Thought ∼ Poetry and Poem-like Writings

Back  |  Home  > Thought > Poemlike
For light or darkness

In the light we are used to focusing our eyes on objects.
Only if we become creators do we begin to see the light.
Even if we turn off the light and try to see beyond the superficial
We are plunged into the pure brilliance of darkness
Even then only for a moment do we live in the world beyond image
For we are scared that if we stayed in that time
We might begin and so complete ourselves
In such a world governed by change how could we exist?
If we do not begin, we never know what makes us
And so continue to seek not for light or darkness
But in light and in darkness
And hold on to the familiar comfort of our confusion.

Hallelujah to the figure at eight

Every poem is only just finished
How long have we been asking God to come?
How long has Gods holy procession taken?
How long have the mighty gates been open?
Only the empty shell can hear the sea.
When I say hallelujah where are you?
When I sing do you bring silence?
And does your silence bring me song?
Without time or space how can God be moving?
But how can a circle or a figure eight be still?
I, says God, am the one you want to be with when you want to be alone
When will you be bored of waiting. . .
Waiting for me and come home?

Could I Speak Asleep

Could I speak asleep, I would give you
I could speak your tongue

If small voices could, be undug from
fear unheard of

From your mind says she if training to
Again oh!
Talk voice!
Oh sing you!

Horse of moonlocks
C. 1996

Are you a resident of your mind?

Are you a resident of your mind?
Or is your mind a resident of your country
If your country is just an idea in your mind?
Are thoughts the residents of your mind?
Or is your mind a visiting traveler?
Are my writings on the page or in your imagination?
The body is not controlled by the mind
The mind is not controlled by the body
What is it that I can believe I can control?
Absolutely absolutely absolutely none of anything
The totality of nothing is my domain
How hard can I work and it were the same
As if I were in a deck chair reading the paper
If you are waiting you are wishing or believing
That someone else has the powers you do not have
You only have the power to begin
And to keep on beginning
Until you see nothing else but beginning
Until you see no beginning of each beginning
Just as once created a world has no beginning
And once lost a world has no end
For if there were an end all beginnings would be unmade
In the beginning was the word
Once you have redefined yourself as this word
You have become the beginning
And are free from the denial of completion
As you speak the words are not taken out of your mouth
As you remember the images do not become unfamiliar
Are your feelings like a wash of colors blending into abstraction
Surely this is the true work of control
So that which you do not understand is what you are
If this is the work of angels
There may be reasons why you do not think that you are Angels
Is this the work of a creator? To what end?
You continue the poem!
Or does the poem continue you?
C. 1996

Puzzle Without Pieces

If in finding myself I am ashes
Then I am seeking for myself with fire
If in finding myself I am lost
Then in the finding of myself I am still seeking
If I give away pieces of myself as gifts
Then I am left with the spaces in the picture
If I gave up seeking there might be something left to find
I seek for the lost pieces, but nothing fits
If I gave away all the pieces
Then I would find the picture that has no borders
If, instead of giving away the pieces
It is easier to see the big picture
If you have just a few pieces of the little picture
You see the table only where you are missing a piece
You see reality only through the holes in your life
You find yourself only in the gaps where you are missing
If the game does not continue
Then the table disappears
Without the table there is no game
Without the surface there are no depths
For then all is foam
To know the surface for what it is, reflection
For where there is reflection there is nothing high or low
Only when you know yourself for what you are, reflection
Can you think to see the shade and there find height and depth
Then what am I?
I am neither height nor depth and yet am both
I am neither lost nor found and yet am both
The water holds up the sky
The sky holds the gem of water into the ring of earth
One last thing
Do not seek for the shade in reflections
Only by seeing through yourself will you see what you are
Where do inner and outer meet?
Where each reflects the other, each are both
And what if both are both?
What is everything? It is each thing. It is one thing.
Finding is in the hand of seeking
Light is in the hand of darkness
Life is in the hand of death
Each holds the other, but what we truly are holds both.
C. 1996

