My Book of Dreams: Poems and Short Essays Contemplating the Mystery

By Mark Barton Stringer

To believe, or not to believe, is that the question? Mark Stringer offers these poems and journal essays on behalf of the Great Mystery. This book of poems and art is more about asking better questions, rather than imposing opinions or presuming any final conclusions about the nature of reality.

Creative wisdom has no gender, no religion or sect ... or a name given to an imaginary entity like a pet for human beings to play with, to confine, or to abuse for that matter. Fighting wars over differences of opinion about the nature of reality is the ultimate evil, and pure human folly.

The author feels that inherently, there is no contradiction between so-called "creationism" and evolutionary theory. Scientific observation and the ability to explore the macro/micro cosmos is a natural condition and a result of an awesome intelligent intentional consciousness ... that which without beginning preceeded the "big bang," and that which expands with designs of unlimited variations of light and dark energy. By way of both scientific and spiritual consensus, the universe we are able to observe is expanding at an ever accelerating rate from a common source of origin.

This book of poetry and art is a prayer for the wisdom to care for this planet with courage and compassion, and to share its life giving resources equitably.

The author observes that Love is not the easy way out, it is simply the only way to go. The author also warns that belief systems which do not consciously honor, observe, understand, and mimic natural life systems ... are destined to fail. Forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496944115

Mark Barton Stringer

Mark Barton Stringer has earned an advanced degree from a respected American university, but feels that this qualifies him best to understand that he does not know. Life is the real school, and the quality of our relationships with other people, and other living beings, the real teacher. He feels that the role of poetry is to ask better questions, not to impose answers on anyone else. In his journey through life, Mark has kept a journal of poetry, and created some art. He feels it is important to share what he is learning, and to create art that is not confined to a museum wall, or long lost in a dusty closet. He offers this collection of poetry and short essays with elements of social protest, the sacred and the profane, and ideally, a vision of the sublime beauty of being alive in nature. He invites others to share the journey, and to contemplate the Mystery.

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©

2014 Mark Barton Stringer. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/13/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4410-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4411-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014917963

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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My book of dreams

Poems and short essays contemplating the Mystery

Mark Barton Stringer

Contents

Pilgrim Chauffeur

Unseen Treasure

Christ And Buddha

Tantra

R E A R T U N N E L

Liquid Secrets And The Muse

D A N C I N G

Seventh Wave

Studio Survival

Noa, Noa

Druid’s Quest

The Emperor’s Clothes

Convenience Store Prayer

Jock Mystic

Metamorphous

Wanderer

Waiting

Desert Storm

We Must All Die

Fix

Harvest Of Hunger

D E A T H

Eros

The Bell Tolls

Scorpio Underground

Cogs In The Con

Inheritance

Disillusion

Double Standard

Desire

Prayer

Temple

Let’s Eat

Sustenance

Patience Space

Wellspring

Whenever We Are Ready

Loneliness

Power To Share

Natural Intelligence

Evolution

Prisoner’s Dream

Union

Solution

Say Something

Day Night Hike

Beyond Words

Day Dream

Humble Healing Solutions

Word Fever

Modular Living

Confession

The Norm

Reflections In Rain

Hollywood Shallows

Low Tide

Telling The Truth

Mystery

Infinity

Observations

Sunset At The Swimming Hole

Metamorphosis

Contrite

Pause

Motivation

Delphi

Rain’s Tears

Entry Into The Dream Diary

Communion

Impatience

Spring Rhymes

I Wonder

The Options Of He

The Burial

Angel Of Death

Sailing

Ulysses

Never Never Land

Wishing Well

The Snail And The Butterfly

(A Fable)

Dreaming Wide Awake

Window Shopping

The Cathedral

Commonplace

Being Worthy

Winter Is Here

Sacrament

Water Dripping On A Stone

Questions

Light Through Flowers And Leaves

Success

The Novice

Mother’s Praise

Resurrection

(Based On A True Story)

Reconciliation

The Serpent

Faith

Giving Up On Heroes

All In Good Time

What’s In A Name?

Poets Take Care

Water Moves

Questions About Time

Contemplation

Walking Lightly

Wings

Moon Shines

Spiritual Cloning Rebellion

The River To The Sea

Of Conscientious Objection

What Of Nation States

Remembering

Path Of Beauty

Shadows

Reaching

Circles

Dear Goddess

Waking Up Again

Water Magician

The Tantrum

Frustrated Prophet

Beyond Good And Bad

Rainbow Bridge

Seeds Of Freedom

Sacred Profanity

Roots In The Sky

Autumn Of Life

Paradox

Breathe

Lama (Why?)

