Absurdity: my absence is required
The savage unrelenting fearful me
Desirous and desiring, not desired
Forever seeking what I cannot see

Being not what I can never be
Knowing not what I will never know
Greedy to reclaim the bliss of nought
Absurdity: bliss is the death of me.

Though I, of course, resist my own demise,
Yet what is seen is seen through no one’s eyes;
And what is loved is love, and only love,
And not received from any god above.

Words here are written, no one prints them out.
The bliss and sorrow rise, they are not mine.
All there is, is this. It is enough.
No one has seen this; being is divine.

[Suzanne Foxton]


Where the Shopkeeper would say
I was
looking for that shop
where the shopkeeper would say,
‘There is nothing of value in here’
I found it and did
not leave.
The richness of not wanting
wrote these

[Kabir, Love Poems from God]


Jesus said:

I will give you what no eye has seen,
and what no ear has heard,
and what no hand has touched,
and what has not arisen in the heart of man.

[Gospel of Thomas, 17]


From:'No Way'- By Ram Tzu

Your Master told you…
The Way is to be,
Without questions.

Now you want to know
How do you do that?

Wayne Liquorman]


Love Songs of the Undivided

How can that be described
Which itself
Contains all words?

How can that be captured
Which itself
Contains all worlds . . .

I throw my words
Like bones
To the dogs
Of past and future

I have never written a poem
Let me play here
With you
Whose silence
Strokes my



From: 'Naked Songs'

I exhausted myself, looking.
No one ever finds this by trying.

I melted in it and came home,
Where every jar is full,
But no one drinks.

[Lala – 14th Century]


Any Time But Now

‘Something ever more about to be’
Can never come.
For the tea to arrive,
For the mood to pass,
For the mahadasha to end,
For the heart to open . . .
Resistance hard at work!

[Through Camas and Buttercups –
Michael Thornton Oliver]



To-morrow, and to-morrow,
and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot,
Full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.



Being Nothing

But whate’er I be,
nor I,
nor any man that but man is,
with nothing shall be pleased
till he be eased with being nothing.

[Shakespeare – Richard II]


From: ‘Wasteland Words’

Do words separate?
Or are they like a string
of balloons –
popping & flying
at the same time?

The beautiful blueness
That is everything.

No focus –
yet the smiling face
is everywhere.

[Nick Czernin]


From ‘Wasteland Words'

There is no need to
tap myself on the shoulder
any more & say “this is it”
“this isn’t it” – nor even
to change the vision
to make it more
‘as it should be’ ha ha!
things are as they are –
it tickles, it hurts, we laugh
and play & also there’s no joking
when we’re told death
is the only horse to back.
But who will collect
the winnings?

[Nick Czernin]


Sane Religion

For the longest time
I believed I could figure it out
comprehend what this life was all about
but it was a sane religion that saved me

One that purported things just happen
and reasons are false idols
and God’s logic is as unintelligible
and sacred a mystery as there is

It’s true…
I was losing my mind
at that other house of worship

Drew Hunter – from ‘Pretending to be Two, Longing to be One’]


No Painting

No painting
whatever that is
Just this

Birds singing
pouring from sky
eating fish

‘us’ this drama
being manifesting
it’s happening

what deepness
I, never finding

[Per Nielsen]


Life And Death

Life – still, soft and crystal clear,
Dies laughing as it finds its source.
Death – smiling, sheds a happy tear,
Discovering that it’s life, of course.

[Liz Jones – Simply This]


Anything more?

This is it!

The search ends
with a song and
dance routine
digital alarm clock
a little bit of aargh(!)
a touch of mental fog
then arising from the bed
launching haphazardly
into the day

Thought: This is it!
The waiting has ended
. . . lost its punch
. . . just laughing now
in whatever is
. . . a decaf coffee
. . . a sublime peace
. . . knowing nothing
But this
. . . a worry
. . . an argument
. . . a lesson in patience

Not anything more, anymore
the superlative ordinary
the royal kick in the butt
the living-ness of the rain
the velvet warmth of snuggling
under covers
perfection, an undercover operative
ocean roar and traffic jam and pollution

God bless

[Norman Mitchell-Babbitt]


Wild Communion

I have read that,
There is an East African tribe that say,
“That, although God is good
And wishes good for everybody,
He has a half-witted brother
Who always interferes with what he does.”

In my half witted days,
When beliefs and gurus were still big,
I colluded in torturing scriptures,
Extracting false confessions
As to meaning and purpose.

I walked through Argillen Castle gardens
Surrounded by Latin named flowers and roses,
Believing that ‘real’ “knowing”
Must be through the Latin gate.

Sometime later…
In a moment of seeing,
All that was learned…
Was burned…
And I…
I was in wild communion
With oneness…
Once more.

[Sean Martin – May 2007]