Poetry

Ailill


Ailill

Ailill, 17 december 2015



Dream Deer

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?


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Ailill

Ailill, 16 december 2015



Multiverse

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


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Ailill

Ailill, 24 november 2014



Vision

Lost on a misty mountaintop 
chasing Hyakoju's fox
distant vistas unclear
draws presence to what's near


an alpine flower 
breathes through
the early morning dew


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Ailill

Ailill, 22 october 2014



Both Ways

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.
 


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Ailill

Ailill, 10 october 2014



Expectations

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


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Ailill

Ailill, 20 august 2014



Fading into the Rain

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...


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Ailill

Ailill, 31 july 2014



Wind Rushes In

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.


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Ailill

Ailill, 6 july 2014



Presence

Listen to the bullfrogs sing, moonlight reflects off the stream


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Ailill

Ailill, 13 june 2014



Reflections

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.


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Ailill

Ailill, 31 december 2013



Wind Echoes

Dreamed of a mourning dove's
call, 'who are you? Who? Who?'
Wind echoes through the trees.


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