Shadows

I watch my shadow from noon to dusk,
Ever growing in size and lust,
Making me taller than a redwood tree
And stretching the limit of what I can be.

Until the fading sun falls all the way down
And I am beyond the starry lights of town.
Now lost and one with the black nothingness
I am left to mourn my colossal, black hubris.

I kick a stone as I walk home alone,
Struggling to forget the hope I was shown
And accept that I am an ego confined by flesh:
A spirit trapped, and a man depressed.

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EGO

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

They say four letter words
are the ones we should avoid
the naughty and nasty ones
that hurt and harm others 

Be happy

It was my ego

That made me cry over you,

Get depressed over you,

And fuss because I wasn’t the reason for your happiness anymore

HAIKU: MY MIRROR

HAIKU:  MY MIRROR

By Charles Robert Lindholm

The mirror shows me

HAIKU: A PICTURE’S EGO

By Charles Robert Lindholm

A picture’s ego

HAIKU: BEWARE OF BRUISING

By Charles Robert Lindholm

He is a flower

So Much Better

Ego and pettiness

Add to life’s travails.

Double Lives

Born in a joy, pure
Of a single spirit
Now we lead double lives
With an egoic twin
Of our own

Ego Play

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Impulsive egos
Perpetration of decay
Breathing arrogance

Coarse self-centeredness
Feigned morality
Gratitude deceit

The Real Fight

life, separated not
as earth and sky

Nonet: Come Down, Not Fly Up

life’s journey, not from bottom to top
made heavy, to come down in depth
born we are in highest state
by nature, to rule strong

From An Esoteric Perch

in your dire needy urges
made of sense or senseless
made of worth or worthless
made of energy or listless
made of logic or irrational
made of pleasure or pain
made to scream or in silence
made refined or gross

Home Maintenance

Our lawns need mowing
A cobweb’s growing
A gate is sagging
Repairs are lagging
Shelves are dusty
A latch is rusty
A faucet leaks
Our hall floor creaks
Laundry’s piled on the floor
A broken knob is on a door
Our housekeeping is far from kept
But our home’s well maintained in some respects

What Do I Hear

It isn’t the clear voice

Nor the meaning

It isn’t them

That I Hear

It isn’t reality

Yet it exists

It isn’t nature

That I sense

I.

I don’t sin

I am the sin.

I don’t want love

I am love.

I don’t write poetry

I am poetry.