balance is all important

mavericks reach goals too

7/1/2013

to some, it is given to run the high chaparral with an occasional foray  to the green meadows for a pleasant run with the herd. those are the mavericks, the outsiders, the ones who venture into the unknown and unexplored. Namaste is a word uncommon to that vocabulary as are the requisites of an organized, communal discipline. bootstrapping is the method of a maverick’s inner search compelled by a signature self-discipline. these daring hearts can blaze a trail for other adventurous entities, if they wish to explore. in this way, a balance is maintained between the soft tread of emotional, saintly restraint and the martial cadence of spiritual warriors.  

FLY FANCY

I'd like a Cosmic Travel Guide to map me out a tour;

then I'd trip out on galaxies and planets, one by one.

With souvenirs that I'd bring back, I'd build myself New Skin

and set me up a Shining Place and throw big parties there.

I'd play charades in Outer Space and drive the mortals mad

with visions they could look and see.

I'd be all I could ever be and learning to be more!

There's nothing, then, I couldn't do....where Big Dogs run you'd find me....

raisin' hell on Jupiter or sluggin' back some Venus wine or pettin' pups on Pluto!

Those of you who know me now would never recognize me unless I want you to.

The mongers and intolerants, corrallers of the mavericks,

won't have the energy it takes to clean my Cosmic Boots!!

My chaparral would be so high you'd think it never ends!

No lasso made could ever reach my Stellar Steed and me

'cause we'd be trottin' fast and far and chompin' star dust on our way!

Many of you think my human being's not so hot and

lots of you feel threatened by my inner Knowing strength.

A few of you would like to tame my mortal arrogance

that you perceive as out of place in one so plain and low.

You think my fancy Fantasies audacious in their scope

and some have tried to rope me in and tame me for themselves.

Well, I've got news, my pompous "friends", you mongers of False Karma;

to those put off by what is called my "bad ass attitude"....

and you can take this shocking news and spread it far and wide

and shove it where the sun don't shine,  then run away and hide....

I NEVER WILL APOLOGIZE FOR KNOWING WHAT I KNOW.

I NEVER WILL GIVE UP MY GROUND ON BEING WHAT I AM.

If you don't like my attitude or flights of fancy free and think your selves

above MY Self, I've got this much to say....it only proves you shouldn't think

that you can really think and if you "think" that you're so hot and IF you've got

the brass....then you may eat my Galactic Shit and kiss my Royal Ass!!!

The only harm I do to you is what you conjure up.

The only threats are in your small and constipated brains.

So, hey!  Don't sweat it!  Could be I'm onto something. 

I'm more than glad to share the space with free and Soaring Souls. 

So try it.  You might like it. Don't be afraid to fly!

And make it fancy while you're at it. CHALLENGE ALL THE LIMITS!

Freedom's free to all who seek..just cut the ropes and FLY WITH ME!!!!!

© 2013

who you gonna call?......not me!

6/29/2013

paranormal investigators proclaim they’ve moved out of the dark ages and are now using science as their ghost hunting regimen. many of them rely upon several instruments to validate this premise. this may be so; I’ve watched some of these groups on t.v. they seem to be adept at making contact and interacting with “spirit” entities. something bothers me, though…the vocabulary hasn’t changed. assumptions remain that all entities are dead and reside in an afterlife, orbs are spirits, these wandering souls appear to us through some anomalous portal, they return or stay because of some emotional connection to the life they lived in a place…same bottom line. “Give us a sign of your presence” is the standard phrase and often, when they get a response, it scares the poop out of them! they never ask, “are you someone who’s passed out of this life or are you someone from another dimension?”. they should ask, because I firmly believe, in most of these circumstances, all of us are influenced by, and/or sharing existence with other-dimensional personages. I’ve had occasions to experience this to the extent that I have no doubt of the statements’ validity.

orbs, for instance, can be insects or dust particles, usually never seen by the naked eye but on photos or instrument panels. there are people who’ve actually seen orbs. I have, but primarily only at certain periods of time and they’re not exactly spirits, but much more. I’ve encountered persons in other dimensions, especially lately notably, a small group of them, 3 of which seem to have a vested interest in my life. I don’t know who they are, consciously, but I must know them in some facet of my being. it’s an interesting relationship, humorous, sometimes, but disconcerting at others. these people are focused on areas of humanity a bit different from ours. I wonder if they lack imagination for they seem to use ours for their own entertainment. they remind me of the coyote mentality. they can change shape to be what they want or who and mimic exactly persons who are known to us. they love to tease!

in light of this new-found knowledge, I’m skeptical of anyone claiming to be a dead relative of mine. sorry, mediums and psychics, don’t waste your time on me. I wouldn’t make a good ghost hunter; I can get heebie-jeebies just like the next guy, but my attitude would never fit in. J

maximum haiku...for fun

Windy

Swooshing through my home

By way of open windows,

The raging, fierce breeze.

