Light Poetry


Obtuse Kineticist
Reaction score
A Perfect Moment

all masks and walls dissolve
into a perfect moment
I am your witness
but I find you only
in the present
when I am forgotten
to myself

you are not alone
that I am with you
in this perfect moment
all of our ugliness and beauty
takes shape
as I see my reflection
and reflect away

I will lift the veils
from your eyes
and my eyes
then what we see
in this perfect moment
is etched in our memory
stored forever
spiralling back to us

I have forgotten who you are
and you have misplaced me
then time and space
brings us back to dance
I have to witness you
in order to see myself
or I dissolve into

©2002 DC Vision


half a life
and half a world away
I took a ride
to break the chains
of a routined

what do you do
when you find out
that time is the most
valuable commodity
of your lifetime

you cannot buy time
unless you downsize
the things that possess you
inward and outlasting
your need to fill the void
at the center of you
with consuming

I lose track of days
and throw calendars
into the flame
that has resurrected me

a dozen years
of demonstrating
that doing
is overrated
and underpaid

©2003 DC Vision
Both Flavors

I am no longer
of this world
in all ways
save one
this body excretes
its appetites
into an updraft
through the layers
of liberation
that I have suffered
to inherit

one moment
I am what I am
and the next
two hearts beat
from either side
of the veil
If both shall live
then I fear
I shall never know

the tension
of being in the world
and not of it
are taking
their toll on me
and all I crave
is to sleep
in one state
or the other

what need is there
for Heaven or Hell
when both flavors
are present
as an aftertaste
for the living

© 2003 DC Vision

my lines have eroded
to bare necessity
no one can trample me
better than me
hard introspection
naked estimation
i would not know cool
if i were trapped
in a refrigerator

a writer of fiction
and toter of shadows
it is an endless hill
that was climbed downward
into brick walls
death begat death
until reinvention
became obsolete

©2003 DC Vision
Conceptual Lite

zero calories
in ideal packaging
vicarious satiation
conceptual lite

shallow experience
deeply opinionated
attraction to definitions
and meaningless meanings

puffy chest displays
debate inebriated
pages read upon pages
the safe well trodden paths

talking in circles leads
to walking in circles
creating spiral patterns
in unattainable expectations

millions of excuses
why change was not embraced
and another lifetime
and another buffet line

©2004 DC Vision

Dark Night (of the Soul)

I am aching
down to my source
tonight I am a ghost
in this echo chamber
these unending nights
have left my smile

what turn of events
made me have to endure
this deepest cut
the bloodletting
of my sense of self
the silence is so cruel
and the lack so overwhelming

all my rivers
have run dry
the fluids refuse
to coarse through veins
am I deserving of
this desolation

this is a hard walk
nothing appeases me
the best advice
falls like dust to my heels

why is everything
so close
and yet so out of reach
I run out of words
and I've run out of rage
just unconsolably deflated

so I will sit
in this wicked
empty space
of taunting inner voices
and refuse to rise
until I feel
the tide flow in
and my presence once again

©2003 DC Vision
Drunk Dry Three Times

the first layer of me
was shed like a
maelstrom of emotions
and words that cut and burned
and raged like a wild fire
at me and from me
hate hateful hatred
all defensive
and all repetition
until it burned away
all semblances of me
and I knew I felt nothing

the second layer of me
was shed like a sh*t heap
of inflated words
and definitions
upon definitions
lip service in place of experience
shown the light of day
by the experiencial fact
that I did not know anything

the third layer of me
was shed like the skin
of the snake that lived
in the tree of knowledge
of good and evil
the skin falling to the ground
like pages of books
I have lived and read them all
and come away
knowing I am nothing

the fourth layer of me
is an empty cup
drunk dry three times

© 2003 DC Vision

it is the undertow
of matter
and its enticements
that keeps me
deaf, dumb, and blind
when I do
I do nothing
but sleep

if I try to fight it
I return to the dream
because like it or not
a body extends from my being
sucking potential energies
into its appetites

we can dance this mystery
every moment
until we sleep
then it becomes
a melancholy aftertaste
death is not mine enemy
unconsciousness is

