Do you see me

Do you see me,
do you know me,
when you look at me,
what do you see,
there is more than
this human form,
there is an essence,
the embodiment of creation,
its aura perfect,
in all of us it is there
the seed of existence
the tendrils of life,
more than flesh and bone,
more than what you see,
I am all that ever was,
as you are all also,
flesh and bones decay,
what is within is everlasting,
cast in you by mother and father,
you and I are unique,
what do you see,
what do you know,
what we have been,
we will become again, the universe
is the spark that ignites
the amalgamate of the soul, the soul is forever,
there is joy in that.

©2013, Donald Harbour

Reflections are not truth

life is always viewed
through the windows of the mind,
it is transformed, distorted
by the panes of perception,
becoming twisted reflections
filtered through a collage
of dust, streaks, fly specks,
hand prints, spittle, grime,
the imperfection of glass,
the baggage of living is
our collected experiences
that shape our beliefs
form what we become,
that film on the window panes,
there because we learn by it,
learn to be misjudged
tell misconceived lies,
feel anguish of disappointment,
view ourselves as we
believe we are seen,
it is a two-way street,
what we perceive
will also be perceived,
and, that is the danger,
reflections are false images,
beyond their dance is truth,
as surely as we digest them,
what is expelled is not the same,
what it once was, indistinguishable,
our frame of references,
our reflections have become,
the nutrient for another mind’s
fertile view of its reality.

A note about this poem: It is based on ‘one’s frame of reference’ that is taken from the psychological theory of Gestalt. We all have one, the trick is recognizing it and dealing with it.

©2011, Donald Harbour

Awed by the simple truth

It was not I that chose,
non ordinary chose me, perhaps
out of curiosity. I have become
Nagual, a trickster, student
of the shape shifter, party to
that unknown realm past the
deception of that called reality.
Now an animal, now a man caught
in a Castaneda datura delirium.
What is real, what is the
dream? Something is missing
pulled from past and present.
The mind has become a broken
chair with three legged support,
an apparatus of contradiction,
neither useful or needed.
Where the seat of experience
was the glue of logic there
is now separation, only vision.
From the litmus colored
sky I veil my face, shroud my
body, hiding all that I
could be or should have
been . The urine tests of
years is a stain upon this
Kubla Khan dome. Khayyam’s jug
of wine has turned to vinegar,
the loaf of bread moldy,
and you are not here
beside me in this wilderness,
this corpus prison. There
exists only this solitary realm.
The song of life a lament wailing
on bended knees before a
maggot starved mind. The ink
still wet upon the parchment of
this soul, a scribble of paranoid
demented schizophrenic babble.
Written there a simple truth: life
does not lie….or, does it?

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour

The jackass of playful creation


xx by nwlox

Dreams, mockery, delusion,
a world of swirling impossibilities.
But there it is, that cauldron,
a morass of confused symbols.
The jumbled mind conscripts thought,
pulling together bits and pieces.
Sometimes believing  them – the pieces,
for on the whole somewhere they exist.
Moments from the refuse of living,
rotting, deteriorating behind eyes.
And yet, it grows, evolves, expands,
encompassing the mental infinite space.
The jackass of playful creation,
has become a horror show puppeteer.
Sitting composed in elision fields,
disguised, it is not what it seems.
A parasol of tattered souls shouldered,
dressed in funeral casual raiment.
It is known, abhorred, but, not to be feared,
these phantasm fragments are loaned.
The hands of time reach the end hour,
a gentle nudge from a wakening alarm.
Swept by a solstice of curtain filtered light,
reality reigns with the gentle dawn.
That which temporally was given,
canceled, reclaimed, shelved.
The play is over receiving bad reviews,
with the echo of a cynical bray.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour