Fully-Extended Lawn-Chair Back-Porch Star-Gazing Meditation


Hazy white, blue night
deep space light —

Smoke curls, swirls, ascends from my lips
like spirits from the earth

gathers
in clouds of contemplation

the higher they rise
the thinner and more wispy
the thoughts become, until dissipation
changing from something to nothing to everything.

Tiny yellow horseweed blooms
burst and scatter pollen on the porch-rail
sway against a starry-night
background. The wind licks
my bare skin like a lover.

Three suns die
their final expressions
written across the sky.

These Peaches

These immature peaches
are like poetry pieces
that are underworked,
and not yet ripe.

Their size is small
but that’s not it
it is on the inside
that they lack substance
anticipated hues and textures.

Patience is key.
After all, the tree is still
relatively young . . . just another year
or two, and they’ll be so sweet savored by the tongue
nourishing the mind
replenishing the soul.

Oh but their smell
and the way they roll
around on the table
makes them poetry

or peaches
I haven’t decided which.

tanka

wind

invisible you
awaken my follicles
enliven my mood
touch each leaf in your passing:
evidence of existence

You Seeking Hope

reach out for my hand
while crossing the stream
understand that
first I’ll listen
and last I’ll speak.

I have come to help you across
help you believe again
my friend, release the sails
into the wind again
my friend. I have
a knapsack full of light.

Look inside

as we walk the rock ledge
of blue slate with fossilized
shells and roots embedded
into the bumpy stone surface

seeking answers
down by the creek

where the warm summer grass grows
tall, and cool blue flowers
around the trunks
of green-leaved trees
and calmness flows
into the channel
of our souls
refreshing mind
and body as one
unified whole

crossing over the threshold
to the dream, wading through the thoughts
of the stream

until we reach the other side

Staring into the Greenness

vvvPondering upon
vvmeditating on
the seasons
the revolving, evolving door of life
vvstops for a moment
vvvwhile still spinning

And I see the Spring so clearly

vvvlost in a vortex
vvof thought. floating
standing. staring into the greenness
the grass is so tall
vvit swallows any stray
vvvwandering cats or dogs

vvvfrogs or tiny action-figures
petals or dreams
vvvcarried by the wind

or otherwise . . . that have fallen

Proof of Good Memories

After watching Dane Cook

outbursts of candid
emotion
fill the room

my laugh
reminds me
of my father’s

I can remember
the last time we laughed
together

we were watching
the Three Stooges.