© 2003 DC Vision

your gentle soul
sheds my defenses
we are all ugly inside
when we pretend to be
but we are precious
when we need to be
my shortcomings
will never be
as important as you

this is our bridge
these are our times
built on enchantment
or burdened with our crimes
let our light be
etched in rebellious

©2003 DC Vision

Exoteric Avenue

Born again with your appetites in tow
is just another way to be of the world.
Seeking through experiences of others
is a vicariously long way back home.

You can walk all the paths of the world
and revise and debate dusty disciplines,
but beliefs, faith, and verbose opinions
do not demonstrate experiential knowing.

Put your need to hear yourself to sleep,
for you really have nothing new to say.
Why take credit for the original thoughts
of the mystics that earned their knowing?

You can dress yourself in external worth,
fill your space with the idols of a worshipper,
but only a child is enamored by the things
that shine and distract from the poverty within.

It was never a path that you were seeking,
you have been on a treadmill of validation.
In an effort to cling to your vicarious fiction,
your presence is squandered in expectations.

The answers were never out there tomorrow
there is only this moment for you to discover,
set aside verbosity for Poor Richard's saying:
you never learn a thing when your mouth is open.

©2003 DC Vision


creation has again fallen
and been spilled and spent
on such little loaded words
and little unloaded acts

this is far less holy now
than this moment deserves
and the hard-earned tears of loss
are shed for the deflation

jesus wept as he stayed
the tide of the human race
spiralling divinity asunder
in unending consumption

buddha wept crocodile tears
for egos who found their nirvana
at the center of narcissism
and forgot they had brothers

mohammed wept for those
who believed that sky gods
thirsted for the spilled blood
and terrorizing of innocent children

a long line of holy people
cried for how close grace was
to every cell at their birth
and in their death incomplete

so tonight i refuse to cry
for anyone that would would taste
of artificial holiness because
the bitter fruit's unappealing

i cry for the silent suffering whole
that has six billion reasons
why sometimes it is easiest
to roll over and go back to sleep

©2003 DC Vision

For Those Who Are Called

for you have been called
and led over mountains
and through valleys
and arrive here
at the very edge
of the mystery

forget what you know
it will not help you now
forget your past
it was a dream
let go of expectations
you cannot imagine
the dark night
that you will crawl through

your masks are paper
and your walls are dust
there are no defenses
for none are possible
you will be stripped
with all your drama
all your pain
all your importance
made to be

the phoenix will rise
from these ashes
a sensual being born anew
from the inside out
a cause from a cause
that is
and nothing

self awareness
is not for cowards
you will be made available
to experience all your fears
and have your truth scoffed at
for its littleness
its limitation

for the courageous
shall inherit the heavens
and the meek
shall inherit the earth

©2003 DC Vision

In The Wake

a moment held
between moments
between words
between breaths
that is the hidden now
as long as it is witnessed

it folds around
and becomes
a shelter against
running rivers
of memories
and expectations
a rock
a half tide
a knowing outbreath
and a peaceful landing

and this is all
that ever was
underneath the weight
and many guises
of what lay in the wake
of this waking
©2004 DC Vision

Mystery Dancer

I walk in between worlds
and touch lives in my passing
a silhouette in a dream
I look so familiar
but with a quick tilt of face
I become the perfect stranger

I can freeze your moment
and make you feel
like none other ever has before
then pass just as quickly
into a shape in the crowd

