dailydatewithgod

Got issues?
Quick get the tissues

Or maybe it is our tissues
which shows us our issues

Tomato versus Tomato
Potato versus Potato

Shall we call the whole thing off?

Or admit to ourselves
That hidden in our shelves
Are our cells
making noise like cowbells
begging for attention
Because we pay no notion
or quiet the commotion
by numbing the motion

Pain
the great equalizer
not swayed
by the analyzer

so does it matter if the issue
is in our heads or in our tissues?

Like fear it requires courage
a willingness to nudge
to notice what we begrudge
and maybe even judge

If the cowbells had words
what would be their terms?
what do they observe
that requires them to be heard?

Instead of numbing
or running
could we become loving?
before our cells start buzzing
or even cussing?

words and screams
almost too obscene
past the point of no return
where we can no longer learn
how our body is prompting us to yearn

For a deeper knowing
a dive into the groaning
a message coming
directly
from
our
souls

Is it grief?
Yet no one died
Is that a relief
or a reason to cry?

The ability to feel
basic human quality
Sometimes seems unreal
like a foreign entity
Embracing it is a task
one best faced unmasked

Told to like the good ones
and get rid of the bad ones
But if all allow us to go deeper
why do we run like it’s the reaper?

A challenge to be sure
but what else are we here for
meant to grow and stretch
discover what has not yet been met

Maybe it is the tool we choose to use
to face the unraveling rule
of riding the emotions
to places in motion
no fixed beginning or end
too hard for the head to comprehend

Bring our hearts to the task
there is suddenly the room
for what gets unmasked

Good or bad is no longer the criteria
only what calls us to meet
the seeming inner hysteria
with acceptance and noncompete

Inhabiting a beat that likes to groove
a space where no one needs to prove
we can be carried through
to a new point of view

One that makes room for all of who we are
not worried about others seeing our scars
only how to transform them into bright burning stars

A poem about love
are you for real?
I can already hear the whimsy
Get ready for the schpeel

Rainbows and butterflies
hearts and unicorns
flying all around
trying to find a landing place
so we can start to find the line
at which we align
with what emanates from the divine

Beyond a silly rhyme
how dare we try to define
the very essence
of the omnipresent

Is it fixed or scattered?
What part of it matters?

Depending on the time
whether giving or receiving
all of the sublime elements
to be found in the creasing
of the imprint left behind

Is it about the moment
the truth
the belief
or the proof?

Do its’ properties change
amidst the exchange?
Heavily dependent
on who is the intended

Understood upon reflection
to be wholly misunderstood
Like the presence of the wind
Felt on the skin
With no clear sight of source
to blame for the change in course

The waves of the divine
attempting to dance with time
Seeing if the shifts
causing one to feel adrift
only long enough to grasp
trust there is one more gasp
before it is all past
and in the end
we all feel the mend

I must confess
I find myself off track
It’s a bit of a mess
and I feel out of whack

The question remains
Can I get back in the lane
where things feel more sane?

When ducks are not in a row
There are lots of noisy quacks
Searching for the know
to put things back on track

Maybe the point
is not to get out of joint
just because the ducks
stopped forming a row

Looking for the meaning
without it seeming
like being lost
has too great a cost

We have been sold the line
of how important it is to find
the path we are meant for
which helps us discover more
about ourselves and about the world
apparently, it is about having and doing more?

We hide behind
an incorrigible bind
preaching like pungent wine
Exclaiming: “Its a crime
you have not figured out why
your song does not rhyme!”

What if the song you are meant to sing
is more like a jazzy syncopation
something with a little bling bling
moving away from the constipation
of following the design
which says we must be confined
to simply falling in line

If it doesn’t work out
You can always go back
Get all ’em ducks en route
And listen to ’em quack

Giving up is not an option
or is it?
Some days feel like we’ve come undone
But I promise you little one
There is plenty to be done

To discover
To uncover
To be one over

It is our soul
It is our heart
It is the truth of who we are

Musings and fuming
comes along for the ride
Turning and cycling
Is part of the dive

Deep into the truth
Like the root of a tooth
Painful at times
But we learn to find

The rhythm to our rhyme
The way we can define
how best to realign
with how the divine
sees our eyes,
our ears,
even our emotions and fears
grumbling in our stomach
letting us know we are at a summit
We daringly climb
despite the twists and turns we will find

Trust me when I say
There is a greater way
For us to rise
To make hay
To step away
from who we thought we were
defined only by circumstance
which said we didn’t have a chance

