The Gold-Light Path
by James Hanny
In most anything a Man encounters or desires, he has a choice upon which road to traverse. And in that destination, he chooses one of two essential directions in which to flow his decisions—to release and direct his energies.
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One path taken is guided by his shadowy, dark fears.
It appears to be, and he perceives it as, the real fabric of his experiences.
This illusory path was configured from the legacy of his youth by the labors of shadow figures echoing within him; then made believable by the investment and attention of his own energy.
Through sheer mental projection, or by sheer attraction, this path is filled with ominous shadows, tricksters, and miscreants.
From his dark recesses, he may summon demons, monsters, the darkest of fellows, or wicked Sirens.
My Father’s Son; a poem
by James Herlihy
Did you know what it was like
To face every day as if it were my last;
To awaken every morning in certain dread
That one or both of you would be gone?
Changes; a poem
by Stefan J. Malecek
I neither hate
nor depreciate
the self I used to be,
for failures and faults
I could not then avoid,
that now burn brightly
like ingots of stellar mass
deep in my heart of hearts
like a beacon for others,
my brothers,
to follow on their own journey
into the heart of dark shadow
and emerge newborn,
reborn
from the ashes of the past
into the love, joy, and brightness
that awaits each of us
in the golden transformation of the self.
From darkness I approach; a poem
by Devon Strong
As the seasons change at Equinox, it lasts the winters night, from darkness I approach.
As the cold of frost feathered windows, from darkness I approach.
As snowy footprints under star sparkled sky, from darkness I approach.
It is time for changing or renewing the spirit of flesh, from darkness I approach.
Heart Opening; a poem
by Paul Goldman
I opened my heart and found
you comfortably resting inside,
as if you had always been waiting
for the right time when I would
find you.
Had I but known you were here within,
I would have rushed ahead, skipped a few
steps necessary to finally commune
with you.
Surely as nightfall turns to daylight, I have
followed the specific guidance I was given.
Encoded perfectly were the instructions written
in a language that until now would have been
indecipherable.
Poetry: A good shattering
by George Daranyi
If the choice is:
Receiving
An old platitude
Or
A comfortable lie
Or
A good shattering
From the truth
Of your life
Choose the shattering
When life delivers
The Big Cut
You could live in
A state of perpetual
disappointment
Of
Pathos
Of
Weakness
Or
You could choose
A good shattering
Choose the shattering
Where you gulp
For air
Like a fish
In a stale pond
The Big Lie: How the truth changes us
by Peter Clothier
I had just lost my job, the third in a multi-year succession of academic positions with increasing status and responsibility from the 1960s to the mid-1980s. To be utterly honest, I had been kicked out, as I had been from my two previous jobs. I had refused to conform to academic standards and expectations.
My chief sin was that I had published poetry rather than scholarly articles.
Poetry: A knowing heart
by Eric Diamond
Be thankful for the grief in autumn,
rust on weathervanes, sour plums, and
soothing words for the sad, four-leav’d heart.
I let bygones be bygones, then
went after bigger fish to fry.
Try my speckled perch with artichoke heart.
Numbed by news, dark grey overcoats
of despair huddle in doorways
in the city they call Broken Heart.
Owls track scurrying field mice, while
hawks cast shadows on wounded squirrels.
Poetry: Rope swing
by Wayne Lee
Seine rope is best,
sixty-four strands of softest
Norwegian twine,
strong enough to lift
the leads and rings
up from the bottom of the sea,
high toward the power block,
lay them back down heavy
as a slumbering whale
on the afterdeck.
Seine rope makes the safest
swings, soft and strong,
made for every weather,
woven like steel –
the very best work
a father can do for his child.
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