The Indifferent Moment

Once conceived
What's focused on
Can be achieved;
Positive or negative
Are simply opposite positions
So don't be deceived;
Where your attention is
Doesn't even have to be
Joyously Believed!

What's acknowledged
Becomes reality,
Emotional attachment
Like a hook of intent
Makes Conception an inevitability . . .

. . and so,
The Moment Unfolds
Indifferently.



Okey, be warned . . the truth may hurt, but the moment is totally indifferent, it simply unfolds accordingly; meaning? Well, what one has in one's life, right now, is what one has acknowledged to oneself that one is truly worthy of. 


You can't fool consciousness (The Moment), it simply unfolds according to what you 'believe' to be real or true. It will unfold as your greatest fears, regardless of all protestations, if those fears are greater than your greatest desires . . .

. . "What you acknowledge is what you get!" There's no escape clause here . . . 

You Spruik Too Soon . . .

Don't go into your Spruik
For me
I really don't Spook
That easily;
Seen it all before.
Spiel like that?
Only makes me feel
Indifferently.
Not sitting on the fence here
Sorry, but you have no
defence . . .

. . . you see?

Probably not,
Your Spruik is
All thou be!
;-)

Please apply to all Self-opinionated Spiel thrusters!

Painted Lady

Painted Lady
Skin farded thick in her forte'd disguise.

Painted Lady
Mascara dripping darkened eyes.

Painted Lady
Perfume drenched to attract desired male fly's.

Painted Lady
Her smile; mock-modesty, her cheek?
Part paint;

Mostly a lie . . .


Painted Lady
Stiletto boots up to her thighs.

Painted Lady
Clothes twisted to attract the attention for which,

Her desperation Cries.

It's not about 

Imagined 

rights and wrongs, 

it is 

about seeing the reality behind 

The Masquerade!

Hey Rube!

Shout Hey Rube, rally the troops, 

Shout Hey Rube; put on your boots. 

Hit them now, 

They shout OW!. 

Shout Hey Rube to end all 

                              Public-Circus disputes!

1CorneredPoet2ManyCircusDisputes

What's this limerick all about? Well now, the term Hey Rube originated in the 19th century when circuses were rowdy affairs and "Hey Rube" was the rallying cry to call all circus people to help in a fight with townspeople. It's not clear whether Rube in this term was someone specific or simply a use of the informal term rube (shortened form of Reuben) for an unsophisticated person from a rural area. Earliest documented use: 1882. Visit: http://www.spaciousplanet.com/world/guide/hey-rube-the-circus-battle-cry

Poetastery: In Art Form!

Creativity

Deserts me

As I write

These Wrongs,

Whilst Righting

The World

With a Poets 

Rhythm less

Songs.

All along

Imposing this 

Need

To be

Nothing more than

An empty

Christmas Tree . . 

. . in

May . .

. . . a poetaster . . . 

I

Have Nothing

Much

To Say.

This 

Is

Poetastery

In

The Extreme,

All

I can Offer is

An

Entanglement

Of

Worms

Drowning

In

A Stream . . 

. . Of

Wordsmith Mediocrity.

But,

This Too Is

Art,

He (um, that's me) Declared

With the Bravado 

Of

A Bottomless

Fart.

1Poetaster4You2Read

Ok, well I just felt like writing something! So be it . . . 

Without A Doubt

Acceptance,
Letting go now
Of all frustrations
And their emotional
Relations,
Such as Fear, Doubt
And Anxiety,
Whom creep up on me
Surreptitiously,
Like dust
Settling on the table
Of my Life.

Wiping the slate
Clean,
With the duster of
Presence,
What does FEAR
Mean:
False Expectations Appearing Real?
Without a Doubt,
Another of life's Lessons.

The Wayward Yogic Poet

"Yogic Poetry?"
He asked
Aghast!

Yes I've decided
To publish some
At last.

"Hm, why have you taken
So long to take
This step?"

Because I haven't
Written any
Yet!

Well, actually I have
But it's plain
To see,
I need more time
To make
Poetic Yogi
History . . .

. . . I'll put the kettle on!

On my other blog, 1Yogi2Many, I have written plenty of poetry . . . of a sort. Although I have to say that much of my work comes to me in Aphoristic style, oops, what does that mean? I mean in the style of an Aphorism or even a Stanza . . . or some such stylization of words. Basically what writes through me, writes through me . . what happens, happens . . is there really any choice? Sometimes, I find, there are no words to write with, just as there are days when I don't have the legs to dance with ;-/ ....

... you know exactly what I mean, right? Is it a problem, no, what is . .  . Is.