Mystery School

Compulsion

June Gloom

Fool For Love

Enigmatic Enrapture

Ethereal Alchemy

Goddess Wild

Why

Giving Up On Heroes

Word Fever

Heart Centered

To Believe, Or Not To Believe, Is That The Question?

Journal Entry: Apology And Forgiveness

Journal Entry: Lucid Delusions And Science Fiction Novels -Or- Some Dreams Are Nightmares

Journal Entry: If I Ran The Zoo, Too, (What Would I D0?)

-Or- The Secret Life Of Mark Stringer

Spontaneous Generation

Intention

The Last Breath

Butterfly Whimsy

Book Of Dreams

PILGRIM CHAUFFEUR

Like a thorny succulent, lifting opaque tendrils

frantically outward from the center,

immersed and yet distant from the light,

I am searching for the way home to

fertile soil where even transplants grow,

forming limbs that can be spared

to thieves and other pilgrims seeking

glimpses of the temple for living souls,

while I limbo in a Fleetwood carsophagus…

mummified in a polyester uniform of Oz,

quoting wily wizards on the questions of

who, why and for what we want.

Unseen Treasure

Even a poor ploughman’s share has unseen measure,

thought is but one furrow that gives rise to both

fruits and poisons of infinite unknown pleasure.

What of other realms as the great beyond unfolds,

Being is then and yet again, it is now of value

more precious than a rainbow’s little pot of gold.

Traveling through passion that expands, man’s mind is pawn…

rising and falling like many moons of future past,

enlightened glow of woman’s hearth beyond dusk and dawn.

Forever searching, the urgent yearning will persist,

like living souls that seek eternal rest,

time cannot stand still if in truth it does not exist.

Christ and Buddha

little pains are the same .…

as little joys,

all like little threads

woven within

the fabric

of the big

robe of Love.

Tantra

The flesh of Gaia’s seeds,

falling as if to fly on a moist breath;

quickening now for the clutch of ancient needs…

gripping each others’ Soul soil, suckling life and death.

R e a r T u n n e l

cop-out layback search the scene

remember when the wine flowed

women less often retreated lean

roots like reggae rock flying crash

strung tight with the staff-in-half

aging by inertia the weight of stash.

Liquid Secrets and the Muse

The waters whisper hello from yesterday, gurgling good-byes for tomorrow,

so quickly after coming, the waters mischievously dance away,

singing liquid secrets pregnant with passion, laughter and sorrow.

Around the bend the stream falls silent….coyly, confidently, yet cautiously resting.

Here the Muse is allowed to visit, hoping to share some wayward play,

while the water pretends to silently sleep, as if to listen….jesting, intently testing.

Soon the sensuous slippery stream reawakens….waters only briefly refuse to speak,

barely beyond knowing, sacred secrets eternally asking why,

like water birds mysteriously migrating, teasing trappers to catch a fleeting peek.

Truth tells us to deeply drink the water only when it is pure and free,

society’s dams never last, no matter how grand, wide and high,

the way to see secrets is to become the stream…surrender to the Sea.

Stuck on shore, intellect urges a pursuit…to slow the flow with stubborn fear,

while intuition accepts the graceful greeting, echoes of ancient farewell songs,

wisdom listens for secrets that may be there…beyond thought and hard to hear.

D a n c i n g

The worn down chisel is less sharp, and the form more languid,

Well traveled limbs assure a low approach…begging to relax.

Responding to rest and visions of an ancient mythic druid ...

knowing what to do and not and when beyond the actual facts,

Slowing to be SEEN by a living thing in resurrected dreams,

imagining the fading moment’s fluid fucking form redeems ...

light a magic lamp to find my way ... a flute the wind to play?

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Seventh Wave

A writhing, endless cliff along a seething sea,

lofty and jagged above the temperamental tide;

a silent, somber figure stands shrouded in the mist…

salty, foggy spew demonstrates each swell’s surge,

each seventh wave bearing more force than before,

from each daring insult of wild water the silhouette retreats,

only to return a step closer to the entrancing edge.

Studio Survival

Downtown in this box…

   a box of languid repose, the likes of which

      only local hobbits know. By way of searching underground,

         the renting mole reduces overhead…while the singing owl

            dreams of farther horizons and unknown shores within.

NOA, NOA

The blackened thorn has a dew drop on it…

translucent and quivering, clinging to it’s instant in time.

Though fearing the jeweled, pointed barb’s venom,

a hand reaches out to feel the trembling moisture

draped on the silhouette of dark on light.

Suddenly, the dew drop falls from the thorn,

carrying the morning light along…leaving a distinct form, sharp and cold.

The shape is explored, then the whole plant fiercely grasped;

the pain is now a gasp, then a moaning ecstatic