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Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.

Daffodil bulbs instead of *****
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.

Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense,
To seize and clutch and penetrate;
Expert beyond experience,

He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.

    .  .   .   .  .

Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye
Is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;

The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.

And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.
__
Like the way the valleys of the earth
Cup their hands for light and drink,

Like the way the desert opens up its sweet mouth
And laughs

When someone melts pearls in the sky
And rain, rain
Returns like a divine lover
With a hundret wonderful gifts

O, the words from the true Teacher
Bring my mind and cells
Such sacred nourishment and life.

When the moon is full
It gets gregarious and likes to chat.
I have heard it say,

"Look what can happen, dear seeker,
When you lean your graceful arms toward God in prayer,

Look at all that amorous light you can catch
That will help the night musicians and your soul
Get loose."

I stand revolving like a great dervish
In an ecstatic submission to His will.

I have been hired to perform the final act of grace.
I am the priest in every sacred wedding tent.

Tonight I am a sovereign planet
With a great wool skirt.
I am a divine artist
One stage before God's entire court.

With each sublime whirl and orbit
I bow to the Sun's feet.
I fill my glass for you, dear pilgrim,
Beneath the luminous leaking barrel.

I then pour all the contents of my heart
And eye's experience
Upon this banquet table,

For your body and mind are a precious silk cloth
Hafis has come to dye!

I circumambulate the Truth from the sky
Like a golden vulture.
I have forsaken all the crippling manners
Of even the most royal birds.

I carry a lute in my talons like a mortal weapon.
Please, please enter into a holy battle with me.
For I am God's friend
Who maims with compassion!
And you are a lost dove upon His wing.

I can teach you
How to bribe the Beloved with an angelic tune

So that the divine manna of His glance
Will fall upon your palate.

Some days I know
You are being trained as an emissary
To serve in his office of joy.

Dear one,
Last night, in the gallery of Reality
I saw a portrait I will never forget:

The Beloved was stirring a ***
With a spoon the size of a universe
And when He lifted it
I saw this whole world and its affairs
Were not even a floating speck of a barley
Before the radiance of two diamonds
That were His brilliant cheeks!

All I could do when beholding that vision
Was to fall upon my knees

And cup my hands like a humble valley
Huddled between the thights
Of this exquisite, holy mountain range

And try to build a resevoir to hold the Beloved's
Resplendent smile
That offers myriad tickets to freedom,
That offers the splendor of hearing God sing!

I am the spinning wheel upon the infinite.
I have swallowed the axis and hub
That fathered light and truth.

Grab hold and swing from me, my dear,
Doing the impossible
With your hands and feet both clapping.

I offer a mother's comfort and knowledge
To those who are tired and weak.

And when you become strong
I will conduct like a skilled warior-king
Your divine volcanic glands exploding like new galaxies
In all their blessed madness.

God offers love, love, love
With His own hands,
To your beautiful parched holy mouth.

Open your soul, handsome, dying one.
See all gender talk like a mighty joke,
In a oneness as glorious like this!

Hafiz, go running from that gallery
Like a naked drunk lion
Roaring with a laughter that will shake
The whole earth
And every window and door throughout the sleeping
Cities,

Like a man,
Like a man who is delivering on a great steed
Fantastic news!

Tie yourself as a bell
To herds of mating camels
And spring flocks of clouds and birds.

Tie yourself to spawning stars
And to leaping whales
In a game of tag with the Moon!
Tie yourself to everything in creation
That got poured from God's magic hat.

O, tie your soul like a magnificent sweet chime
To every leaf and limb in existence,

That begin to shout divine obscenities
So that he will sure send a tremendous storm.
Because Hafiz, because Hafiz,
O, sweet Hafiz,    
You are a man with such benevolent and fantastic
Good News!

Dear wayfarer,
Now indulge me in a sober moment.
Please set down your glass.

I can help you write a letter of resignation
To all your fears and sadness.

