,
anything, anything at all,
I have to do it,
I’ve got to get my courage out.
I’m about the idea change.
A body without a beard,
without one iota of fashion together wrong,
if I’m rewriting I’m writing to version fad.
I’m shouting your opinion.
Think that rewrite’s bad?
Flexibility’s good practice.
We are so swayed by our opinions.
Well man,
your opinion,
no matter how sharpened,
might be more narrow than life.
Can you average that?
Bout time you come in.
It’s actually better
to let the truth unfold
instead of proclaiming it.
We evolve here.
You have my answer.
Now that’s actually what it is,
truth evolving.
You’re welcome.
I’m available
across the railroad tracks.
It’s where you see disease.
I’m not that far.
Look how close I am to you,
in your intimacy kitchen,
your bathing and sleeping with
your own concerns.
Where is the line crossed?
Stew there.
Now call for intimacy with me.
What makes you so mad?
I would ask for an associate’s degree.
How many times does justice hate?
Would it be that that hate’s carried over from someplace else,
a little road in you?
It’s not there whispers hate.
We’re not talking
out in the open –
subconscious.
You have ways to avoid that stuff.
What drew these lines?
Hear so many cross.
It’s not a perfect world for me anymore.
Doesn’t have to go.
Trying to tell a river.
We’d open
our eyes and see it.
Then what’s the story?
We can be clean.
I don’t think so.
It’s not that easy.
Oh come on,
top notch of this group,
who knows it?
But tell me,
did you name to the air conditioner five minutes,
just one time?
You make me worry.
Let’s guilt them and them.
Wow, you have society’s hold up here.
Cultural morality
do any justice?
By hidden cost:
we are not permitted to evolve.
Where does the dust settle?
I’m fighting your window,
and it doesn’t open.
Okay, this and with hate:
very shot behind.
Now touch those teeth together,
and we’ve spoken aloud.
I had to get my stuff out of the way
so you got yours.
Hey man this thing’s got director over me.
Could be a wonderful person.
You can change.
I’m tryin’ to get you off the ground.
It’s not better
if said person doesn’t come to see you again.
That touch blisters along.
Somebody
can help
like who would’ve thought it.
Come on, heart walk strong.
On your way too.
All from eyes
they’ll have knowledge back.
Give them muscle on clean,
what I give clean.
Lemmie get this straight:
wounding sword heals?
Over the end that’s burned.
Good morning,
in our little house
thoughtful matter.
Count how many times the Word gets used.
The average person is comin’ round.
That’s a New York
giving a better New York.
That’s your higher count.
I’ve given you right music,
the corrected story.
It leads up to American
(oh I got here),
the American dream.
Find that equipped
once we get electricity.
We’d save the energy
where our body’s the worst fade:
each other.
Simple:
we evolve.
Not in here
some rafter said.
Before we close the door
to bodily existence,
we would have made divine matter’s robe.
We would be together by the way.
Think about it.
Evolution, remember?
Decide to get to home plate –
to move and get the temple.
Why are you there?
It can be held again.
It can be found.
I found my soul.
Boys safe –
I feel sorrow.
Get your wrong TV tuned folks –
get God on your plate.
I’m tryin’ to slide you an angle on the classical guitar,
once it got posted,
the body’s freedom.
I’m measuring an ambush this morning –
I’m listening.
You can’t do it marshal,
shoot me in front of God and everybody.
(Make sure Nancy’s resistance is in the place that she wants;
she may resist letting go.)
Related visions,
I keep reading the title of our narrative.
But Bob misses,
play hide and seek.
That’s a camera
charged with think tank.
Eat eggs,
follow the list of the dawn.
Now that you’ve come up with,
you’re the unbelievable:
against evolution.
Albert Einstein the very next day is pointed out as saying:
a special case with special officers,
they couldn’t track it down,
a locked up.
I rank in it,
well self-giving lists.
The world is watching.
Splash!
A pedophile
makes its sense.
Harm's End 