Fisherman:
Inquisitively philosophical
Or
Exquisitely numb
Choose the former or the latter
To choose the latter,
Is the ideal one?
For to be numb to all matter
Is to avoid any mental pain
To be One without the Chatter
Is to be One who is born again
Mark 1:17: “Come after Me, and I will make you become fishers of men.”
The art of poetry is to conjure thoughts profound
At times achieved by merely the use of just one word
But in the end it’s to its readers to astound
Or to render it all – utterly absurd
Poetry may be reflective or devil-may-care
But for certain it comes from a mind aware
The tool of its conveyance need not be exact
For it is the essence of message that be sought – to extract
Hence, should one encounter a poem or two
Be certain, this to do:
Enter with an open mind
Read with nay a pre-intent
Look within its words to find
Its essence – its chance to invent
Falling into a swamp I forgot was there
My eyes could see, but neither mouth nor nose could breathe for air
As my skin turned blue, my mind grew increasingly faint
Next I knew, I was in a place standing next to a glowing saint
He extended a hand as in a gesture to greet
Strange thing was I was now, standing on my own two feet
Bewildered and perplexed by, in what place I was
His comforting smiling face wordlessly said, `Don’t give it a fuss’
Calmly, still hand in hand, we walked
Though nothing was said, he began to talk
He spoke of this place, this land made by the gods
It was purposely intended for unabashed sods
It was the simple mention of this class of soul
I knew my life had succumb to its ultimate toll
Surprisingly enough I felt much at ease
Especially at the mention, I could have anything I please
As we wondered through hill and dale
My saintly friend continued his telepathic tale
My mind grew full, with what he had to say
And funny thing was, I seem to know it all anyway
We finally arrived at a sweet town that appeared quaint
Flowers seemed to sing and the buildings of rainbow paint
Many people cheerfully frolicked about the street
Gracefully bowing when we had chance to meet
Then in a flash I realized my guardian saint was gone
And there in his place was a man introduced as `Dawn’
I asked Dawn, `what is this place?’
To which he replied, `It was my mental space’.
This perplexing response to what I had asked
Put my brain in a boil with this deciphering task
It was then I began to realize what he meant
This was all my imagination – a mind’s invent
So, if it were that this was all in my mind’s creation
I likely could not have left my original situation
Having the sense that I had resolved this unusual puzzle
A strange floating fish appeared and with my nose, began to snuggle
Not wanting for this slimy creature to be sitting on my face
With hands flailing in the air I gave it chase
Then with a flash I suddenly realized
The enchanted place was gone and the water swamp lay open to my eyes
My mind regaining hold of what was in fact now real
My hands though chilled, something at them, I could feel
And there it was I saw, a trout of proportionate size
Starring back up at me with seemingly, knowing eyes
Abruptly sitting up feeling all wet and damped to the bone
My floating friend did not faultier nor want to leave me alone
My mind still foggy by what had just transpired
When the sun reflected on my speckled friend, I couldn’t help but admire
For through the translucent waters I was uncertain if to believe
Whether my eyes were still affecting what I could see
Especially after all that appeared to have gone on
There before me was a fish upon whose flesh appeared to be written: `Dawn’
Each day becomes a challenge to live
For it gives rise to search for truth to its purpose
The intellect of mind source to invent many an idea
Yet the proof to its confirming truth ever elusive
Like a worm bait at the end of a fishing line
Taunted to the awareness of its existence
Yet beyond the grasp of its tangible touch
Eluding the concreteness to its reality
Constant is the question of when comes the relief
Derived by the spewing forth of all there is to know
Allowing for the ultimate deflation of curiosity’s bubble
Creating opportunity for energies spent to new direction
If you are not familiar; the CBC’s (Canadian Broadcasting Corp) Jian Ghomeshi hosts an insightful and entertaining radio and television show titled `Q’ wherein he interviews those of the Art’s be it music, film, theater, etc., etc..
Recently he interviewed Robert Downey Jr. and Jian’s style in conducting the interview prompted a thought to question:
What is the Interviewers’ role?
Resulting in the following poem as an idea toward answering the question:
Asking the questions, not to pry,
Looking for answers that avoid a lie;
Peering into eyes that will justify,
Beyond intellect of insight to verify.
No trick of questions’ cross-examination,
Just purpose to discern potential fabrication;
Looking to avoid an inward consternation,
The story unfolding is want of further confirmation.
Neither shrewd nor devious is the intent,
The want is for truthful, insightful content;
Not the distracting illusion of the mind’s invent,
An Interviewers’ query is theirs for reason to prevent.
Inspired by a talk given by Matthew Fox, not the actor but American Episcopal priest and theologian
Purpose In Creation
Washed from the incipient minds of generational youth;
The proven though mystical, spiritual wisdom of the past,
Systematically euthanized, obliterated from reality’s realm,
Sublimated by mechanistic values, redefining existence,
Transitioning, by times passage, toward general acceptance
Of a singularity that eludes humanity’s native purpose in Creation.
The future to this pervasive truth is humanity’s ultimate, global defeat:
Erosion of empathy toward idealism of callous disregard;
Diffusion of the precept that Earth is an eco-system;
A synergistic, cellular embodiment essential for creation of life
Enlisting acceptance to the ultimate spiritual truth:
Extinction to one facet of Being derives death for ALL!
naykdpoet 
