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Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened & the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus’d searching
here & there for teachers & friends.

Moment of Freedom
as the prisoner
blinks in the sun
like a mole
from his hole

a child’s 1st trip
away from home

That moment of Freedom

Hi Everybody!
Here I recite my poem 'Yearning Difficulties'. I will leave you to make from it your own meaning which I would be interested to hear about. I suspect that there may be many at Wrong Planet who relate to this poem and I would be interested to know how you relate to it as well. Thanks for listening. Have a great day! Jim

I'm drowning in shades of indigo, everything just seems to be going so slow.

I don't know what I'm doing here, surrounded by my deepest fears.

Everyday feels the same, who knew reality could be so tame?

I grow ever so aware, that my days go by, handled with little care.

A part of me can't help but think, is this the time that I start to sink?

Into the familiar shades of indigo, a former comfort that won't let me grow.

Yet it's all I know.

Thanks Lost_dragon,

Have a GrEaT dAy!

Best wishes,

Jim

Cotard's (someone suffering from it, and how the individual finds something/someone that makes him/her feel alive even if he/she still feels dead; interpret how you wish)

I feel dead,
when I'm not around you
I feel dead,
when I'm around you
I feel alive,
when I'm around you

that might sound like a rather shortlist
but there's only a few things that exist
that can revive one from Cotard's,
make someone feel alive
a deck of all hearts, magic cards
and that alive man's hand is you
as the fire that burns the hottest, is blue

The Moth beats in my skull,
It has the wing-lift of something worse.

She commanded I bare my flesh,
just like I still own something worthiness.

The suture of my soul was opened,
so contents are being lose.

Suddenly my shroud is marked with blood,
because my skin is peeling in patches.

What more could I become?
I tremble when the wind comes.

But I had sworn to serve,
this oath is more powerful than death.

Sheath me before the final change,
I will bring my borrowed skin for this last chance.


She wear a ring set with my pupil,
but she keep the gem turned inwards.

The look in her eyes told me that,
she cares about my well-being with wholeheartedness.

I see your benevolence even with my eyes closed,
as someone once looked directly at the sun rise.

I am a shadow as your company,
for executing your desire in the season of ambitions.

Send me to accompany your will to a place,
where I can perform the dance you want to dance.

My fangs meet in the target's neck.
and the only audience is this sacrifice.

No one to see a moth rise from his open mouth,
then pass forgotten into a ominous silence.


Her rosy lips were against my ear,
I can see her teeth, hooked like a serpent's.

I must be careful of her venom,
when we join for a lethal kiss.

Tonight we bring a viper to move with us,
who is scale-masked and sinuous.

We will disrobe with more vehemence,
the pain is so pleasurable, like tearing scabs.

Her fingers went through my sternum and grabbed my heart,
this wrench is like a root torn from the earth.

The fluff of lepidoptera tickles my throat,
then an insect pours from my mouth like sickness.

There were brilliant lights burning in her eyes.
The Glory is a question, and Moth always answers Yes.

hours spent clocking
and sweater string pulling
like crooked childhood teeth
or chunks of quartz
from middle school geology books

myopic figurine snowglobed in tears
diamond shards and butterfly dust
stares beyond the glass
for all her junkyard charity
she couldn’t keep them around

Youthful Folly

When in our hearts and in our minds, such sweet memories we see,
of youthful folly that learned age, does so oft forgetful flee.
It takes all fetters from the heart, unchained to roam the valleys wide,
we then seek the ones we did refuse good counsel of, oh youthful pride.

You showed me wings I thought were chains. How should I learn to fly with these?
So swiftly I wandered through the woods til briars tangled 'round my knees.
While thrashing frantic to free my ways, I soon found 'twas all in vein.
So carefully then, did I unweave, and in so doing wove again.

Lo when at last my bonds were loosed, behold what I did see,
that from those briars what I had made were those same wings you'd wished for me.
But now I see that in my youth, my follies, they were not fetters.
For although your wings be beautiful things, me thinks I like mine better.

(These are lyrics to an acoustic guitar song I wrote many years ago with a soft and meandering yet slightly dissonant, non repeating melody which resolves at the end into the simple hook line. There is lots of breathing space in between the verses. The lyrics reference some North American Native folklore and is about growing up in the wilderness of northern Ontario and revisiting that as an adult many years later.)

Book of Tales

Sitting in this stoney bower,
the grey skies, folding all around.
How many day and hour,
have I waited for the wind to sound,

the first cold blasts of Autumn,
the first warm winds of Spring.
Carry me home Chinook my friend,
upon your golden wings.

Where on your shores of often tried,
to seek the other out,
far from the cries of the city skies,
and shadowed reasons of doubt.

I found amidst the pine strewn floor,
beneath Windago's rages,
a book of tales I'd writ before.
My childhood joys, upon the pages.

Every day changes, in this book of tales.