Archive for the poems 2004 Category

every thing

Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, poems, poems 2004, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2014 by GJK

every thing is a song

but not all songs are of beauty

and every thing named beautiful

is at best fleeting.

joy is everywhere

but we must cease

to be ourselves

to let it in

and this is no tragedy

because if we can be free of self

then we can become joy.

sorrow is coupled with joy

existing equally everywhere

and when it overtakes us

then also we cease to be

our selves

and this is only proper

because when full of joy and sorrow,

when severed from self,

we become pure.







journal entry, 30 April 2004

Posted in no-mad poets, poems 2004, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , on June 20, 2012 by GJK

at a certain point, the mind begins to rebel

against input… there comes a time

when the mind is apparently saturated

and will not absorb anything not yet residing

within its confines.

new information does not stick.

fresh paths do not open.

the circuitry is muddled; it loses its integral beauty…

the mind begins to tell itself


and the fear of death, or rather, the fear of finite experience,

begins to resonate in the frigid bowels

of distraction and doubt that permeates

the subconsciouss, bleeding thru into front-mind

moments of lethargy prolonged and

ponderously dominating all vectors

of perception.




Posted in best of GJK, poems 2004 with tags , , , , , , , on August 31, 2010 by GJK


rippled bands

of fiery orange

and pink-tinged stripes

of lush lavender

streak the sky

as the golden eye of day

slips down into dim regions

of dusk.

the first stars

pierce the curtain of nightfall

as three crows glide

in pursuit of the banished sun,

their dark forms dwindling

as night deepens,

vanishing into

an obsidian



— —



— —

weaving paths

Posted in best of GJK, for Blue Bike reading, poems 2004 with tags , , , , , , on July 27, 2010 by GJK
my peculiar vision
and mannerisms of self-mythology
manifest themselves in fitful melancholy routine
straining toward unformed unknowable joy
fretting and frowning over contrived troubles
shining muted hope with unsettled contentment
yearning to break free
into wide open space
of unfettered glee.

subliminal happiness is
buried beneath volcanic strata
of constricting external pressures.
convention and conformity
crush liberty of ideal mind.

supposed knowledge defines limitation
and eyes burn thru the shadows of time
seeing a glimmer of purity
beyond the shackles of mankind
beyond the physical realm
of possession, attainment, and pride.

my individuality
recognizes ubiquitous dual forces
that divide mind from mind,
mind from self,
and self from other.

my weaving path winds and twists
upon itself, resolving into one
straight line of sight
as i walk forward, determined
and alone.

wanting to bring you with me,
i strain to understand
we are but parts

of the same being.