80 DEGREES in OCTOBER

Blossoms newly born

Birds in panic so confused

Autumn summertime

Musicale

The motion of trees

Dancing with the singing wind

Makes its own music

Bahavista

Peering at blossoms,

One finds dimensions untold.

Aahh, the world of small!

Candle

Flicker of flame’s light

Breeze-kissed in the flow’ring night

Gives hope a new name.

CEMETERY SUMMER

Green resplendent trees

Stand as sentinels guarding;

Man alone intrudes.

Interior Decorator

Blossoms for curtains

Outside my manmade window

Luring Nature in.

Menu

Sun precedes the day

Of rain expected later;

Mother Nature’s best!

Rainbow

Prisms of promise

Arched above my window view

Rain-painted colored 

RAINY SUNDAY

Such a Poe-ish day

Does not belong to summer

Sunday in the park!

SECRETS

Breeze whisper-talking

To leaves trembling laughingly

Secrets of Nature.

TONAL

You cannot refute

The charm of a flute

Playing nicely with breezes

TRUE GRIT

Green leaves among gold

Defy designs of Autumn

Clinging to summer.

Wake Up Call

Magpies chattering

In throes of hysteria

Shatter morning calm.

Where’s Lunch?

The long sleek cobra,

Coiling, skinny, hungering

Tongue testing for food

Brew

Beans, brown, dark brown, ground,

Make mornings a brewed delight

Of Self, sight, smells, sound

Cemetery Autumn

Bright colors now gone

Sentinels stand in drab garb

And vigilant still

Distraction

Scent of the blossoms

Pulls me away from dire thoughts

Love’s magnet to Life

Grace

Your Taste is Divine

Dear Meat, You serve my purpose

Thanks for Your Giving

Guest

Talking picture box

Bringing worlds into my home

A television

LIFE JACKET

Soul drowning in tears

Desp'rately gasping for breath

Spirit rescues it

Mirrored

Nosy reflection

Doppelganger  intimate

Tell me I’m pretty

Never Bored

Like frail butterflies

My thoughts flit from bloom to bloom

Life-pollen dusting

Nipped in the Bud

Artichoke delight

Consumed before your blooming

Will you grow within?

Sixty-three.  Done.

Candles on my cake

Outshining Haley’s comet

Light the nighttime sky!

To Know

So much to still learn!

May I never cease searching

For Light in the Dark!

WAVERING

We pray to escape

The seductive mortal state

While fearing to leave

Why Did I Come In Here?

Like a fleet rabbit

Memory runs from recall

Teasing from afar.

WRITER’S BLOCK

Muse, sideways glancing,

Withdraws from informing me

And makes Life austere.

Aching

Mother Nature’s pain

Must be akin to my own

Which makes us grumpy!

After This

I shall not return

As Thing, Plant, or Animal,

But shine evermore!

APRIL'S BINGE

Raging, reeling wind

Let me sniff your reeking breath.

Aha! I smell snow!

Catastrophe

War mimics Nature

In power of destruction

For diff’rent reasons

Crying Angels

Melancholy souls

Shed not your tears of sorrow

On my happy day

Having Aged

Me in the sunset;

Older, shorter, feistier;

Grateful for offspring!

Hmmmmm

I think I have found

The One Self that I ponder

But still I wonder

HOME

Fall and fireflies reign

In memories of my home

That place of first life

IF I COULD

With my fingertip

I’d trace a new direction

For errant mortals

In Closing

Regrets, I’ve a few.

I do not beg forgiveness;

That I leave to you.

Judith Evelyn

Daughter, rarest gem,

Mitochondrial legend

Life-substance giving

LEISURE

Body settles down

To gravity surrendered

Life becomes serene

Nightmare

There in my dreaming

The fright overtakes my soul.

I gasp, wake; alive!

Rewrite

Lurking in the wings

The days I’ve yet to welcome

While I change the script

COLD YUMMY

White crunchy fat snow

Cake frosting layered on thick

Transforms the landscape

Eternal

Bodies all must die

But spirits live forever

In Raptures Sublime

High Country

Hard-edged are the folks

Who run the high chaparral

In strong, free spirit

HURRICANE

God heaves a great storm

With sorrow and shame imbued.

We give it a name.

Nocturne

What great adventures

Courageous Souls encounter

While sleep-traveling!

