Nov
19
1991

Corporate

by Stephen Messer

I pour forth my derisions,
On a soul that can’t be satisfied;
Imploring all the visions
That I once held had died.

In viewing this earth’s maladies,
So inculpably malign,
But one vast fallacy
Infects earth at this time:

Corporate greed I tell you
The ignorance of what’s truly right;
It’s what they’re trying to sell you,
That keeps their fires alight.

We must starve the fetid fever,
Taking all the rotten blame,
For it’s you and I and everyone
Can extinguish corporate flame

Before the forests burn and the
Mother gasps for air,
and we children of the planet;
will not have anywhere.

posted in Nature, Poems, Social, Songs | No Comments

Nov
19
1991

Season

by Stephen Messer

I’d noticed that the plants had all changed.
They hadn’t been rearranged,
Just grown a bit, and some had died.
They acknowledged passing of another season
through the harmony they struck with this small world.

Their wisdom is soft, unspoken.
A world within a word not uttered.
A wisdom of action that comes from being.

I’d noticed the changing of the plants,
And in the act of noticing,
The soft, unspoken wisdom of the fact remained:
I had also changed.

posted in Introspection, Nature, Poems | No Comments

Nov
14
1991

Go Away

by Stephen Messer

I feel the pent up malice of your avaricious life,
Feeling your love and hate and disregard.
Whose fettered minds create me?
Of course it’s yours, for you make me what I am.

I am your problem.

You: you are sociable; consciable;
You set up all the right charities to extricate yourself.
A few weaker links in your chain really even care.
And you do create me: you make me what I am.

You are my problem.

Together we put up the facade of working together;
You with your charities, me, the cause of causes.
And a few weaker links in your chain really know,
We create each other, I made you what you would be.

I am all your problems.

You call yourself civilization as you know it.
Ha! civilization as you would have it be!
It cannot be.
Civilization doesn’t come for free,
The civilized aren’t free.

You are society, civilized society.
Progressive society.
A coming together of a species to usurp a race,
Perhaps a planet, perhaps me.

You are society.

Me?

I am
Every other living thing in the universe.
Living species, living suns and stars,
Living grains of sand,
Living seas, and plants and planets;
The living air you breathe.
Don’t you see?

I am your problem.
You go everywhere, in your cars,
Your planes, boats and trains.
You can’t escape me.

You go everywhere I already am.
But still you don’t even know,
The only place I can’t go,

Is away.

posted in Introspection, Kisner Collection, Metaphysical, Nature, Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
07
1991

What more?

by Stephen Messer

There is an end to all this
in the end.

O for the rustling breeze
Which flits around
the trees,
and lest the old
companions come
and go.

In measuring of moments
I spend too much time
ordering time.

Rarely then, does there seem
to be
enough time.

Always too conversant
with an old adversary;
I hadn’t yet done
those things
We shall do then,
once or twice.

Though it will
never really suffice,
We have known them all
already,
known them all.

If a mood like this
is stretched out,
we can only break
down and shout:
“So what more?
What more?
What more?”

Then the things
that we have done
will seem like so much fun,
when compared to all
the losses that
we’ve endured.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Poems, Time | No Comments

Nov
06
1991

Experience

by Stephen Messer

Life is as life does;
It becomes what life a life was.
Life will be as life is doing.
Present action is just a manifestation of the things for which we have yet to account.

I know there is nothing here,
yet all the nothingness I experience
takes on the forms and shapes
I mistake for objects.
All the nothingness I experience
takes on the false meaning and pretense
of a world.
I am trapped in that false pretense–this world.

Yet, all the nothingness I experience
leaves me without a sense of the nothingness
that prevails.

I am left with nothing of nothingness;
in this regard I have everything.
In this regard, I long for nothing,
For I have everything.

I experience everything.
I experience the thoughts attached to
the nothingness that takes on the forms
I see and feel and touch and know.

Those thoughts lead me on;
Those thoughts take a grip upon the self I
don’t experience, expect by shunning
all experience,
and keep me in their grip.

Those thoughts shape the nothingness
into the something and the something I
experience
The something that leads the thoughts
that shape the nothingness
into the something and the something else I
experience.

And life goes on.
Or seems to.
For without the nothingness, there cannot be
a something;
no thing can exist.

Out of the nothingness come all the things
I shape with thought and belief and
experience.

And so
I experience my
experience
of all things,
and of nothing.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Poems | No Comments

Oct
27
1991

Last Summer

by Stephen Messer

As the last bright days,
now passed,
recede into the vast expance
I call my experience
A newer force appears and moves
In to its place in time.

I ponder moments of this last short summer
Receding waves of time now passed.

The wide, wide open blue
Of the skies o’erhead,
And the places that I went–
Now only memories.

The places that I have
visited–still visit in my heart.
All the places I have known and loved.

I recall a thrashing moment
running down a hill,
along a winding trail, to a valley floor;

I recall a blissful moment
Revelling in the life
reverently watching whales
as they crossed the bow;

I recall a serene, surreal moment,
watching a painted sky
of red, orange and yellow,
fade into the ink of night;

I recall a happy moment
when a familiar smile,
a happy loving face I know
did come and hold me near.

I recall so many moments,
though disjointed in the sequence of time,
now united in my memories:
Into a string of happiness.

A string of happy moments,
Now I call my past,
Happy, solemn moments of a summer
that’s now over.

posted in Introspection, Poems, Social, Time | No Comments

Oct
20
1991

Healing Hills

by Stephen Messer

Hills roll into a distance.
I follow,
rolling along a well-travelled path.
Each bend brings with it a
new vista,
a new outlook,
a new place to visit and see.
A new experience
I can be.

Every peak brings with it a new
height to perceive.
Some higher than others.
I shall visit those peaks,
Shall climb those hills
And they shall heal me.

Every tree brings with it another
energy, to which I can connect,
Some stronger than others.
I shall experience those trees,
And they shall heal me.

Every living thing brings with it
a new life, another energy,
another being with
which I share the world.

Another being through which
I heal the world,
and the world heals me.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Nature, Poems | No Comments

Oct
20
1991

Create

by Stephen Messer

I create the things I fear,
So I fear as little as possible;
I fear everything.

I create the things I love,
So I love as much as possible;
I love nothing.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Poems | No Comments

Sep
28
1991

Merging

by Stephen Messer

The True Grandeur of a place
to be experience
must be merged into one’s being.

There is grandeur here
Some may see it,
but never experience it;
Some conquer it,
and think they have merged with it.

Few merge with it
and in the merging,
See, experience,
and conquer it.

posted in Nature, Poems | No Comments

Sep
14
1991

Harbor Town

by Stephen Messer

The dockside is a quiet place now.
Through the veil of cloud,
No moon or stars can break.

The dominion of the night has been broken.
No moon or stars can shine.

Though harbor lights and the town’s behind,
They shine
The faint bustle of the town is heard.
It is distant.

The bustle of a town is so far away.
I cannot comprehend the melding of the two.

Though this harbor is the town’s backbone
The harbor now sleeps.
Glass-like water reflects the lights of the town.
I hear the sounds.
But louder are the gentle lapping waves upon this boat;
The faintly clanging halyards in the breeze;
Clanging their percussive symphony.

Voices sometimes break the silence.
My own voice, too,
As I sing to myself, and the sea.

Singing songs of peace, and songs of the sea,
Songs of the life I would lead.

Sleeping harbor, your quietude fills me.
Sleeping harbor, you harbor me.

posted in Oceans, Poems, Social | No Comments

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