Daniel Batten's Page

They call themselves dancing – they whom loom across the polished floor calling and cooing with the smoothness of mahogany brooms that sweep with eloquence what they cannot squeeze from their dry souls. They who charm the magnetism from magnets and appeal allure found in sunbeams that stretch every morning across congregate clusters of mountains. They who ignore the vociferate yawp that clamors to justify its sonorous tones in avoidance of the prognosticate priest who is all Scripture and no cha… Continue

I apologize, to a thousand or more souls, who came to me asking for my help, whom I turned away for sake of my own insecurity. It has come to my attention that all those times people treated me rudely and/or said rude things to me that they were asking for my help. They were seeking me out to be their angel and like a fool, I left them in the misty copse of their despair. I know better now, that those who assume the form of an enemy, is really Christ or Buddha in disguise testing my better natur… Continue

No-Thought

Tiptoed angel jumping
And skipping
In serenity

Being
Weightless in
Quest of air

Her legs
Propellers

Swindling elegant
Drip
Dropping

In delicate
Wrinkle

On puddles
Between here and
Somewhere

Held inside
Not capable of time

Or

Sight.

It’s a feeling
No thought could
Contemplate.

©Daniel Scott Batten, 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


From Book THE BODHI LEAF found at LULU.com and WORDCLAY.com