JACK O’LANTERN’S POETRY:
A DIVINE THREAD:
There is a thread that hangs from a star in the sky,
That is lassoed around a Spirit that is noosed to your mind.
WITH DIVINE WISDOM:
A rabbit fell down a rabbit’s hole,
and met a mole who showed him his soul.
The mole had stated: “YOU ARE A WORM.”
And the rabbit turned into a squirming worm.
The worm then stated: “THIS IS A TRAP.”
And the mole then died of a heart attack.
And the rabbit knew not what to do,
to change his worm into something True.
So he concentrated mighty hard,
and formed the cocoon of a tight pupa.
And the pupa cracked with a butterfly wing,
and she flew out of the rabbit hole, and became rabbit again.
With Divine Wisdom.
The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout,
to try to get the blessing of the priest inside the house.
He climbed & crawled & found him, and the priest raised up a shoe,
and said: “You foolish spider, I am the Devil in regards to you.”
And the spider was confused, by the owner of the house,
So he took his newfound Wisdom, and moved backwards down the spout.
And he said: “I HAVE GONE BACK, BUT MY MIND ENHANCED A STEP.”
And the priest who wanted the spider dead, then, fell dead.
The sun sets here, and rises somewhere else.
It’s death is a birth, like the story of the world.
The blueprint is there, bright in the sky,
and yet beings still fear, for the day that they’ll die.
But the sun speaks loud, if you’re a Symbol-Man.
With day comes night, and then day again.
And so, too, do you, if you study the specs.
You’ll exit from here, and enter again.
If you choose not chains, like the enslaved sun,
you must die with a smile, in order to go home.
To fix yourself now, whilst you are still day;
whilst the seconds, they tick, towards another entry –
to fix yourself now, is what you must do,
to break chains of the planet, to go somewhere new.
Is there anything but IS-NESS? Is there not just what IS?
Is there anything else, but what is All that lives?
I am quite confused at my riddling tongue,
which is spoken through mind to the tip of my pen.
I speak not myself, it is the Spirit who caught me,
Drip, drop, ink-clots in a cabin in the spring.
The man, he has a language, for what he can write down,
so he takes a peacock feather, and dips it in the ground.
And he paints a colorful picture, for all the world to see,
and then sits and stares in silence, at the peacock by the stream.
A string of pearls a mile long.
The length between the pearls are gone.
Nirvana’s come and made it clear:
betwixt the lives and moments here,
there is no middle of events,
they’re all together, one sequence,
one experience, it’s crystal clear,
Nirvana’s Come & Cleansed My Mirror.
WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK:
Whistle While You Work.
The work is in the dirt.
Within the dirt of Mind & Soul,
Work While You Whistle.
THINK WHILE YOU WATCH:
Think while you watch.
To be here and be not.
Conjoin the two for a better view,
of a life, your soul has sought.
Examine all of the space,
the space behind your face.
Kick up dust to cleanse the dust,
and the space is Outer Space.
Divine Intervention at one’s fingertips is too easy to tell, so the nails all get clipped.
What is within this realm of Thought where the Spirit does speak, but the mind hears not?
What is within this realm of earth where the Spirit does speak, but does not get birthed?
What is within this realm of Heaven, where the Man meets the Ghost & converses till 11.
His nails are grown with Nature’s grip.
Divine Intervention at his fingertips.
There once was a boy called Lazy Jack, beholden to an Angel in the form of a bat.
And the bat flew low above Jack’s head, to nip him in the ear, to get him out of bed.
And Jack said: “Bat, must you bite my skin?”
The bat said back: “It is your skin that is my skin.”
“Skin in The Game?” is what Jack asks.
“You are my Knight piece in this Life-Game of chess.
(and the bat never had to bite Jack again.)
HIDE & SEEK:
If God was the Devil, would it not make sense?
The death of the Innocence for the prevalence of His presence?
If God was the Devil, would it not make sense?
To manipulate a game of shrewdness & repentance?
To conjure up a game beneath his sleeve,
Where Death brings Life like
Hide & Seek.
Have you ever once heard a being complain,
whilst the presence of attitude runs through their veins?
I do not know how these beings exist,
They are intolerably weak whilst they raise up their fist.
Oh Folly, St. Folly, for what have you done?
To give The Weak an Ego is Self-Treason.
Oh Folly, St. Folly, for what did you do?
Weakness was once weakness, before it pretended virtue.
Oh Folly, St. Folly, for what dost ye eye?
I Spy Lost Eyes in Demise of their Plot.
CRACK THE CODE:
If I were to tell you that the Deity exists,
and I pointed at the rabbit hole where the matrix is affixed.
Would you care to ponder there, at that hole in the Divine ground?
Or would you make it full with dirt, until you’re 6 feet underground.
Then you will have seen it, whilst you are 6 feet deep.
It is a pity you had missed it, before you took the leap.
Now you will return, with another look & sound,
to try to crack the code, before you are 6 feet underground.
THE WINDOWS OF HIS SOUL:
“The eyes are the window of the soul” – my, how true it is.
To see a smiling man with chaos sitting beneath his 2 eyelids.
He smiles for the public, almost as if to say:
“This sun will shine again, when my eyes go cold and gray.”
A Truth, this man has stated, that he dost not even know.
This man, he fools the public, behind the windows of his soul.
THE SELF-DEPLETING HEART:
The self-depleting heart, it hungers what it sees.
But when the heart has caught the goal, the heart, it self-depletes.
So many roundabouts, with this self-destructing heart.
It destroys what it creates, and picks up what fell apart.
ADAM, EVE & JACK:
Eve bit the apple & fed it to Jack,
And Jack laid blame on Adam, for the rib that got cracked.
But Adam was confused, because he broke not his rib.
So, he said “It was God’s doing, my broken rib is what He did.”
And the 3 stood in silence to try and catch thought,
And at once they all sputtered,
“This All is God’s Fault.”
And Satan did laugh at the wise little bunch,
So, he stuffed fruit in the cornucopia,
And fed them all lunch.
There was once a Buddhist monk who understood not Nirvana.
His meditations were miserable, till he said: “I don’t wanna.”
So, he got up & left as he Let It All Go,
And then Nirvana had seized him, and his eyes forever glowed.
Jack, be nimble.
Jack, be quick.
Jack jumped over the candle stick.
But Jack was a devil with swiftness & haste.
If Jack had learned patience, he’d have won the rat-race.
He’d have halted & leered into the flame on the ground,
seen himself in the reflection and kept the light around.
But instead he saw not the image of himself,
So, he quickens through life in the flames of nimble Hell.
There has never been a good time to tell,
The length of the flame that’s risen from Hell.
But if you will do your best with a measuring stick,
Metrics up you’ll go to high Mount Olympus.
And you’ll say hi to Zeus & all of the God’s,
whilst the food of their feast cooks upon Hade’s log.
From 7 schools,
With 7 rules,
Have 7 fools,
Who break the rules
And rule the schools