Sunday, September 27, 2009

Sometimes We Forget that We Need to Wake Up

Sometimes we forget that we need to wake up
and to speak to our face in the mirror.
Have you looked at the sky this week?
Just weather notes.
What are you going to see?
And I can't watch through the window anymore,
I have to have the air through my skin.
But there is rain. For someone
who has been sitting for days,
an umbrella is not necessary.

Where is the ground when my feet
touch wet grass and rain falls like a screen?
After being soaked, I forget the name of water.
The view is unscathed
by those who want to compress.
I try to identify the sides of the round wall,
glimmering in inconstancy.
What can you understand from shapes
and the length of what you see?
I want to walk to the other side.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Singing Sword ( A war for our times)

The journey to self is a silent war, so it's now or never no more,

Better settle the score before the ravens can soar;

-Decomposing discords, a Wes Craven like score,

That can perpetually color life light shades of Iron ore.

So be one with the sword and sharpen it sheathless,

swing with it frequent, 'til Death reaps what it's sewn up in pieces.

This poem at it's weakest can't be grasped through a thesis,

Because experience is laryngitic in nature- leaving you speechless.

Now where was I? Ah yes, the aforementioned-

Hindsight is 20/20 when in a state of retention;

Like a string of pearls unfurled- the wisdoms within it's lessons,

Shedding light upon it's own darkness like a moon when it crescents.

The Learning curve is hilted.

©Krishna Volk 2009

Friday, September 18, 2009

In the Watch of your Feet

In the Watch of your Feet

I read the life of a monk and wanted to walk
on a market road with lanterns
and speak to the awnings about where I could rest
my voice. I sang above the reach of my eyes
and forgot the street, that people stared with twitched mouth,
pressing their ideas to almost speak. I would rather have a conversation
with a tree, laying against its trunk with my voice
given away to the one who can carry it. I could travel until my self
was forgotten like a child first seeing flowers -
I have been with my self for as long as I am
and I have tired my eyes in my sight -
now I can only travel in the watch of your feet.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

A Thousand Journeys Inward

1) One thousand petals . One Flower on one branch brings the appearance of life to one tree;
Separation is an illusion of the optics,

as you can witness the play but can't see the real me/

2) Nor can I, cause the physical eyes are sensory,
and can't see the truth of these vibratory entities/

3) Known as man, referred to as humans in long hand,
the extended description still sheds no light on the plan/

4) You must experience truth, which is impossible to explain,
You must puncture a hole in the roof of your skull and watch your ego drain/

5) You must feel the rain as if it has caught fire and is raining flames;
 it doesn't consume but sustains, and in death it remains as the bliss which splits the chains/

6)- That bind, like past conditionings and pride,
which is why we feel much more alive after we've died/

7)-And taken second birth, from the egg to the sky,
on the wings of the goddess, as the father watches hovering near by/

8)Up to this point I've avoided that fountain trying to stay dry,
though I thirsted insatiably, throat parched like the paper ancients use to inscribe/

9)I had to choose- either drink or cease to survive,
so I decided to quench my thirst and not constantly bite the hand the provides/

10)-But hold it, trust it, and surrender to the path which it guides,
leading me out of the forest of illusion- where many have laid down to die/

11)I must go home now, as I can longer wait;
Mother has been calling for me, and im already late/

©Krishna Volk 2007

The Serpentine Effect

A coiled snake, gracefully placed in woven basket(s),
when it passess it awakens the dead from laquered caskets//

It just a fact its, light rewrites the blackness,
like fresh water gently caressing a pile of ashes//

It's classic, that meaning ancient,
lodged inside your self, turn inwards and behold your greatness//

Beyond contemplation, achieved only through silent observation,
on occasion ideas of the self cease all type of operation//

And you stop speaking when crossed legged position creeps in, thoughts frequent stop on the spot when in the deep end//

Of consciousness, bliss ocean beyond your common sense,
cool breeze with shatter the leaves- behold her omniscience//

Mother divine, casts illumination,
as she sits on her throne since the dawn of creation//

Commonly placed in-side your self and adjacent,
to Shri Shiva who displays the calmest of faces//

Known to man, peace eternal, God within man,
part of the plan unknown to most living a sham///

That is modern times, where truth is no different from lies,
only those gifted with eyes read the script through the lines//

©Krishna Volk 2007