Symbiophrenic Incursion: 'Really, aren't I?' whispered a little (sum-poe try-ing.)    
 'Really, aren't I?' whispered a little (sum-poe try-ing.)2 comments
pictureThursday, August 26th 2004, by Brenden Macdonald

(won cleck shone of poe ms: circa 2000-1; reef 'leck shone of today)

SIX: DANGLING
OF LEAKYFORM



(1) 'in our face, see I'

clouds lingerdrip secrets willing
to bequeathed unto those willing
to glance upwards into luminous
ungatherings of sirius column roses above
in grey shades amongst
a greenredyellow
leaf clutter to burst)a light of blue pervading;

beauty billows here just to lick at
and bloom sunshine watery
into a rainbow
Spectrum blinding uncessation causation
wrenching madness from my fingertips
of subtle grandeur dripping fore this altar


(1) reflections - the morning divinity

The first form of this poem came and leapt out of me when I was on a busride going to school one morning. I was looking at the clouds and it was that time of year, Fall beginning of school, when we could see the beautiful colours the clouds big puffy and leaves gone flutter do shade. I felt the clouds were 'gods of expression' and that there was just artistry in all of it, like paintings not brushed in the sky by a hand, but pang *tings* of artistic spirit in me reaching "from my fingertips." The painting was done in a hypermedia of my perceptual connection to a beautiful sky nestled into linguistic enrapture, for a moment. And suddenly I was at school after flitting words down in the heavily treed parts of the road knowing subconsciously in the feeling of the road-turning gravities when it was opportune to look into that sky so wondrous that morning, with my favorite kind of clouds. And I think the day before I was feeling close to nature's mind.



(2) 'vanishing through trees'

when walking home in a sea where glistening 'realease'
emerges from abysmal height, a light resolves to captivate
me into stagger step. Pulsate luminosity, drop by drip:
I disappear in you a light dripping tones
white delectably green between
noise the spines of shadow moaning. a broken
fervour on tree leaping in a wind
my vortex coil unshrouding


(2) reflections - susceptible vibrancy

I often am amazed by the intricacy of the flowing nature around me. I've grown up in a niche of wonder. This poem came out of a walk at night after I had written 3 & 4 below, and I was watching the lights of a distant house coming intermittently thru a many several trees. There was a fog visible like a flashlight illuminating a dusty room, flowing all the way to me, moving thru the trees, washing over me with the sound of wind and cool breeze that lifted me. I vanished for a moment as the fingers wrote and light played around my brain. When I get in those moments, I lose where my surroundings are exactly yet they become suffused into a dynamic current of me just experiencing, expressing. I wasn't walking home so much as forgetting that I wasn't a mist aware and flown thru light...



(3) 'listen to the silence'

moonlife by a flutter while a twitterdizzying of
a surge of flavour thru thy heart gliding,
of candlelight glittery
great orb of moonlife! under swirling shadow strings!
hanging around to why it 's before me, invisibly yet
seen or held on my tongue thru wonderlief of vision
oscillate in shimmerbloom O Fragrancy of Death
in thee. you can't evade nor should you want to.
rebear, now, bear: first step. whisht! whisht!


(3) reflections - the wonderful moon

I've always felt a strong connection to the moon and this is one from many of the poems I've written while looking at the moon. I think this poem is about letting the oncoming flow of nature you are perceiving be continually reaffirming of a building sense of beauty and reverence. Indeed, if nature's positively ROARING silence were to fuel our inner calmness into ecstatic creativity, then we'd have learned something neat. There would be no boredom looking around, for we could learn to see everything thru eyes of a realm-compassionate lensing. 'Tis how I was underneath the moon that night.



(4) 'realease asort'

kind rewind O mind of a
release of wavering
sound
waterfall sideways in high
of flowcapturing today's eye
it shimmewrithes;
whisper spirals in a
drop so eloquent
against the
window pane
if listen;
shifting
underfoot are seasons
above chirpings flowery
radiant
in my palms are reasons
beyond entwined dancers
in sunlight;
nowhere ensues a river
oceanic swirling out
the mouth, I penetrate
torrential purity
of wave;
as imagining could be
a skylike reflect;
ground crumbling
winter chilling

just
as
( ……>---..'''''',,,,,,;;"""^^^
as
springing warms


(4) reflections - in the middle of transformations

Whisper spirals are those lights that happen if one lets bigger mist drops land in their eyes held open. The drop rolls down and rolls out, spreading over the eye yet held in a round, hydrogen-bonded. And when I was letting this happen, I was on a dock and "across the bay" were the street lights of "town." The drops and lights went mingling in my eyes and thru my lenses warped, effectively touch-of-water-on-eye whispering light-wrapping-round-corner spiralling into vision.



(5) 'space crushing of point field'

for reason ambiguous
meaning unknown interactively
and all rearrangement
if conceivable,
we draw our glances
perusing forcefully

breathe, please cosmically
thou art thru which
we why, so
effort expensive not
an apple becalled fruitless
or death deemed
sinister, because of darkness? nay;
we're born to bounce infinitesimally
back and forth toward
asway against the flow
reverse,
if we am
this is infinitely
do, please, for one self in we (eternal


(5) reflections - on the consequences of pragmatic empiricism noticed working alone

If one forgets their nature and/or becomes partially unaware, like I did, and comes in contact, like I did, with a great deal of words and concepts, and then goes, like I did, into contact again with that subtle and simply wordless being had in, the ride back down to Earth can seem like staggering genius- found out! To me this peom reads so beautiful yet stifled, from one moving toward the good all wrapped up in unwrapping layers of binds.



(6) 'real images (stuck looking inward)'

Understuckeyelid assembly of seaflower.
Above peninsula an overhead cloudwalker
dancing, in a shower of serene reaching into;
a sea of hand too much for notice, so we
glimpse oneself, momentarily forever,
in a cry of laughter on a shimmereflection
of;ghost trails one one one one
petal delicately tranquil. cannot we teeming?
!and continue now continue. Now:
aware. nothing one but always so no way.
Here: I'm gone I'm gone how otherwise, eh?no end,
that's the beginning, ends all over us, illusion


(6) reflections - i noticed and expressed myself without realizing, perpetually realizing

Hmmm... understuckeyelid assembly. I want to comment on this :)

Think something like 'buried-habitual-realmperceiving-guidance enstructureprocess.'
In this poem I'm talking about a vivid outreach fueled by seaflower. Of 'oceanic biocurrents beautiful.'

I'm also talking about what was immediately before me as I wrote it. I was on top of a hill in a clear-cutted area. I was up on the top of the hill looking out "across the bay" into "town" and from where I was, I could see completely over the peninsula the town rests on, seeing on to the open ocean and a vastly opening sky. On my mind was the dissonance in my appreciation of the view allowed by means of chopping down and haling out the trees of the forest.



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2 comments

26 Aug 2004 @ 05:24 by tochtli : wonderful ride
up and down the hills of your perception i went... man, i even tasted the cool wind of your freedom! thanks for sharing, my friend. you're a skillful word-juggler.  


26 Aug 2004 @ 05:56 by shawa : *sigh*
I second THAT! Thanks for the gift of your words. :-)  


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Other entries in
Saturday, December 1st 2007: The Bird Cage of Spirit
Tuesday, August 24th 2004: inside me
Saturday, August 21st 2004: In being; *(gasp)*... in being: real.
Saturday, August 21st 2004: Coming to terms with the bizarrely essential.



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