Listen:
Let all movement and sound,
Let all movement and sound

Begin to speak the truth to your heart
And write its music upon your vision and
Soft pink tongue.

Soak all your prejudices in oil-
I would consider it a favor.
Bring and sing to me your darkest thoughts,
For my whole body is blazing emerald wick,
I am a pure flame
Who needs and loves to burn.

We should lean against each other more
In such a strange world as this
That can make you scared
And even believe in that lie called death.

We should support each other more
Give more warmth
In such a demanding world as this.

Let all movement
Gently yield something of God
Upon your chin and vision
And roll down on your prayer mat
That will take root in the holy soil of your surrender.
May I hone your devotion with a kiss?

For all in existence is just spinning like this
Sweet earth
In a divine current.

Why not dance like Hafiz in the cup,
In the cup of His spoon?

I offer my clapping spirit to you,
That is in eternal movement.

Hafiz offersto bow at your feet
With hands that god has shaped and pounded.

Look in my palms, my dear,
They now contain your face and infinite existence.

All your ideas of space and time are shadows
That will run from this Sun She has made me.

I want to tie myself
As a gift around your neck.
I want to place a wonderful secret
Near your veins.

Why not use my verse as a golden camel bell
That you can turn upside down into a chalice
And fill with wine?

Hafiz,
You are a divine camel bell
That the Beloved is ringing with his own hand.

Hafiz you were a blessed slave to Truth
That died like a cut reed and became hollow-
Turned into a divine instrument
That God now lifts to His own mouth,
Plays to summon this world to freedom.

How many man exist upon this earth
To whom I could whisper a holy secret?

Dear ones,
"God has sown Himself onto my tongue."

Like the way
The valleys of the earth
Cup their hands for light and drink,

Like
The way
The desert opens up its sweet mouth
And laughs

When someone melts pearls in the sky

An rain, rain
Returns like a divine lover
With a thousands wonderful
Gifts,

O, the luminous words of my Beloved
Now bring my mind and soul
Such a sacred
Nourishment
And

Peace.
~Hafiz ~
Hand written by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Love

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AUcWa7PDW0
Jordan Gee Feb 2022
early retirement                                           2.11.22 Mercury/Pluto conjunction

I’ve been cracking jokes lately,
when in the company of others.
When there was an opening in the conversation
I would insert a comment;
I would joke about my life in early retirement.
I would joke and say that I am retired.
It's obviously funny because I’m only 35;
fairly early in my second Saturn returns.

Over the last 18 months I’ve made modest acquisitions
fit for a retiree;
house slippers, a few extra lines in my face and
even a piccolo pipe with dark cherry Cavendish tobacco.  
They all fit rather nicely,
(according to my eyes)
when worn with my gray cardigan with the red whip stitch
suring up the right pocket;
the same cardigan I wore the night of the accident and the
morning of the ward.
That was an equinox to remember.

Maybe it's in poor taste to joke about early retirement.
Perhaps that it isn’t very funny to go on about,
or maybe it was only funny to me.
It hadn’t quite occurred to me until now that
it may be kind of awkward for a grown man to crack
funnies about his lack of income or industriousness.
I suppose I just gave myself a pass.
Because I figured everyone already knows I’m
a little unhinged-
a little ungrounded-
certainly a bit touched…
and that “he just needs time to heal because he is
an activated Light Worker and the benefits reaped
by his inner struggle to anchor the
Light upon the Earth plane is in everyone’s best interest,
and that it takes an untold exertion of Will to exact such an incarnation,
and that it takes more than a few several months for the
risen Kundalini to come to maturation.
Quick, can someone please get me a tourmaline.

Well, here I am in
southern Jersey
Manchester Township
Ocean County
Riverside retirement community
side of the pond (man made)
composite bench under a gazebo erected on a concrete pad.
Sitting inside my cardigan next to my piccolo pipe and a pen in my hand,
wondering how I could feel so lost and so found at the same time.

