Here is a poem about the sacred and profane journey toward presence of mind:
Atop a mountain of undertakings
He overlooked his guru
Desperately wanting to be
A little slower
With deaf-defying pleas
As the guru came fourth
With quiet an expression
A mist what could only be
A gentle brew haha
A beam in the I
Ripe for the taking
That grin and bare it presence
Disclothing won self
Untired spoke
“Mine your own busyness”
Loded with irony ore not
In lucid con sort
First herd in silence
Tending too
What is awe ready hear
Possessed knot buy busyness
Pre-seeded by reverence
Quiet holy bye fits and starts taken off
That quest in what weave got
Spinning wheels
As post haste
In the whirled of time
A scuttled spring
A flurry of summer
Precipitous fall
And scurrilous winner
All hail to the furor of politics
Being Job
Or other wise
Their egos, their egos, their egos
A hemmed and hawed trinity
Sorely leading to dumb founding
As knee deep in hasty putting
Wading fore the good owed daze
Chics clenched for smiles and smiles
Bustles covering but empty rumpus
Mistaken for ahead
Uprightly
Covering for so far as possible a musing
Poising as clamorous
All the wile
Being shafted
Riddled with shit that know won no’s
Accept perhaps
Guru with fertile eyes
As groan a guardin’
Able to shed tears
For awe that has been lost
The fodder of altared presence
Wear mums the word
As udder anew
A whole knew
Word
