The World Of Sense

And now there’s nothing here for us to see
And now there’s not a thing for us to see
The world has vanished by a grand decree

The plaintive dirges are not heard at all
The sound of sighing is not heard at all
No barking dogs, no bird’s melodic call

We won’t try any bitter tastes, or sweet
We’ll never sample bitter tastes, or sweet
We’ll never thirst, or hunger after meat

Can’t feel the shining sun upon our face
Can’t feel the falling rain upon our face
The touch of pain, replaced by joy and grace

The world of sense has passed, and we’re unburned
The realm of knowledge is, and we’ve returned


This poem is in the form of a Blues Sonnet (see The Book of Forms, by Lewis Putnam Turco). This form has the following rhyme scheme: AAa BBb CCc DDd ee. The capital letters represent refrains that can vary a little. The form contains 14 lines: 4 blues stanzas in iambic pentameter, and a final heroic couplet.

If Hope Is Real

This poem is a sonnet about the world and the real world, as described by the book A Course in Miracles.

The ego made this world without real sense;
Its goal of separation made each form,
And bodies do divide us like a fence,
So lonely, empty lives are now the norm.

The ego, by attacking what is real,
Did shatter truth into quite worthless parts;
We won’t know truth, or even really heal,
Until the love of union joins all hearts.

If hope is real, a new world must be seen:
A world where time and space cannot divide,
A world where all is innocent and green,
A world where all are working on one side.

If we don’t fear that change will bring a loss,
We can discard the ego’s heavy cross.

 

The Judge

This poem is in the form of a ballad.

A child was born, his mother’s first,
Who tried each thing he could;
Each thing he tasted with his mouth,
And judged if it was good.

A growing boy, he learned from books
What men did love and prize;
He learned of virtue and of good,
And he became more wise.

So he did take his lessons all,
And saw the world through them;
He judged each thing with expertise,
Be it a rock or gem.

The man became an expert judge,
And, all throughout the land,
His judgment was a valued thing,
For his unbiased stand.

But after many years of life,
The man began to doubt;
He felt his judgments were not just;
What was it all about?

The things he’d learned in all the books,
He felt were simply air;
The judgments that he’d made till now,
They were not just or fair.

He felt he could not see the whole,
And he felt quite confused;
Have I been wrong about my life?
Have I my job misused?

How do I know how things will work,
When all is said and done?
The things that I have judged against
Could be the shining sun.

And so the judge withdrew his claim
That he could wisely make
Decisions for those who wanted them;
He felt he’d been a fake.

I’m not aware of all the things
That go into our life;
And if I stop my judgments now,
Perhaps I’ll know less strife.

It was a heavy burden that
I’ve carried on my back;
I’ve judged against or for a man;
I’ll drop my heavy pack.

And from now on I will not judge;
I’ll let Someone more wise;
He sees and knows how all things work;
He has clean thoughts and eyes.

Each thing that I did judge against,
It could have been His plan,
To use it as a way to life;
I will no longer ban.

And now the man accepts all things;
He’s free, and he is glad;
He lets the Spirit do His work,
Calls nothing good or bad.

And if he finds his mind goes back
To its judgmental ways,
He views his thoughts, but lets them go,
And so he spends his days.

War

War
is not
what we need.
Our pain in life
comes from retaining
guilt, and not reining
our hate and strife.
We all bleed
from hot
war.


The form of this poem is called a trianglet. It rhymes AbcxddxcbA (where the x lines don’t have to rhyme and the A lines are identical). The number of syllables per line is 1-2-3-4-5-5-4-3-2-1.

It’s Not Worth Fighting For

This crazy world is not worth fighting for
Our struggles are rewarded with more pain
Why would we want another pointless war?

Our strength is slipping out an open door
Disease has entered both our heart and brain
This crazy world is not worth fighting for

Survival never was this hard before
Ideas come, but are they even sane?
Why would we want another pointless war?

Is there some shelter on a distant shore?
If peace can come, then let it always reign
This crazy world is not worth fighting for

All sides are losing with a zero score
When we compete, more stress is what we gain
Why would we want another pointless war?

When guilt and fear are gone, as long before
Our love will shine with joy we cannot feign
This crazy world is not worth fighting for
Why would we want another pointless war?


This poem is based on a specific form called the villanelle. The villanelle has the following structure: A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2, where the letters “a” and “b” show that there are only two rhyme sounds in the poem; the upper case letter “A” represent the refrains; and the numbers 1 and 2 represent refrain 1 and refrain 2. The two refrains have the same rhyming sound at the end but they are different phrases, so they are indicated with the numbers 1 and 2.

Do Not Go Frantic Into That Good Light

This poem is based on the poem by Dylan Thomas called “Do not go gentle into that good night.” His poem and mine are based on a specific form called the villanelle. The villanelle has the following structure: A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2, where the letters “a” and “b” show that there are only two rhyme sounds in the poem; the upper case letter “A” represent the refrains; and the numbers 1 and 2 represent refrain 1 and refrain 2. The two refrains have the same rhyming sound at the end but they are different phrases, so they are indicated with the numbers 1 and 2.

 

Do not go frantic into that good light,
Old worlds should greet with cheer the start of day;
Pray, pray, to see the ending of the night.

All wise men seek to do the just, the right;
Because their words and actions are good, they
Do not go frantic into that good light.

Good men, the remnant are here, looking bright,
The day will not take all their hopes away;
Pray, pray, to see the ending of the night.

Mild men, who dropped their arms and ceased to fight,
They’re not the ones who’ll break like brittle clay;
Do not go frantic into that good light.

Those men, near death, will see a blessed sight,
Dim eyes can see what heaven does display;
Pray, pray, to see the ending of the night.

For you, my friend, distress is at its height,
But don’t despair–new life is on the way.
Do not go frantic into that good light.
Pray, pray, to see the ending of the night.

The Hounds of Happiness

The hounds of happiness have been taught well
By master Guilty Fear to seek out all
The hearts where mirth and joyful feelings dwell;
The sound of glee and laughter is their call.

The hounds don’t live in time, or dwell in space,
But they can always find a place on earth;
The minds and hearts of people they do chase,
For they devour jealously all mirth.

The hounds detect all sounds and smell each scent;
Each laugh is heard throughout their darkened sphere;
They shred your life until your days are spent,
And chase to hell where there’s no hope or cheer.

We can escape the growling hunting hounds,
When fear is gone and only love abounds.

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