I’ve been a stubborn *******.
Afraid to bear my Light within my hands and
expose it to my kin in a meaningful way.
But here I am,
early retirement
on an early afternoon
in a retirement community
full of elders
slinkin through the
early dusk of the
twilight of their lives.
And I don't like it.
I am not equanimous with what is.
I’ve excreted so many toxins that the
re-uptake is nearly too much to bear.
I’ve carried empty green notepads in my back pocket for years.
Pen and pad with scotch tape holding down the binding;
worth about three or four poems max.
“Yea I fancy myself a writer, just not very prolific.”
You can only speak something into being so many times
before the universe starts agreeing with you.
Old man Saturn couldn’t give a **** about
little fears and excuses.
The limits of necessity were only
bad wiring
rendered by
my own hand.
And that goes down smooth like a fish-bone in the throat.

I own enough scarves and robes to
circumambulate the globe a few times.
If only I could fly
it would be in such style
because on the outside I look how I want to feel on the inside.
Before my heart center I hold the dharmachakra mudra and
I stare into a candle flame.
I could of sworn they prescribed this treatment
early in the Rig Veda for guys with ailments like mine;
running mad like beside his shadow and
fleeing all the house flies;
sliding down the side of a waxing crescent moon.

only the moon it is a scythe;
a crescent knife.
Waning in early retirement,
old man Saturn coming for his life.
death and the sickle
hebrew rope
and a buffalo nickle
WARQA BIN NOFAIL Jun 2014
My thoughts

Circumambulate

You

And

You

Are

Unaware

Or Rather

Aware

And

Still Choose

To be

Unaware !

Holi
It is an emotion
Sung upon the winds
Youthful songs of spring

Vivacious emeralds
Colours of the shade, Jade
Fields of verdant green

Mother earth bestows
Upon us her finest hues
Let’s embrace in gratitude

Reverently we circumambulate
The Holika, seeking felicity
Quelling the evil and granting peace

Imbued with the crimson
Under the blue skies of eternity
May the festival bring mirth
And lasting harmony
We hurl coconuts to the ground
circumambulate the Shiva Lingam shrine
at the Yoga Shakti  Ma Ashram
my grandsons little Sean and Alex
tug the temple bell after each round
ringing in the New Year
above, the moon full, white candle
glows
in Shiva’s dreadful locks
and cobras looped around
His sapphire neck dare not hiss
Auspicious One!
drink the halahala  poison of hatred, anger,
lust, jealousy and pride lodged
like an arrow deep in our hearts
churn the ocean of nectar
and awaken the
sleeping Self
cradled softly in a  manger
swaddled, peacefully
within
FigTree Nov 2011
The dervish
wished to begin this..
now around he spins
he twirls
he whirls
he swirls
as the world...spins

The constellations rotate
the heavenly orbs circulate

the heavens circumambulate
And the dervish is not nauseous..
but all the more conscious
Jack tierney Feb 2018
Motivate yourself.
How?
Try something new.
Tried it, doesn’t work.
Okay… try something else.
But I’ve already tried so much.
Well then **** it, give up.
Okay now youre being irrational.
Well youre the one who started it.
Im just tired okay!
What are you tired of?
Everything, ******.
Tell me.
You, and me, and him and her.
Okay.
And the ugliness
And the parents who lie.
And the presents who don’t care
And the parents who don’t know their own ****** child.
The parents who cant take the time of day to ask how you are.
How their demented ****** up kid is.
To ask, are you okay?
Did you put the blade to your wrist today?
Oh, you had a job interview?
With who? How did it go?

