poetry – Page 2 – Thought Vacations

That thing you have to do

Oh that think you have to do.
You know the one…

That book you have to read,
the piano you have to learn,
the meditation you have to sit,
the meal you have to cook,
the language you have to learn.

To self improve is a struggle,
in which you have
that thing you have to do.

You may have your ideal self,
there within reach,
if only you had that skill,
were more learned,
had that something.

An ache
to be something more.

However it’s a shudder,
a piercing impatience held,
rattling in your mind.
Carving out that time for
that thing you have to do.

“Oh it’s worth it,”
you say to yourself.
“I will be better,
it will get better,
it has to!
I’ll learn to love it,
get that skill.
I just have to keep at it.”

But for now, it’s
that thing you have to do.

Up: the sky

Up: the sky.
Down: the earth.
Left: a tree.
Right: a friend.
Back: the bench.
Front: the grass.

Up: the ceiling.
Down: feet.
Left: a window.
Right: a wall.
Back: a shelf.
Front: a laptop.

Up: wood.
Down: plush.
Left: wood.
Right: wood.
Back: wood.
Front: wood.

First name basis

Morning Burt, how are the roses?
Hey Claire, you okay?
Hi Lily, congratulations!
Hello Mr. Williams, your tea is ready.

Shelly! Not in the house!
Izzy, can you not?
Ruben, feet off couch.
Chris, not now.

I love you, Phil!
You’re so kind, Alex.
My pleasure, Ash.
Thank you, Hank!

That’s a great point, Jade.
Couldn’t have said it better, Rory!
I agree with you there, Tom.
Exactly, Connor! Exactly!

You insist upon hurting me, Ollie.
Ravi. It affects me too, you know!
The audacity, Cam, the audacity!
Jesse… at least say goodbye!

I’ll be leaving now Mr. Williams, goodbye.
See you Lily, thanks again!
Bye Claire. You know where to find me.
Evening Burt. See you tomorrow.

Reminder to self

I walk to get there,
I work to buy that,
I watch to learn this,
I work out to date them.

I go there to be on time,
I buy that to have fun,
I learn this to feel smarter,
I date to have children.

Everything done should have purpose,
Everything done should have aim,
Everything done should be productive,
Everything done has a point.

I walk just to walk,
I work just to work,
I watch just to watch,
I work out just to work out.

I go there because I am going there.
I buy that because I am buying that.
I learn this because I am learning this.
I date because I am dating.

Somethings done can be done with no purpose in mind,
Somethings done can have no aim,
Somethings done don’t have to be productive or efficient,
Somethings done have no point and don’t have to have one.

How does anything get done with those somethings?

how to iambic

A game, a play, how fun. Invite me? Yes please!
Of games; my brain follows quite slow, no yes!
Wander to sleep, wonder to wake, yes no.
No trust, all sus. Beware! Go out, careful.
A form my eyes do see. A ghost, I fear.

Right there, it looks and feels like a willow,
But it does move and sway like the ocean.
There is no right, no wrong, in the word game.
Beauty, allure, glamor, polish, critique.

This is a site for my verbal vomit,
No one must read, some one might read, no bother!
I let my brain seep out onto this post.
Practice practice practice practice practice.

This did once start as utter nonsense, but now;
I do edit, to fit a metric line.
Tis fun, tis fun, enjoy I do. But really:
I just sound less Shakespeare, more Yoda.

Haiku Collection #1

Sitting on the couch,
I sip tea, turn to my friend,
I say “This is nice”

The bell rings out: “bong”,
I smile and stretch my legs out.
Meditation done.

Alarm rings aloud,
Says: wake up, wake up, wake up.
I drift back to sleep.

Oh! I remember,
This moment, to be here now.
Now: rising, falling

Mindfully I chop,
I stretch and bang my head: “SHIT!”
Not so holy now…

Who is the witness?
Who experiences this?
Who does not know? Me!

Lost in thought, theory…
Never meditating then…
Only reading lots.

Hmm, am I manic?
Or am I progressing well?
Neither, both, be mindful.

I write these poems,
Always aware of my pride,
Squash it, kill it, splat!

Squash it, kill it, splat!
Stop that thought, stop this thought… No!
Let it be and go.

Blink, swallow, tingle,
taste, smell, see, hear, feel, think, fart,
itch, sting, tense, sit, twitch.

I relax the frown,
My mind shoots out and expands,
No frown, no problem 🙂

I write haikus late.
I dig early morning vibes,
Helps loose the filter.

I will end it here,
Good bye, au revoir, ciao, peace!
Good bye-ku hai-ku.

Asking why on the cushion. Meditation Collection #1

I sit on the cushion,
I itch and twitch.
I say ‘itching’ and ‘twitching’,
To remind myself of what is.

I sit on the cushion,
I say ‘itching’,
Feel the itch,
My mind on the itch.

“Is there a mite on my face,
Crawling and making me itch?”
I say ‘wanting’,
I watch the desire to itch and scratch.

“Why is my face itching.
What could it be?”
I say ‘thinking’,
And leave it at the sense door.

“Why?”,
‘thinking’,
“But why?”,
‘thinking’.

The mindful mind is indiscriminate,
Just noticing the sensation.
There is no story to tell,
Just experiences to note.

I sit and I sit and I sit and I sit,
I itch and I note and I think and I note,
I remember the breath,
And I smile.

Three Marks

Some people say that some things

never change,

some things

feel satisfying,

and some things are

part of me.

They say that life is solid and real. That we can find happiness in the world.

Other people say that everything

is impermenant,

everything is

unsatisfying

and that both everything and nothing is

me.

They say that what we say as real, is as real as you perceive it. That we can find happiness within ourselves.

What do you think?

Sonnet 116 by Shakespeare and an AI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Love is not love which would change a man’s mind,
And make him alter his nature to suit you.
Love is not love that would make one man your slave,
And another master of you.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Love is not a god that will save us from our fate,
When we are dead or dying.

AI in italics, Shakespeare in roman.

24/7 mindfulness

Seeing, typing, feeling.

I have to note. Typing. What I am doing. Feeling. What I am feeling. Frustration. Where’s my attention. To be mindful. To remember. Hearing, tasting, smelling. Remember to be present. Itching. I’ll try to do it as much as I can. Feeling, pressing, sitting. But I feel like I am picking an object for attention for the sole purpose of noting. Confusion, anger, itching.

It can’t be done. Sitting, typing, feeling. No one can possibly remember all the time to do this. Grasping, blinking, rising. It’s relentless! Itching. I don’t have the vocabulary! Feeling.

Seeing, typing, feeling.