Carry on a conversation with your mind,
attempt to divine the truth of your situation,
the proof of the station in life
you’ve chosen to occupy.

Remove the sties from your eyes,
bear witness to your own weakness,
minimize your strengths to find balance,
become the prince or princess of the realm,
partaking of the sacred chalice.

Find balance in denial,
the power of self-control
announcing your arrival
at the alter of spirit’s revival
as body colludes with mind
and space conspires with time.

Destiny calls us all
and we grovel before the fall
yet and still we rise
despite the challenges
despite our cries
despite our insistence upon
believe the lies
we tell ourselves.

Continuing that conversation
we are overcome by revelation.

The voices in your mind, slowly cease.

Instead, you are filled with peace.



Distant Rumblings

Distant rumbling beckons awareness
solar storms awaken the earth.

Gaia’s skin shifts, tectonic forces remorseless
absorbing the love of Sol, fierce and true.

Electromagnetic emanations bath the world,
emotional currents flow through.

Terran humanity oblivious to the ramifications
as the planet below does sing.

Her heart and soul scintillating brightly
her dance so pure and filled with grace.

Civilizations fall as the world heats quickly
Oceanic consciousness prepared for change.

The Vault

There is a vault within that most
hold dear,
the gestalt of sin, bound by a
chain of fear,
hidden, locked away from the sight
of brightest day,
unbidden, birds flock and spirits pray,
the power of gnosis found,
occasioning falling tears.

Without we seem to live
with no doubt,
while within we quail in terror,
the furor of internal conflict
the edict of self-condemnation,
remonstrations of failed creation,
stifled by trifles enlargened
and unbounded,
inside we flee screaming silent wails,
afraid of the tales of violent sound.

But this is the way of the earth,
the necessary culling in light of rebirth,
as the waters of the worlds wash sibilant
upon the shores of material innocence,
intransigent spirits spinning,
blending into the foliage, camouflaged
against the trumpet call of Divine Awakening,
slaking their thirst in the blood-filled wells
of the damned.

Man against man, woman against woman,
brother against sister against mother against
friend, and round it goes again,
a seemingly never-ending spiral, each iteration
a gyroscoping motion of devotion,
dedicated to pain, to repeating the same thing,
over and over again.

Is there a winning scenario?

Impresarios of pleasure wax eloquent, dependent
upon transcendent whims, denouncing friends,
family and strangers alike, gossiping,
dripping lies like sties from eyes awash with death,
steadily imbibing negativity until they take
their last breath.

This is the sinning scenario, the winning
being comprised of exactness and oppositional
proactivity, higher vibrational nativity born
within the crucible of spiritual knowledge,
the anvil of experiential college, the acceptance
of human frailty, of the failure of the will
to Be.

The vault within crumbles under the light
of awakened awareness,
the bareness of the opened soul the passage
through which spiritual light flows,
the space within which gnosis and transcendence

Take it slow, but steady, make sure to leap,
not step when ready, when that synchronicitous
event occurs, to do what is necessary
to fly, like the birds.


Alabaster skies tinted crimson
witness the passage of time
landforms slowly shift
rolling waves of tectonic force
pushes light continental plates
across dense oceanic expanses
the cycles of life
born witness to
by deeper, slower forms
of consciousness
aeons in age
and existence
ponderous and fathomless
to quicker, more ephemeral
forms of life.

There exists within the mote
of a gnat’s eye fractal patterns of
co-creation, implicit in
every breath, every heart
beating to the rhythm of
the cosmos, expressly manifest
in the destiny of all life,
material accumulations
of consciousness
here today, gone tomorrow,
the cycle ever continues
as life expresses itself
in never-ending spirals
of higher and higher transformation.

Humanity quails beneath the weight
of recriminations endless
in nature of nature lost
paradise bereft
crumbling, wasting away
beneath the burden of mass genocide
and wasted opportunities
to shepherd Gaia’s fields,
maintain her pastures and mountains,
the quality of the water,
the air, the earth herself,
the etheric responsibility of
genetic imperatives ancient in conception
the family of life
and love denied,
minimized and enslaved to the power
of command and control.

The desires of consumption are simple,
childlike in actuality
and essence, the need for greed,
to consume without consequence,
ignoring the balance of nature,
the balance of the Cosmos themselves,
honoring the egocentric and selfish,
denying the holistic and universal
in favor of the desire to
feed one’s perceived need
irregardless of the cost
to the rest of us and the planet
herself, no set upon a path
of recovery and rejuvenation
with or without
her human horde.
Those who feel the pain of the planet
who live, in actuality, the truth
that the body is the temple,
as above, so below,
how the earth goes, so goes
are those to whom the planet is promised,
the guardians of the co-creative principle
of perfection and peace,
the savage garden alive
with the imperatives of transcension,
moving forward, higher, spiraling into eternity
wafting upon the breath of divinity,
ever blowing from below,
lifting those chosen
to the heights of their
own, personal, spirit
of perfection.