No, its okay mom.  Focus on yourself.
Its okay dad, I never wanted a father anyway.
Its okay sister, stay in school.
Just don’t cry when I leave.
Allen Page Apr 2015
Was it I who wondered
Sipping on a concrete straw
Waiting through the renegade
Pondering the diamond before me
It was made of paper

Defer through me
Subvert the Zipf distribution
It fades as the cicadas in the leaves
The starry nights close in
like curtains covering the sun

The sky a theatrical production
The structure effacing complexity
One on hand conflation, projection, fuerza
One the other, subversion
What is a hand

Black dog wanders through the meadow
Sing me an odor of the breeze
Trolleys carve out ravines in their wake
The past has with it this mystique, this ambiguity
to understand is to circumambulate
amrutha Nov 2024
I need to feel your presence
find a way somehow
through a flame
or a hole
or a spirit
somehow

give me a sign
I'm fuming
this scream refuses
to leave my throat
my eyes turn pale
with your absence

I circumambulate
your sacred fire
but the demons desecrate it

swallow the sky
in a fury only you can summon

clear the grounds

I'll be born again
like a breakthrough
Àŧùl Aug 2017
I* know of a Nomad people there.

They would even marry kids,
About 8 year olds I refer to here,
Lay them in the desert sand,
Kill them they would every night.

Alas, a new creed was started,
Bet they do for camel derbies,
Often they Halal their necks,
Up they drink camel blood,
Totally exploiting their women.

Them we fear the most,
How shameless they are,
End their hatred will never.

My indication is towards them,
Unintelligible who have become,
Slim are their famished girls,
Listening is the entrapped Shiva,
I know that He'll be finally free,
Many still repeat the enchantments,
So dumb they circumambulate anti-clockwise.

An effigy of Ravaņa is afire annually,
None of his descendants is brave,
Demean they the Hindus therefore.

Them the world fears on this day,
Harmony is harmed by them,
Escaping them is not possible,
I mean that they are everywhere,
Regal they think that they all are.

Originating in Hinduism,
Road to heaven they have lost,
I too got visions from heaven,
Go to the mausoleum & break it,
Ignore what the world says,
No followers of Maha Maada,
S**he was a demon princess originally.
My HP Poem #1648
©Atul Kaushal
Badshah Khan Feb 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) - 60

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Oh My Beloved! Oh The Master!
Oh The Verity of All Creation


Thou, mercifully spared me from.
The revolution theory of polytheism.


That seemingly promotes the possible existence;
Of the prolific creator more than one.


Thous promptly relieved me from the mental illness, That the prolific creation and;
The divine creator is different entities.


I humbly bow to the Divine Alone The Creator,
And we circumambulate the luminous Throne!


Allah Khair..... Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab - Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
tranquil Sep 2020
mediterranean winds sowed it
in a windswept dune
and the sky's veil
bejeweled with infinite stars
circumambulate
layered light upon
the moon planted underneath
desert's parched skin

once a month which bloomed
into a white rose
on night's backdrop
amid distant howls
of awestruck wolves,
and mesmerized lost travellers
without creating a tide
on warm sands
then faded away
to a void which never speaks
Onoma Oct 2020
Tower and eidolon, three and a half

times removed--stand still of no man's

land, coiled up in The Alone.

Parashakti...consort, companion, partaker


of Shiva laid down upon her uninhabited


hermitage, and watched as she sleeps.

the way water surrounds the brinks of land--

eating at its sides.

Shiva...tower and eidolon, emptying aloneness

into aloneness.

upon the third distillation, emptiness tears in half.

a half removed from three times.

as Shiva sinks the centers of Oceans that circumambulate

his Ajna, overhanging a crescent moon as a beacon

risen Again.
Gypsy Dec 2020
My mind is the Prometheus
Surrounded by unknown things
Afraid of the air,
Afraid of the night.
Afraid of everything - love
If you are not my reality,
Love!!
Hell is the ******* real
The paranoia of my sweet dreams.
To be or not to be?
Here.. galaxies circumambulate
Love!!
You will find that I bleed you
Love!!
I hear your deafening voice
Like the sound of flowers blooming
Awaiting that personal phone call from Jesus
Love!!
My chaos flux
Flexibility
Ambiguity
Multi-dimensionality
That kind of ****** liveliness
Welcome to the paradox
From my brains flesh
This illusion
This ocean called the world
Love!!
A minor fragment of the pattern

Gypsy

— The End —