I wear as many masks
as people I bump into
reflecting everything or nothing

I am a lucid dreamer
sometimes I am recognized
sometimes not at all

for those who must sleep
I do not disturb
but I dance outside their dream
finding humor in everything
and blessing all who pass
my way

alone in every crowd
I entertain myself
by dancing this mystery
like a caress on their cheeks
they feel me
but can not notice me

something in the air
quickly forgotten
like a dream
I am here
and then I am not

©2002 DC Vision


behind these masks
we never touch
this soul is tired
of unsweetened
how can I move you
will you respond
to the nakedness
I lay down my mask
tumble my walls
raise my eyes
and hold this moment

come on and touch me
deep down
where I can not hide
and I can not run away
from what is raw
and real

come on and touch me
place your hand
and heart
with mine
so that we may know
that there is
something real
in this dream

© 2002 DC Vision


the sun did not come out tomorrow
but it did eventually return
and I weathered the repose
with time tested awareness

in youth patience is alien
just as my latest chapters
start to fade
so too does my anxieties
of life's cycles
so that neither in nor out
pose much of a boundary
to my peace of mind
and the clarity of my actions

I can outlast these times
and this knowing is as meaningful
as whatever emergent discoveries
await the ever optimystic
and ever evolving person
that I have become
and am still becoming

the sun came out today
and I chided it
as I returned to what
I had been doing
when the clouds were in

©2003 DC Vision


orion watches over me
more reliable than fickle gods
or humans and their motivations
those winter sky contemplations
where my heart spills through
layers of frosty breaths
rising to meet his pacings
and he carries my anxieties
across the southern wake
that I may sleep peacefully

©2003 DC Vision


what experiences
have drawn out
these lines on my face
lines of addiction
and of disappointments
running a roadmap
of my stumblings
through selfish
and selfless doubts
the face of every man

I am so tired
but sleep does not
quench this need
I am so weak
but with what strength
I am afforded
the desire to be free
has never caught up to
the pleasure of profit
in marketing my pain

trying to find a breath
beneath wet blankets
and dry eyes
because the rains
never let up
in my drama
and the tears never
seem to surface

I have known hell
on earth in this species
of lost souls and fictions
parasites for the dream
harping over hapless hopes
these men and women
all of us clinging children
as we try to remember
how we had fallen

there is only one remedy
there is only one fit
the void within
can only be filled
when the life fluids
have been spilled
by death disease
or deliverance
from the feast

©2003 DC Vision


thinking it might take a construction crew
looking at my reflection now in the mirror
to bring back vital signs of life to my face
a perpetual downward trend to my exterior

it would seem so much easier in this hindsight
to admit that we were all full of sh*t and sin
there is only a half a step away for us always
from an ocean to let go of little selves within

on occasion what would i have to pass my time
if i were not allowed to play my hand at fooling
i have mastered all the fuss about the present
moment and i have moments that require tooling

there is something suspicious about those dusty
disciplines that do not allow the child mending
to come out for a day and create splendid messes
of the structured world it finds itself defending

if you cannot take the role of the straight guy
in any comedic punch lined production of grace
then libraries of books and safety in distance
from challenging your fiction might be your place

i cannot be bothered by fear of my appearance
or there will be no joy in this hard fought liberation
a Self boundaried by the morals of the unconscious
might as well spend its immortality in hibernation

©2004 DC Vision
Quantum Blueberries

please don't hate me
because i am so beautiful
i broke bottles unconsciously
and crawled across the cut glass
as a raging spectacle
with everyone knowing
how stupid in appearance
the smartest little underachiever
was in his closet of costumes

go ahead and laugh at me
i know the tumultuous humor well
as i burned bridges
and lit fires under the asses
of unsuspecting dreamers
then sat back and watched
them scurry around
like ants under looking glasses

i like being quantum blueberries
dancing and spinning
the last drop out of each moment
i dare you to try to keep up with me
you have a lot to learn
if you think i ever stood still
long enough for you to label me
or value me
or judge me
or be like me

speaking in tongues
or treading water
i cannot make out a single word
or action that you display
your chance to hold
my waning attention span
is rapidly reaching quantum speeds
just when you thought you've read me
i'm gone

©2003 DC Vision