Chosen by choice,
by the small whispering voice
within, exhorting them
toward conservatorship, toward acceptance
of the role of responsibility,
of being the high mind
bent upon representing the realities
of the divine, to return the earth to
her pristine state, to co-exist with
the plants, the animals upon this
soaring orb, bound upon a journey
of forever, travelling the cosmos
in search of its own dissolution,
knowing that this is the path of all
life, all things born must die
and all things lower,
must rise.

Storms Gathering

Question the mores of the day,
Set dreams of glory within your sights,
Intentions set as supplicants pray

Where is the laughter of children at play
The angered screams of bullies in fights,
Crowds gathered round to end the day.

Hearts interlinked vines twine round the quay,
Waves lap against the dock at night
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

Which is the way?
Who sees the light?
Who lives openly in the day?

There is no recompense for those who slay,
innocent spirits who know nothing but right,
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

Who sees the eyes of the Angels so fey?
Flying and soaring transcendent in flight
Question the mores of the day,
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme: aba aba aba aba aba abaa.

The first and the third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and appear together in the last couplet (last two lines).

The Way (Tao)

Knowing the Path
Isn’t the same as living the Path,
We walk on glass, fast,
Stumbling and falling,
Bumbling and calling
Out to God to save the Day,
Show us the Way,
The Tao says compassion stays
In vogue, moderation in all things.
Rogue outlooks bring karma into
play, as we enter into the fray.

Spouting beatitudes and parroting
The wisdom of Sages,
Pages of obscure text we intone,
Projected outwards into the void,
The wages of sin deployed,
In service to Ego
We lose our joy.

Innocence lost,
We are tossed into life
Unprepared, to carry the battle
Between the wheat and the tares
To the next level
In search of love,
We petition God above,
The fruition of heartache and pain
Denied, we cry as we
Die inside.

Only surrender can bring us forth,
No longer pretenders we look
To the North,
The wisdom star to guide us on,
The heavens above attendant
To our fateful song.

Yet the South ever calls,
The rumbling jungles,
The crashing falls,
The high plateau ranges
That reach the sky,
The virgin savannas
That greet the eye.

The West, the land of Destiny
The Way gathers souls,
From every corner of the earth,
To witness bold forays into
The unknown world,
Pearls of wisdom gather,
While fools would rather waste lifetimes
Pursuing banalities,
Human frailties the wages
Of the maelstrom.

Strumming emotions,
Playing others with potions
Of devotion,
Misusing trust, ancient forests
Of the East believe,
Sentient trees lean ponderously
Their leaves bent toward the seas,
While Sages gather beneath
Their eaves.

Each moment a gift,
We wish upon a moon,
Soon to bloom we croon,
Singing melodies of eternity,
The fraternity of our eternal
Paternity, a matriarchial rhythm,
The bosom of the Great Mother
So warm, her charms ward off
The storms that threaten the norm.

And thusly, we are reborn.


Gather round children, listen to the sound
Of the drums, pounding, grounding spirits
Floundering in the pits of hell, the bells ring
Loud as mothers watch, proud of sons
Desecrating our planetary home, the bones
Of Gaia shimmering like stone, crystalline
Consciousnesses monstrous in conception,
Impervious to deception the truth rings forth
Like light, denied the inner sight spirits take
Flight into the night, while humans awaken
From deep slumber, unaware of the plunder
They were just recently subjected too,
Astral pirates, witches on brooms, blooms
Of deadly nightshade emit wafting columns
Of poisonous scent, the descent into
Cognitive dissonance the fragrance of
Immediate remembrance, awakening to the All
Overwhelmed by the immensity of the Fall,
Minuscule consciousnesses imprisoned in flesh,
Limited by time and space, the mind, the race
So sublime, every taste gone like wine,
The drunken stupor of life cutting like a knife,
Each instance of self-recognition
A demolition of all that came before,
As we hurry back to slumber while
Demons knock upon our door, ponderous,
Knowing the Truth, the beat of the drums,
The proof, the vibrations of the sun, so aloof,
Generously malicious in innocent croons,
Mistress of creation, oblations to holy stations
Derided, obliged we slide into absurdity, head
And heart sheltered, melted waxworks of
Demonstratively inhuman conception, all of it,
Deception, we realize inside, illuminated, absolutely
Fated, resolutely monstrous we retreat
into our shells, once again the test failed
as we slide, fly then glide back, into the pits,
of hell.