Ailill, 17 december 2015
Why did we meet?
Was it chance or timing?
That morning you tried to trot
through the crosshairs of my headlights
before you bounded off in flight.
First time,
naïve to this side of things,
rewinding my life into slow motion,
like a zen koan.
No thought
of future or past,
contradiction or contrast.
Just awareness,
that didn’t expect,
only hoped……I
might…….Survive.
Diving off the road,
the wheel
with a will of its own,
directed my fate
on this blind date
with destiny.
Between real
and fantasy;
like a dove,
I was Dr. Strangelove
racing toward destruction,
flying.
Not knowing....
where I might land.
Sand colliding,
my ride bucking,
runaway flashing lights,
stage of mind
in siren fright.
No door opened
to welcome me in.
It was just me,
rolling down that hill,
coming to a
stand still.
Strapped upside down,
in wheels spinning round.
Earthbound,
I’ve watched the sun rise again,
but since then, it's been unclear.
Deer,
Is it you,
breathing new life into these dreams?
Ailill, 16 december 2015
Invoked by the eternal Om
strange attractors
attract from a sea
of infinite possibility
Mutual arisings emerge
out of parallel pasts
Each arising a note
on a chromatic scale
Actualizing potentiality
Metaphors of becoming
reflect one another through
a process of relationship
between is and is not
In manifestation
time celebrates the rise
and fall of individual waves
Out of discordant rhythms
one gathers momentum
A frothy foam becomes home
to impromptu jazz melodies
syncopated to love's eternal beat
like a spider spinning her web
everything interconnected
strives toward underlying
unity
World remade
through the rhythm
of breath
Time begins again
Ailill, 22 october 2014
Child,
denied your rights at the family
dinner table of Horatio Algers
rags to riches fable,
heard your anger the other night
in the sounds of her cries,
the banging on the walls
coursing through apartment halls.
Spotted the fear in her eyes,
tears she could not hide
as she ran by my opened door.
Shocked to the core, powerless,
didn’t know what to do
to break up this family dispute,
knowing all you been through.
What? With my hands stained red
by the blood that you shed
when you were beaten for being different?
If I called the police,
how would it haunt me?
For you knew my hidden wounds.
You knew I’ve been hurt too.
It was a secret we kept between us,
dared not speak of.
Betrayal, blackmail, cuts both ways.
Within this play, each of us, shades of grey
clouding the way. Imprisoned by chains
holding us together, fault lies
on both of our shoulders.
Looking out from this prison cell
I find myself in, the irony of it sinks in.
The ways I’ve sheltered myself from you,
how you’ve hidden from me too.
Hold up a mirror and you will see
your own reflection within me.
Divided by religions,
Superficial competitions, other isms,
victimhood - oppression cuts both ways.
Wounded, brother against brother,
in denial of our shared trials.
This fear and mistrust between us,
goes both ways.
Forgotten son,
Is this the way to succeed?
Change history?
Defeat the oppressor within ourselves.
Don’t take it out on someone else.
Have we walked in their shoes?
Seen what they’ve been through?
Break the cycle of victimization,
create a transformation of consciousness
within us. Change this tragedy
into a comedy of survival.
There is no other way to see
our original face
the one we had before
the day we were born.
Ailill, 10 october 2014
Expecting experience
to match up to dreams
I echo my expectations
always seeking to be
who I am
like an origami boat
tossed and turned
down the flow of a stream
broken dreams lying around
keep me in a trance
disengaged from the dance
of the eternal now
see me as I wish to be seen
an image self created
self perpetuated in longing
for a cup
half empty,
never full
Ailill, 20 august 2014
Witnessing another side of life
Feeling it in my bones
Remembering what I left behind
Didn’t ask to die alone
Want to forget I keep on dying
a little more every day
but in winds of fate, no denying
The toll we all got to pay
This body, a wilting flower
Will I rise to see the dawn?
Clock ticks toward witching hour
With so much undone
Released from this limbo world
a light shines through the doorway
Shades of this passing side show
fade into the rain
Pouring myself some burgundy wine
Into this cup of bitterness
A couple sips to quiet this troubled mind
Into sweet forgetfulness
Promise me just one last dance
I’m feeling a second wind
Begging for a second chance
Need to tie up some loose ends
This dance is leaving me breathless
Raise that bar a little more
Don’t feed me to the wine press
Got to get back to where I was before
Released from this limbo world
a light shines through the doorway
Shades of this passing side show
fade into the rain
Fading into the rain...
Ailill, 31 july 2014
A symphony of violin
strings vibrate.
The bustle buzz of a housefly
rattles and hisses up the windpipe.
Internal schisms
project a cadence
in rhythm.
In spaces between
a flock of birds
convert to
subjects and verbs;
clothing the suchness of things
with butterfly wings,
seeding the garden
with meaning.
Unity denied,
seeing with two eyes
signs that signify
waves that lap the shorelines.
Standing on higher ground
to avoid being drowned,
water seeps through
magnetic pulls of me and you.
Ailill, 13 june 2014
Clear as a mirror
at dawn reflecting
a rising sun.
Early morning breeze
ripples across being
awakening to storm clouds
gathering upon the horizon.
Wind picks up speed
whipping white caps
swirling to motion.
Rhythms increase with the fever
of a tabla drummer
throbbing to rhapsodic rapture
sending waves clashing,
trespassing different
modes of manifestation.
Sky darkens
pensive moods
shift tones
to murky blue.
Internal restlessness increases
with the surging of the tempest.
Long sighs melt to
raspy grasping breaths.
In frustration
the blistering brew
of bubbling blood
flares forth the froth
of frenzied flame.
Steaming sizzle.
Sky cracks
echoed by the blast
of thunder claps.
Cathartic release.
Teardrops stream
from heavens above
wind whisks
the storm clouds on.
Arisen
the turbulence is gone
yet restlessness
lingers on,
drifting to
ripples.
Silence stills
to a shimmer
of clouds strolling by.
Again
being becomes
an image of the sun.
Ailill, 31 december 2013
Dreamed of a mourning dove's
call, 'who are you? Who? Who?'
Wind echoes through the trees.
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