Pay Attention

Angels on shoulders

Competing, oft, tirelessly

For our attention

Populace

Beings fill the Earth

Some standing out from the herd

But most still zombies

PRAY ERS

The gods like us more

When we’re needy and woeful

And we talk to them

PYRA

Old dreams die hardest

With roots that suck your lifeblood

Requiring great heat

REVELATION

Firecracker popping

Brain cells exploded blasting

Words on printed page

REWARD

Faith grows from small grain

To seedling of promise which

Bursts forth with rich fruit

TSK, TSK

Man too oft displays

Bewildering behavior

Which makes the gods gasp!

Worldly

Careless Lemming-man

Why rush to your destruction

Forsaking the prize?

Cabin Fever

Please send some springtime

I’m so weary of dreary

My eyes are gone pale!

Creator

Worlds are in my words

Lived in by all who read them

And give them credence

CROW HUMOR

Loud raucous laughter

From rowdy crows overhead

I missed the punch line

EARLY BIRD

Robin in the rain

You need a winter muffler

As drops become flakes

FAMILIARITY

Your words that I read

Are spoken with my own voice

Ringing through my soul

NOT SPRING YET

Clouds mask the bright sun

Not in Mardi Gras fashion

But making life dark

Pale Orb Rising

Man face on the moon

Peering at our silly lives

Do we make you smile?

Say What ?!

Truth is not much fun

Integrity is boring

Lies are justified

Say Who?!

I’m more than you see;

Daughter of the Almighty

And son of Jacob

Spread the Word

Worlds are in my words

Lived in by all who read them

Sanctioned by their souls

String Section

Bow-legged fashion

crickets stroke their violins

in Night's dark corners

SUGAR COATED

Angels put the clouds

Through giant cosmic sifters

Sugar-snowing earth

WELCOME

Enjoy the cool breeze

Sensing the essence of warmth

When Spring comes back home

Up and Away

Crazy old woman

Blowing bubbles in the rain

Where does your mind go?

TONAL

You cannot refute

The charm of a flute

Playing nicely with breezes

                                                copyright 2013

writer's cramp?

Rewrite

Lurking in the wings

The days I’ve yet to welcome

While I change the script

brel flynn aka maggie huffman

©2005

6/24/2013

actually, changing the script can only affect one’s future. we don’t live our lives regularly as a stage play…in spite of Shakespeare’s opinion. usually, we don’t rehearse, but sometimes life conditions us for our “performance”. overall, it’s good to spend time as a human being; the experiences of learning and exploring are valuable beyond measure. if all the world is a stage, I hope I can say that I’ve rendered my part commendably.

we can handle the truth

6/19/2013

Reminiscing: Puff, the Breeze (or wind…?)   nine years old, one month before my 10^th birthday; a school play. Mother made the costume from directions sent home by the teacher. I recall vividly the mood of the performance and the onus of responsibility upon me, the lead “dancer”. It was a follow-the-leader situation…the other girls mimicked my movements. one of those girls, I think the last one in line, glared at me with death-ray intensity as if angry and I didn’t know why. My sole intent was to move so that we looked breezy, yet make my movements easy for the others to follow. Most of all, I remember that girl’s hateful stare that deferred smiling. And so it has been throughout my life. I’ve often suspected jealousy at work…and I can’t tell you what anyone has to be jealous of me about. I’m pondering that query now that I’m enjoying my septuagenarian years. I’m beginning to think it’s just more of the conditioning aspect of Othervision preparation. We do need to put effort into our inner journey to reinforce intent.

Happy Mothers’ Day!

                                                           9 years old :)

6/19/2013

the inner exploration is a singular experience. the freedom is all-encompassing…from religions, dogmas, cults, belief systems, supernatural and paranormal practices…everything man has created to attempt compatibility with the great unknown. we can’t handle the truth, yet. it doesn’t surprise me that no one is interested in what I have to say since most of us fear truth or don’t want the responsibility. no problem…I know what I know, I’ve done what I’ve done; the culling is intense now and a door is unlocked that was closed to us before. change is coming in due time.

The Clay Personified

I AM A VESSEL.

Pour into me what you will.

I've been molded, shaped, pounded,

pummeled...lined...stained...

cut, smashed, formed...

caressed into being.

I've been glazed in the

intense heat of hell.

I've solidified.

Not hardened, mind you, for that

implies unyielding, unfeeling.

I AM A VESSEL.

A container for your soul's residue.

Pour into me what you will.

Empty me, discard the wastes.

Wash me in cleansing tears.

Dry me with soft touches.

I stand ready to receive

the next offering.

©2013 gryfyn flynn mjh