Toe Poetry

[labelwench]

Coalescent Time

We are all
comprised
of particles
of time.

Each,
a bit player
in the grand
cosmic rhyme.

Biological bits of binary,
coalescent briefly
on the infinite screen
of existence.

A kaleidoscope of patterns,
none quite repeating,
in the flow of
life, effervescent.

Sensational!
Ebb and flow,
as this gift,
we refine....

Disseminating
once again,
fundamental
substance of time.

[timeparticle]

Coalescent Time

We are all
comprised
of particles
of time.

Each,
a bit player
in the grand
cosmic rhyme.

Biological bits of binary,
coalescent briefly
on the infinite screen
of existence.

A kaleidoscope of patterns,
none quite repeating,
in the flow of
life, effervescent.

Sensational!
Ebb and flow,
as this gift,
we refine....

Disseminating
once again,
fundamental
substance of time.

Very cool!

[Meem]

The Sleeping Man of The Mountain Top


To be or not to be ... who?
Should I be me, or should I be me, like you?

If to live is but a dream, do not wake me,
and if to dream ... I must not live, may death take me.

Is there a pilot hidden within this pirate's ship,
a vessel on open water on an endless trip

Make the way, make haste, batten the hatches, we head for a new place.
The unknown which knows all but nothing looks us straight in the face.

One cannot look-out without first looking within.
If not, could not, oh where to end or a new begin ?

If not for this nightmare, my dreams would have no breath nor wind.

If I did not look through the past to find beauty, if even from sorrow.
How would I ever find the strength or love to romance tomorrow?

The classic calculation or the classic love, one or two?
If father time did not exist, there would be no movement free nor true.

One man, one hour, one place, two hearts, one roll with two parts?
The flip of a coin, the drop of a hat, the beating of a drum, the song starts.

I remember a call to honor and cherish the days of old,
a message to let go, forth reaching to the future before be brave, be bold.

I am far from the the first and far from the last.
Is a dream a message for the future, or a warning from the past?

Which way, which way, the wind blows the water's crest high.
Look up, look-out, the stars map never ending sky.

The longing in the heat of summer to feel a cool breeze,
May the wind bring rain, the sun down on his knees.

To the night and the silly moon whom hides the light of day,
You can hide the sun only for a time, but it reveals many stars, which point out ... the way.

To be or not to be, is not a question but a minor riddle,
Does the fiddle play the fiddler, or the fiddler play the fiddle?

[austintorn@aol.com]

Good poem, Meem.

Heavenly Will?

Can one chose to believe in the Beyond or not?
If so, then we have the fall of determinism’s lot.
So then Paradise Lost cannot be one’s fault.

The Captain is fully free to will the ship,
Whither whence to leave the anchored slip,
For Beyond’s giving meant really really free will
Even if it doesn’t even match His own Will.

This Guy ain’t of no mere human image made,
Like some wretched caricature that man bade,
But is love and more and completely giving,
Being totally and absolutely all forgiving.

So, thus He need not show,
Staying all the way invisible;
There wouldn’t be no free-to-be-so,
If He bossed the human show.

[Meem]

Thank you Austintorn.

Questions

What makes a "man" a man
Is it his wants, desires, or needs
Is it evident is his race color or creed
Is it what he cannot do, or what he can?

What makes a man a man?

Is it his eye, hand, or foot
Is it the phoenix which rises from ashes and soot
Is it his glow, grace, presence, or purpose that makes him a star
Or is it the size and value of his bank or his car?

What makes a man a man?

Is it where he lays his head to rest
Is it his wife, friends, or home
Is it something down through, to the bone
Is it an attempt, to give his best?

What makes a man a man?

Is it a shadow standing over a grave
Is it the land, the home of the free and the brave
Is it his strength in arm or mind
If we look closer, what do we find?

What makes a man a man?

Is it a collection of collections, function or form
Is it a voice of madness or reason that calls out the stakes
Is it the flag of the country, his coffin is draped
Is it free, will to break from the norm?

What makes a man a man?

Is it the mind or body, or is it the spirit
Would a man know, if he could even hear it
Is it in thought, what we think he would do
If you were a man, what could be true?

What makes a man, a man?

(re-vision, re-vised)

If you could be anyone, anywhere, anytime, any world
Of which would you choose
Would you want to be the one to win
Or the one willing to loose?

What is life, if not a question, a mystery?

[austintorn@aol.com]

If you could be anyone, anywhere, anytime, any world
Of which would you choose
Would you want to be the one to win
Or the one willing to loose?

The truth is that any narrative will do,
That any history makes a person new.

One must expect to lose a few
Along the way to find their due.

Those who are willing to try
Will never go dry.

[Meem]

The truth is that any narrative will do,
That any history makes a person new.

One must expect to lose a few
Along the way to find their due.

Those who are willing to try
Will never go dry

Truth is a river which runs deep,
and time the spring from forth which it seeps.

Wisdom is a rock, life is a tree, and land is for lovers, flowers and honey bees.

Wind is chance, that moves water's song and dance.


Goodnight.

[Mohan.C]

If I speak now in Milton's verse
Then would I speak the truth with
A ring of authority and beauty?
Or if I could rhyme like Shakespeare
On a sonnet composed, then would I
Be in love, if the poem was not in prose?

If I search for some truth
Hidden, still, under a rock or a
Bed side lamp. Will I find it
As shadow falls below
Them both?-- So, does it mean they
Both shine the light that come forth?

[austintorn@aol.com]

Out of God’s thunderbolt grew the Hawthorn
On that day when man and Earth were born.
Its snowy blossoms of hope and union
Gave this blesséd world its first communion.

The fleecy Hawthorn sheds its summer snow
To remind us of our birth so long ago—
So Joseph’s Hawthorn staff along the way
Still blooms in winter on Christmas Day.

Hawthorn once was known by the name of May,
Its thorns by then having been bred away.
Thus for it the children went a-maying,
And built the maypole, all around it playing.

But the calendar was set back twelve days,
So Mayday was no more! But, memory stays,
And the Queen of Blossom’s day is made
When writers and lovers seek out her shade.

[Meem]

Love and Hate

If not for my love of hate
I would never have known
It can be seen

Time is not a mirror
but space
a mirror of the dream

So
shall you seek
So
shall you find

time
the love of the whole
if only but in a part

something
never
ending with never
a begining to start

Oh time
why must I play this
your part

Oh forgive me for I am weak
for I know of you
and to you
is who I speak

Maybe we be as one
when the long dream
coming to an end

it is not the night that falls
but the light
or your brightest sun.

Oh time
to have an ear
to have a sight
to have a taste
to have a touch

to feel you
to know you
to love you
to show you

this is not my way
for I am fooled in
my endless space
between the ears

but it will fill up
in due time.