Poetry Corner

Kindergarten Poets by Robert R. Ciccolini

Some of them like to use
big, shiny, esoteric words that
leave you stuck somewhere-
lost.

But some of them understand,
and coax something out of you

like goosebumps or a tear- or just
plain awe. They understand the
richness in simple things:

a hug hello, honesty,
paste.

Like the paste my son used to stick
the sun to the sky in kindergarten.

It's different than the stuff that can hold
a truck in the air. It's more soft

like the running
hug hello and
the honest eyes of my son.

There's no cunning there.

So take all your big, shiny words,
all your sophisticated rant-
all your Kant.

Just leave me alone with my son.

His hugs and honest eyes,
his kindergarten sun

will
stick to me forever.

tonsorman@yahoo.com

We Were One by Robert R. Ciccolini

I wanted to leave something for my kid:

So I started to write about some of the things
I thought she should know,
some of the things that left a mark.

Like when right after she was born
how I fiddled my pinky into her
delicate hand..

And how she clenched it so
tight and I felt so big that
there was nothing but us,
and how whatever I was
thinking stopped so it
could listen to her voice-

The one before language..

Before the abc's, before time,
before all the pain, before the
first hunger pang, the first
yearning she would ever
know undelivered..

When it was like my
finger was that cord for
a second and
we were one.

tonsorman@yahoo.com

This is who I AM

Who I am, is a Blank sheet with no edges, Life is this blank sheet. Pure and simple Consciousness where everything and no/thing happens. In this sheet everything arises in it, and everything vanishes into it, such manifestations are manifestations of it towards it, but it is not it. It is through it that life knows it self… A Riddle for the mind and an answer for the heart lays on such sheet.
To be the sheet is to accept the writings that raises on the sheet, you cannot be anything else rather than the sheet it self, but you can forget who you are by thinking that you are the writings that appear on such sheet.

Release your self from the writings on the sheet and you shall find what was never lost…release your self from your self and you shall find your self… as being the self and only, the ONE self.

This is who I AM

and:

Life is made of moments

In fact Life is the moment it self

A moment that most forget.

So One can say, to forget the moment is to forget Life

So what is One living?

Is it a dream state

A state that ignores the Present moment

And lives only in time

How does One live in time?

By simply thinking of it, by living trapped within his though

He the “One” forgets Life the moment.

To live within his thoughts

But Life is not thoughts

Thoughts are clouds that appear in the moment

The moment is the stage where everything takes place

Including the act of not being in the moment.

But it is only and act

So One can pretend and act

To be or not to be – In the moment

I go blind sometimes,

By a Light shining more than
Human eyes can bear,

I lose my senses in a fragrance
That would kneel down flowers,

I fall enslaved by a Nectar

So heavy and sweet, that makes
Passion seem a meaningless dust,

One drop dripping and
Creation dissolves.

An angels choir
Enraptures me, Sound shrouds my skin
In a Golden mist.

I wonder: am I still of this realm?

I raise my hands, enchanted
Rose petals spring up in my palms.

Who needs Hearing to listen?

I have a Universe within me,
Still I am floating into the middle of the Universe.

Where is my body? I See
Only flashing Light,
No contours, I am only
Substance, quivering by
My aliveness.

Flames dissolve
My warm lips starving for Touch,
Longing bends down branches,
Under the burden of its fruits.

Breath of Love everywhere.
Spread within this Perpetual
Play of Atoms, I dwell
Into this Heaven of your Heart,
Forever.

For the original post with a photo of the beautiful author, please visit
www.mareninthesky.com

It's important (for me) to touch on what is human, and not pretend that my awareness has magically constructed a wall of infallibility around what I call "my life". Knowing the self and maintaining the awareness I deem so crucial means looking objectively at all aspects of life from a continuously fresh perspective. This continuity results in an increasingly profound expression that is alive and often manifests (again, for me) in written form. I maintain a slight aversion to the idea of obtaining "enlightenment", for when it is known one immediately realizes it is not a gain of anything, but more an acknowledgement of the simple, ordinary "isness" that is the miracle we call life. Life, and all that implies for each of us, is itself the treasure. We must stop seeking perfection and understand that everything is perfect just as it is. It could be no other way. It is with this attitude I share my foibles and accomplishments through this medium called poetry, knowing all along it's just a game I'm playing with myself. My perfect/imperfect self.

It Doesn't Have To Rhyme by Robert R. Ciccolini

She said it doesn't have to rhyme:

But what she really said was when you get
done with that thing I hope there's something
that sings to how you want me..

How you think I'm beautiful, how your not
just using me like some machine, how
you've seen that I'm more than some
whore, than some door to a place you
deface then depart.

She said it doesn't have to rhyme,
but what she really said was sometimes
she feels so close that between her and me

This silent peace

That thought doesn’t know,

What love lies here,

In this space that is all heart.

One can almost feel its arms,

Yet beyond anything reachable

It is just all there is

And that’s why there is only love.