Listen carefully
as I hold you gingerly
there will come a time
when you freely step back
able to trust in the fact
that I always have your back

Able to play
In unimaginable ways
Let go on the swings
Play hide and seek without the scary

Life will take on a new hue
And you will ask who
is defined by the circumstance

Not me

I am free
Able to be me
Enjoying me
Pleasuring me
Getting to know me
As more than who I thought I could be

Unwinding with time
we will find
what it means
to live and move free

Free in the body
dancing with the holy
A sacramental in motion
Beauty in flight
Without any notion
of ever being hindered by the night

When ideas are batched
and presented in a flash
It is hard to tell with the splash
if they are all matched

We find ourselves smashed
reacting to a gash
when what was hatched
was put together half-@$$

We lose our self-composure
With repeated exposure
Over and over
to content so polar
do we expect our psychomotor
to respond like it’s sober?

At best its mediocre
hopefully without an odor
possibly driven by a poser
known as a twitterosa

Ensconced in what’s trending
No point in mending
Leaving it all with an ending
we were not intending

Do we dare try to do better?
Maybe remove the pressure
Come back together
Remember the pleasure
of pausing long enough to measure
and strive with up to 280 letters
to match with a greater good endeavor

It’s the atmosphere
that causes me to fear
that what is in here
is not real

It appears
to be sincere
even when it steers
from the rear

It may sound severe
or tend to veer
Away from the reel
of what is revealed

Is it more cavalier
Like some souvenir
easily disappeared
from the biosphere

They seem insincere
when they persevere
like a pioneer
of yesteryear

Blasting like an auctioneer
attempting to commandeer
how we will feel
when we believe the reel
of all there is to fear
is all that is there
and the only thing real

Dare to unveil
What only your heart can cohere
Outside the sphere
of the mind’s unending spiel
all the things to fear

Step into the gear
where what you can here
embodies the veneer
encouraging you to volunteer
for living in the stratosphere
not governed by fear

What does it mean to own?
Is it the same as to possess
Or refer to what’s honed?

How does one know
what we really own?
Purchased or bought
Or brought about by thought?

Does it only count if stated and spoken
to all who are woken
up by the same frame of mind?

Or can it be heard
by those not on board
Coming from a different frame
Maybe even looking to blame
Someone or something else
believed to be causing
one to feel less sense of self

A feeling of not owning
because we are not honing
what it means to be real
according to what is in our own reel

How long can we go along
pretending to function
by an obligatory notion
that there is something inherently wrong
like some kind of malfunction

As if God messed up
and created a bunch of muck
when God meant to design
beings like good wine

We have not yet acquired the taste
to detect the wine from grape
So each time we partake
we find it to be a mistake

Willing to change our palette
allows us to stop approaching life with a mallet
ready to stomp out the whatchamacallit
standing outside the packet
like some kind of racket

In the end, the only thing we own
is not what messes with our flow
but in our approach to the zone
showing how much we have honed
our willingness to grow

Does focusing on what is unbecoming
keep us from becoming

what we want to be
what we can be
what we are meant to be
are not there endless possibilities?

If the focus is on avoiding the gauche
Will we lose what can be coached?

Why not point our minds
To what we can find
Within ourselves
Like exploring hidden shelves

If we fear being maladroit
Will we miss what we can exploit?

Why not point our minds
To what we can find
Within ourselves
Like exploring hidden shelves

Avoiding being labeled salacious
Keeps away the discovery of the gracious

Why not point our minds
To what we can find
Within ourselves
Like exploring hidden shelves

Getting rid of the tacky
Disconnects us from our sense of wacky

Why not point our minds
To what we can find
Within ourselves
Like exploring hidden shelves

Outside the confines
of acceptability
Into the gold mines
Of our express-ability

Is not the true possibility
The opportunity to see
How much the world needs
What in our hearts makes us we

Why does the word exposure
seem so much more vulgar
then the word disclosure?

Both are conveying the idea
of what it means to reveal
Both create the same ending
But not the same feeling

One comes from the outside in
The other from the inside out
Who knew different letters make that come about?

Do you have a preference?
One to which you show deference?

Are you more likely to align
With one that sounds like a sign
hanging outside your mind
Or the one more benign
Because you simply speak your mind

Exposure versus Disclosure
Life happens to us versus life happens for us?
Are we the victim or the advocate
From where do we postulate?

Only the substance of the matter
Determines whether it scatters,
shatters,
or flatters

Does the decision to disclose
come from the desire to control
what could be exposed?

Exposure or disclosure
which causes your heart’s closure?