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Tag: illusion

The Diamond Sutra: sonnet (Spencerian)

What is an unexcelled and perfect light,
and who would recognize that state as such?
To judge it by comparison’s not right,
and once you’re past that point, there’s just not much

to measure with. No real yardstick or crutch
would be of too much use out there, beyond
the realm of seeing, hearing, and of touch.
How could you catch a ripple in that pond?

Quite honestly, too many saints are fond
of these imaginary turns of phrase.
The truth is out there past such simple bonds,
quite empty of both struggle and malaise.

Enlightenment? What do you hope to see?
Once there is no more seeking, you are free.

09 JUL 2025

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The Ears Have It: sonnet (envelope)

Watch the eyes. It’s said they never lie,
and yet so much deception starts with seeing,
building illusions that soon end up being
so real to us we never question why
we do the things we do, and act as though
there is so little choice but wait to die,
imagining some future by-and-by
when life no longer simply tells us no.

Instead, we should rely more on the ears,
for what we hear brings in the world to us,
and even in an echo of a thing
its essence can be understood quite clear.
Behind all the cacophony and fuss,
there is a song we can all learn to sing.

08 Jul 2025

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The Fire Game: sonnet (Italian)

The fire may turn to embers as we age,
its bright hot essence slowly turned to ash.
Our brave ideals disintegrate so fast,
and our youth’s passion melts to smoldering rage.
Perhaps that’s how we see beyond the cage
that we dismissed back then as balderdash,
imagining our noble, rebel clash
as more than just a temporary stage.

Now, hard against the wall, we find the flame
a gentler reminder of those days
when not to burn at both ends was a shame,
and looking out into the growing haze
we see there is no scoring in this game,
no matter which position someone plays.

08 Jul 2025

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The Great Pretender: sestet

Can you pretend that all is going well,
that your imagined life is here and now,
and what you picture in your mind as hell
strikes only those you hate and fear, somehow?
What will it take to break that noxious spell?
How much injustice can your soul allow?

Can you pretend you have nothing to lose,
that your life is secure and safe from grief
thanks to the privilege of luck? Here’s news:
what happiness you have is sweet, but brief.
When you protect your self alone, you choose
a private hell beyond help or relief.

Can you pretend to be so without thought
that what may happen doesn’t cross your mind?
It makes no difference what result you sought.
What matter then is eyesight for the blind?
You proudly made the trap in which you’re caught.
It won’t be a grand paradise you’ll find.

03 JUL 2025

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The Use of Sorrow: roundelay

What’s the use in all this crying
and a slow descent to madness
because our illusions, dying,
strip away the veil of gladness
we spend our lifetime denying,
just to wallow in our sadness?

Because our illusions, dying,
strip away the veil of gladness,
give us reasons to stop trying
and give up on the whole business
we spend our lifetime denying,
just to wallow in our sadness.

Give us reasons to stop trying
and we succumb to the madness,
selling out in hopes of buying
something more than a betweenness
we spend our lifetime denying
just to wallow in our sadness.

Selling out in hopes of buying
something more than a betweenness,
we free fall but think we’re flying
through the clouds, beyond the blackness
we spend our lifetime denying
to not wallow in our sadness.

27 Jun 2025

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What Would Become: rondine

What would become of me without ambition,
a driving force to make some kind of mark,
to cast my feeble light out in the dark
and so improve my overall condition?
To otherwise behave suggests perdition,
a life led without purpose or benchmark.
What would become of me?

If I accomplish nothing, what derision
will others heap upon my useless mission,
assuming I’m a bum lost in the park,
my fortune come to nil and prospects stark?
What would become of me?

26 Jun 2025

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The Passing Game

When someone says we’re out of time, so what?
What difference does one more minute make,
if it’s just on or off, open or shut,
and more of just the same old tired mistakes?

When someone says we’re out of time, does that
mean everything so far is done in vain,
as if one’s whole lifespan’s a welcome mat
for one more doorway labeled “Try Again”?

When someone says we’re out of time, just think:
so much can happen in a minute’s span.
There in the space between two quick eye-blinks
eternity awaits your stretched out hand.

When someone says we’re out of time, hold on,
and just because the clocks have stopped to run
that every opportunity is gone.
If you get just a moment, choose this one.

When someone says we’re out of time, alas,
if only there were more of life than this,
remember, neither water nor the glass
sees anything half-empty or remiss.

When someone says we’re out of time, watch out!
They’re trying to convince you it’s the end,
and in that final moment, raise some doubt
that we are all impermanent, my friend.

When someone says we’re out of time, beware,
they want your share of minutes for their own,
as if there isn’t time enough to spare
between just what you see, and what is shown.

When someone says we’re out of time, big deal.
The end and the beginning are the same.
Who cares that you might miss the big reveal:
all life is just a moment’s passing game.

26 Jun 2025

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