What rest is here

In this mindless place,

Too empty and too full

For a “want” to enter.

All along it has been here,

This silent fullness,

The stillness beneath

The dream of all that stirs,

This eternal heart.

For more exquisite poetry from dear Susan, please visit her beautiful sites

www.nondualpoetry.com

www.nondualpointing.com

Out of Season by Robert Ciccolini

Come take a walk with me-
come for the ride..

I just want you to talk to me,
meet me outside,
of the trap that has sprung
from the floor
of the rage we hold onto.

So many times I have stood
with my ear to the door
of our lies,
I have tallied the score
we have etched on the board,
it's a tie when we both
are deceiving.

There's a box of humility
there on the shelf,
it's not easy to reach
or so I tell myself,

or maybe it's locked by
some unknown device,
if you go first I'll go twice.

So here we stand
we're all broken,
and all of the lies
we have spoken
continue to heave,

and the signs in our windows
read closed even
when we are open.

With my staff in my hand,
with my pride on my shoulder,
my feet in your reason,
our blood on the wall,

come now I beg you
the blizzard is gone,
all that's been left is this song.

Go now
don't ever look back,
you're too cool now to act
like the dream is alive
and you know,

the love that we knew
it was true,
now it's just
out of season.

POSTED BY ROBERT R. CICCOLINI AT 5:36 PM

Spun Gold’ was published against the backdrop of a glorious sunset by dear Katie Davis and Sundance Burke in the January 2010 edition of their beautiful newsletter “Friends of the Heart” — Friends of the Heart January 2010.pdf

A house divided in itself cannot stand.

I felt the Truth, yet spoke of illusion,

falling back into dream,

pretending I could be suggested to of ‘otherness,’

when all along

Spun Gold’s Immanence

functions flawlessly.

Perfection never challenges itself,

so why would I?

By listening to the serpent,

I veiled myself in Ignorance,

traded in my Identity for nothingness

that could never become Substance.

STOP to these foolish games played by no-one!

Spun Gold it was all along,

all of it, this body, mistaken as an obstacle to Peace,

these politics, countries, people, weather, food,

oh, how many times did the serpent’s whisper appear as

these innocent images

that yearn to be truly recognized again,

longing to serve only THAT

that they, too, can’t but BE.

Faint memories of being the Master weaver reappear.

Fierce, loyal, strong and fearless do I stand Alone-Once.

Gently, tenderly allowing All to be Itself again.

The shining sea of Spun Gold collapses

and only total Openness remains,

non-definable, ungraspable

Silence.

The Fable of Humanity

Infinite, shimmering Light that I Am,

then:

unconditioned waves, dreaming and forgetting their Source.

Now, behind the veil of my Self

playing seek and find,

collapsing my witnessing wave

into particles, this,

further clouding the memory of my True Self.

Identifying as a particular particle,

i seem lost and wander,

don't know what to make of the other particles i dreamt up and observe,

so thick seems the veil of forgetting.

Following the call of my own heart,

witnessing happens, looking into the dream

and feeling myself as unconditioned waves again,

realizing the allness of my ocean.

Allowing all the seemingly lost particles

back into my heart

from which i had expelled them in my

fear and confusion of what i was,

they, too, are freed to shimmer with endless potential

and once again remember playing wave.

Looking at them through the Love I Am,

i find my way home further and further.

Looking at them through fear,

i, too, keep forgetting and wandering, searching.

Standing steadfast in lovingly recalling

all my disenfranchised parts home,

witnessing what looks different,

and realizing it as the same Self,

even that collapses,

where now is the witness gone?

Pure, shimmering, undimensional

Light remains,

resting in Itself,

rejoicing in Its Eternal Presence.

The only thing real

about all that I see

is All-luminous Self,

in ‘time’ hiding as ‘else.’

Pure Consciousness is simply what IS

and always already abiding as THIS.

One heavenly canvas,

refreshingly alive–

sparkling brightly as glorious Light.

When perfect peace seems somehow disturbed,

Pure Being never once is perturbed.

Don’t look at what appears to be causing pain,

no, quickly reel that shadow in again!

Ask: to whom to these arisings occur?

and feel the entire witness disappear–

See it for the objectified ignorance it is,

and that denial in or of itself cannot exist.

Pure Awareness only prior to any ’sense’

that untouched Presence generously lends.

The observer thus dissolved into thin air,

Joyous Wonder covers ‘everywhere.’

All illusion now completely left

and with it any seeming effect.

Shadows cannot continue to fight

where all that remains is eternal Light.

One Cause now that is Its Own Effect

not capable of straying from Stillness’ Rest.

Not even that is ultimately true,

for there to be power,

it needs to have two…

…at least to human concepts

that like to make sense

of what ignorant nonsense pretends.

Gentle no-power, spacious and clear

remains as All Awareness here,

until then,

invite All to return

into the Heart of their

beautiful Origin.