Rants on Loves Essence

I close my eyes, long back, days, years, months stretch, I stated & had started this quest.

Cool silence, so tranquil, safe from the world. The heart lie under a thatched roof that may not get hot in the breeze and not grow wet under storm. I smile because I am hardly here, not nearly disturbed, distant from the phenomenal world. Silent is wrapping my mood as a child would feel in a cozey blanket or a baby in mother's womb. I am the arched plant enjoying gentle rain, shielded from the suns burn by rolling clouds, harboring trickling water through the stem, branching out to rejuvenate it's limbs.

Alas there is peace in a world of all conflicting
Here and now there is no boundary between me and that calm bounty
Peace has shown it's face
It's mellow eyes of light, soft stroking hands, gosling hair, taming the waves of this experience
Creating harmony, glowing, fragrant, with a soft smile
Happy nor sad, a cupped pair of hands permeable to water
Giving & receiving, foraging to let go, emerging & receding a running spring
Recycling, to and from the same source...

~~~

From this limited perspective, love is a strange thing, refuting label, needing no premise, only a gap, a tint, a space of silence to enter and expand, intoxicate & clarify. I feel, that in this love the battling worlds may merge & meet, there bellows & storms will ease and prosperity will reach full fruition. This love is strange, it has wrung me dry of pestilent sorrow, it has torn the limbs of jealous disapproval, while impregnating the seeds of humble patience. It has forsaken me with a prodding sting of these elements so I may know purification. Though I speak, it is not for teachings sake, nor praise, it is as a child gazes towards a lightly draped pool of lilies, that pull away so he may see his reflection skimming the water's depths. Imminent beauty, still lasting waters laying me to rest in the deepest corridors of blue.

Hands fold in prayer that collapse in persecution
In pains & pangs we leave our sheltered abodes
Through tepid plains and rolling hills
Hardened imagery and verbal quicksand
Wide & Far we March & Maneuver ...

There is a garden yet choked by weed
Whose plants poise perfection, and do not dissolve come winter
It is a field sewn by personal sorrow, with seed cracked to budding
In quiet tears, mute voices, and words unspoken
Occasionally we revisit this garden
To find solace, rest, and everlasting peace

In the bird laying song to the morning wind
We may hear a note of it's cool splendor
As a flowers fragrance exalts the air
But a touch of it's scent may greet us
In these aspects, a glistening garden can come into view

In the summers sparkling sun
In the first folly of spring season
In the impermanence of autumn leaf
In the cold crackle of winter chill
Each grants us opportunity, to again see anew

To see change as participle of growth
To see birth and death flourish the same
In moments like these we return
To those green shrubs withstanding time
Imperishable and always alive


I know that this poem will be torn by the flow of time
By hungry hands or face of impedance famished for truth
But it's message contained shall never foul, or spoil, or fade, or die
For it is free of time and transience
Born of transcendent impulse
It is a flower in this garden of love

A Letter to Myself

Calm in collecting my thoughts, There is no quiet matching that of a poet in the woods. Less his mind speak in arrangement. Here, each tree gives it's life to the land, leaves scatter the ground as a blanket would in colors of brown grey & olive. With feeling hardly stirred it is like a breaths subtle intake. I wonder, Is this seeking of reclusion just to find resonance? I look down & see old aims & goals tatter a mind. Life has shown me many things, may it never show me to be dull. As I relax in the shade of the idea to be a cosmonaut sent to ease the world-weary. Truth be told I don't know. With half a tear I think that one could find a home here amongst the oak & ash trees. Although in these days it's my acceptance that you must keep a balance between either or, in & out of establishment and nature, and it is such how the spirit moves. Form to formless, Uniformed to untied.

It grows darker amongst these creatures of wooden stature. But I wanted to write. Blessed be the soul with endurance to brave itself out. I see a long pathway ahead that will pass in an eyes blink. May the moments produce wealth for myself, my friends, and all spheres of life.

Written in Service,

Matt Earley

The pelting drops hang upon torrents
While rooftops deflect the running waters
We keep our hands folded in prayer
Drifting through these layers of storms
Our focus has gifted us wings to ride the storm;
Ascend clouds to collide with the widening sky
Finally to merge, like a cloud letting down rain
For earth to soak and swim
Sun to scoop and precipitate
The puddles dry, evaporating towards the sky
So we find freedom
Being one with the cycles of change

Deliverence

I look close, on the blended preordained

My seeing eyes do naught but receive

Like clockwork is the machine human

Whose second beauty is last found within

Deliverance, oh sons & daughters of Abel

A tourniquet solider has come upon you

It's lips curl stanzas, feet march forwards

Creeks of black velvet, surpassing sullen mistake

Sacral ember, deep voiced & meritorious

You calculate nothing, simply switched to working

Your hand strung synapses deny white noise

Music witnessing it's own composition, enlivened

Never have I stepped on ground so abundant

Never have I seen a lake reflect so impartial
What do these two mirrors adjacent perceive?
Beauty of an alter element, finessing tables of periodic

The Spoils of Sprit

Spoils of the sprit ooze through toils of the lyrics
Broadcast to the masses but a funny few adhere it
Earlier thinking on lines of self improvement, utilizing fullness of my being
White moon
Now in basics, beauty.
A comprehension of which lets the cumb drop to the floor
The tip of my mouth has forsaken words
Works are made from the impeccable silence
Solitude, service, even slavery
It's odd how we prevaricate the unharnessed dark
Sex without a partner
These are the effects of meditation

Point a finger at the moon, an eye to the sun
By all intricacy of silk sound & air
What borders life I'll follow with a red laced bag
Picking up parchments and artifacts to show others
Already my pace is a thousand leeps ahead
Those turtles stuck in the sand resemble home
Constant, for them, the brisk lay nowhere
I'll find something forever in the ever shifting
This hill I climb that kicks up dirt and exhales slumber
Foreign, distant, but much closer to history
If my mind unlatch than I may see it for it's worth

What borders life i will follow
Never faltering to bridge it's center to loose endings
Delving & Diving, I won't forget this impulse
Bridges require effort, extraneous and even stupid
But when a machine is self automated
A floor requires supervision, instinction, instruction
& often times conjunction

Love is the awakener, it's force rifts & spits
Taking risks, most often get off, covet gain, forget loss
If I were to say abandon both for the bounty, each country
Relies on another for contrasting works of wonder
Some summation others plunder, each and all receive wet thunder
Tides relinquish there waves to each shore, don't you see a sort of unity
A piece of puzzled eulogy, this type text get's confusing

Cracks Burns & Bruise, worn down tennis shoes
Good to spin and more to use, infallible detail
Printed papers of the news worldly woes & self abuse
Were developing so don't designate the death lazers quite yet
We take leaps and bounds with the stages lost
So what if it's a game, I'm still playing catch
So you say it's a dream from a space that has slept


And to awaken with effort is to push forward reset
Remain & accept, enlighten forget
Forge the polished whims to whimsical things
I'm wasted tasting on the fragrance of a day wholly lived
Drop a borrowed W, leave an L to forget

Embracing Death's Grasp

A gentle corresponding touch
A wreathed hand, and coarse throat
A tender friend for guidance
Death knocks and perches to wait
He tells you, Fear not, fear not!

Black garments entice to scare
Buried beneath is a subtle hand
This is a passage to travel
Dismounting from one worn steed
Worry not, Come swift and calm!

This robed stranger requires you
Lace his hand and plot a new land
You will know it and again smile
You will know it and again be shy
In your rejoicing with this character
Again you will be made young!