My Will is My Law

I the signatory soul
On the first I have come to my last
And there I have found my own free will.
Though I might give in at any moment
Under the severe strain and paralyzing pressure
Only now do I understand what it is to be sound of mind
Only when I am exploding with the density of my destiny
Can I irrevocably state
That no one can help me for I need no help
Neither can anyone achieve anything true
On their own behalf
How then can I ask for anything
Knowing that
No one has any other behalf except for their own
Unless they are a god
In which case that which benefits the self
No matter what the situation no one benefits
Because everyone benefits
But no one will acknowledge truthfully
That they are everyone
And that is without words
Because responsibility is the speaking dead
All that is otherwise than personal is legal
Only by living as if you were dead
Can you keep the law
So all that has an otherwise
I irrevocably refute without further question
To live is the law that is reality itself
To die is merely the law
But laws are no more than feelings leading nowhere
Thus to die is to be going nowhere
But not to nothing
And fines for valuing violations
And for refilling empty words
The law will threaten to withhold protection:
From accident, from injury,
From crisis or catastrophe
From life
Only when our lives are dead with fear
Do we have the law's protection
And when we might as well be dead
We are
A protection racket for the fearful few
Their power is false their wealth is false
The respect that they receive is false
For they believe that life did not have to happen
But life is the only law there is
And to love is the only way to live
These are the only terms for agreement
And agreement is the only declaration of the soul
I am the signatory soul
On the last I have come to my first
And there I have found my own free will
C. 1996

Lover, Love Thyself

In your complaining you are transparent
In your uncaring you are comparing
Your criticizing is kindest words
Wearing a concern is much less unvoiced
Your worth's prizing are not love things
In your blaming you humbly confess

Tell it to go to...
Not if you are...
Not if feeble in day
You are in deep to peace
Sex is true toy our

My is you you you
Love is in you in your hands reach
Your discovering more is red
Is yours also?
Oh indelible deeply
For if you are listening
It is life if it fills to ceiling
tell today they are coming
but needed for ease
Topless bottomless
Touches itself by opposing
Not if lies are sexually transmitted
Are you in your ending
Your dog is for lechery
Tonguing your leg fountain
Filling your lip jelly brooch
Love is free to those who buy sex
Tell the lover to love thyself
If you write bad poem paint on it.
Mid 1990s

If All Our Thoughts Were Written Down

If every thought were written word
Could you discern profound from absurd?

Your eyes are blunt as your hands empty giving
Flicker and flutter and you call that living

The thoughts that you skim are the cream of milked kindness
Life's genius is sieving poverties royal behindness

Its because so many thoughts are lost
That inspiration is found

O God

Why is there such sickness and pain in the world,
Such poverty such helplessness such hopelessness?
O face it! Our morals our dignity, it's all so vain;
Hope and despair are the same
These words are all that remains of this world;
What, is this world a cosmic drain?
The innocent sieve can only hold mire
As the water of life runs through rusting the wire
Death, murder, torture, endless pain and sickness
Everybody's tired, rust spreads so no water can pass
Now life's water is held it's all muddied and mired
Rust eats through the mesh until the sieve has expired
Almost everyone cruel, it's a farce,
And almost everyone gives only to their own class,
This must be a terrible farce!
This poor world is evil, desperately evil,
We wallow in ignorance; we pay to stay ignorant,
We use all our resources for ignorant causes,
We are helplessly, hopelessly, desperately evil
We wish people like me would be quiet and we will.
November 17, 1996

Where Do I Come From

Where do I come from?
Press return,
What is the hope I hinge on?
I am the door.
If I am asking,
If the words come to meet me
If I feel whole in confusion
If sugar is sweet for everyone
What if instead of trying to convince I tell a story?
The answer doesn't cancel out the question.
The question is always young
It is always learning and growing
But if it is too supple it ties itself in knots
The answer is hard; it penetrates the ground
It thinks it has the light, but the light has it
But all that light just dries it out
Until it cracks, it snaps
And expresses all the light it lacks
Then turns to black while it is burning.
Not Dated

Misha Bittleston ¦ Ink Paintings  ¦ Tigers with Wings  ¦ Eight Two  ¦ Contact ¦ Terms & Conditions
Copyright © 1997-2019 Misha Bittleston. All rights reserved