we laughed until
the tears rolled down the cheeks
of our so-alive faces
holding our mid-sections
in a wonderfully aching display
of laughter
between a father . . . and a son.

~~~


Minty Green Memories


The smell of this tea
so steamy it takes me
walking through childhood pastures.

It takes me down
down by the creek
the one back home in Indiana
the one that overflowed
from one pond into another.
Spearmint grew leafy and green
along the edges.

I used to go there, alone
watch the water flow
over smooth colored stones
breathe in the minty fragrance

shaded from the rest of the world.


I often go there in my mind
but I am still a child.
He should stay.
He is safe there.

Cool Spring Morning

Buzzards: big, chicken-bodied-like
ugly birds gather on the ground
around a dear carcass of brown
and white crumpled skin folding in
on a raw meat meal, picked at
by bloody, yellow beaks

over and again
on a cool Spring morning . . . .
driving to work

And I think
to myself how strange
it is that a bird soaring so high
could be so beautiful in the sky, yet so ugly on the ground.

New Content!

Ckeck out what's new at Promise of Light!

Expressions.

Angel Speak.

Mary's Hideaway.

Poem of a Soldier.

Windows to the Universe




And here's a few lines from myself:


Girl in the Hall


how lovely she is
with her long dark hair
and soft tan skin so beautiful
she laughs. I watch her
as she watches the people below
in the rotunda, laughs . . . .

and she walks away
never knowing of our encounter
of how much it meant
to me

That Feeling

Original energy encompasses
the senses. As the universe
suddenly opens her eyes

every follicle on the body becomes alive
every hair is stimulated, stands
receives signals

like tiny antennas of emotion
absorbing yet radiating
simultaneously

so that it’s the spirit from within
that connects with the skin
that opens up the pathway

to the light
so that all
becomes

one.

She Cries

She cries

in her car
alone, actively listening
to the song playing on the radio

She participates
expresses the words
entering her mind
then bursting from her lips
instantaneously

the music penetrates
layer after frozen layer
until it finds the inner-most
realm of soul, still as warm

as the day she was born

and it is from this solitary place
deep within the nucleus of herself
behind the closed doors of emotion

that she cries.




I cry in the car
all the time. Sadness
is my closest companion.

So, I channeled the poet for her, whoever she is.

I’m working on another piece that explores
the connection between music and the depth of our souls.

Perhaps I’ll put it up for a day or two.


Thanks for reading, and for being my friend.

Love, James.

Stand in the Light

Stand in the Light

Even though
the cold lies
just beyond this window

on this side
winter wanes
as my face and chest are revived

revived with the warmth from millions of miles away

my stomach, too, warms as I lean in
closer, over
the kitchen counter

paying no mind to the
few greasy forks
and baby bottles
that protrude from the soapy sink water

I glance into the eye of the sun
swear I see the wingtips of a light angel: stretching
blinding me with the brightness of an ineffable beauty

and I look away
close my eyes
and turn back again

lean into illumination
further into the light and absorb
absorb the light from millions of miles away

and something calls to me
to stay, to stand in the light
of this cold January day

Morning

Morning

Fog rises
Sunlight
falls upon the mountain
snowy white

And the darkness
of night
hides
once again.

Flowers & Vortexes has changed from a bimonthly
to quarterly magazine. It’s just too much work for me.

Circumvolve

Again They Die


Yet another year passes
by, and the flowers die
again . . . again . . . again they die!

Cold rain cries cold color from their eyes
And again . . . again . . . again they die!

The land: white. Lifeless.
A few cardinals
feasting
on dead roses.

Striking red poses against a snowy backdrop.
And again . . . again . . . again they die.

a quick peek through my window

I’m havin’ one of those days when I’m all alone and have PLENTY to do. But poetry keeps calling to me. So, in between studying art history, here’s a little snapshot for you.



Snap-Shot

red Arizona stone
sitting in a Kentucky home
just being, participating
in being alone, in stillness

while the last warm day
before winter shines
through my window
of experience.

Release Date: November 1, 2007

Flowers & Vortexes

presents

Selected Poems of Xristi Megas

"I loafe and invite my soul." ~ Walt Whitman

hovering within
a moment, I found
god today, on a path
in the forest, under
a lush green canopy of leaves

the light peeking
through the silence
and the sound of song birds . . . singing
beauty coming into focus
harmony into balance

it was there, next to a tree
draped in snake-like vines
wrapping around my mind
the smell of warm honeysuckles
thick in the air, it was there

standing still, that I found god.

F & V: Online

Here is an online version of Flowers & Vortexes. Enjoy!

Paper

Glowing white accepts me
my words

for whom we are
realizes

how far I’ve come

that it will take a lifetime
to overcome these memories
of crying, barely able to count

bleeding by......mother’s hand.

Rubbing tears
and hate
with blood
onto my tiny beaten face

I stare into the bottom
of pain
of the kitchen garbage can
through this shapeless blur

and there, staring back at me
my new-to-me white shirt
lies crumpled
and torn
streaked with red

On some level, my sympathy
allows the man to understand

but he will never.

The child remains
on the floor
with another nosebleed
because he didn’t wind

the vacuum cord up properly.


"Mother did it need to be so high?"

balance (revised)

Her fullness
accentuates
multifaceted points of light
beams, streams, star-like
gleams penetrate blueness
of night, falls upon my feet
in between shifting shadows
of tree's leaves and branches.

Ours is a love affair
a token from the beginning of time
unspoken, unbroken throughout tunnels
funnels of centuries and minds

I come alone
to bask in her
brilliance, to listen
to be heard . . . without a sound

Universal emotions
our affections
mutually radiate far into the blackness

And in the midst
of our
unconditional love
I find

balance