my words

Month: February, 2014

[worst pick-up line ever]

For an instant, as he looked deeply into her eyes, the world stopped and all the noise and voices were silenced.
Searching for the words to make the moment sacred, he said,”Baby, you give my soul a boner.”
The world returned like a hammer-blow…

(c) Shawn D. Allen.


Tempest of May-Be

The energy of possibility is lightning on the horizon.
The instantaneous flash far from your grasp;
an event beyond your control.
When the truth hits you like thunder –
that this is an illusion – you know you can reach out
and grab the lightning.
In that moment, you are the master of this
tempest of may-be, and the storm is yours
to control.
Where will you hurl your bolts?
And where will you cause the rain to fall?

(c) Shawn D. Allen.

3-D Glasses

We live in a hologram. No matter how many times you slice it,
break it, or cut it up, each piece contains all the information
of the whole. The entire image is in the smallest bit.
Everything exists, whole and complete, in everything else.
The Universe truly is in the grain of sand.
As you fall further down the rabbit hole you realize that,
at the most fundamental level, you are the grain of sand –
and the Universe. Each lives, undivided and fully formed,
within you and you within each of them.
There is no separation.
Take off your 3-D glasses. They are preventing you
from seeing what you already know.
(c) Shawn D. Allen.

Twenty-Four Years Later

Laura lays over this town, these woods; a shroud.
The river still remembers her weight.
Among the trees, the grove still whispers her name,
and the dark twin howls.
The little man dances and the red curtains part.
A door remains open.
The great blades still turn and shred.
The river always falls, like angels
onto the rocks below.
Douglas firs sway, filled with the screams of owls.
A very tall man speaks. The ring is at his feet.
The door begins to move.
The pageant is over, the queen has moved on.
Many things are back in style,
and the grinning beast prowls. Wow.
With arms bent back, Laura holds this place
locked in her heart. The diary lies open.
The door swings wide…


One more year before he sees her again.
(c) Shawn D. Allen.



Singing in the veins; hot.
Throb and thrum; rhythm. The meter.
This vox vitae swells, from center
out and out to the farthest
extremity, carrying the sky.
This melody swells, then contracts;
the return of breathless blue
to the core. A harmony of surrender
to expectant silence; to be reborn
as harmony. Sing these bloodsongs.


The pinch. The push. A drop on the fingertip.
Crimsonbright and shining in the light,
this is life itself.


Moving out and back again,
ebb and flow; the cycle.
The tides of a life, rise
and falling back to rise.
Rivers return to the sea.


In theaters of flesh, this vital opera
from the womb-overture
through the acts – the score of passages.
Every passion’s aria inflames;
the prima donna performs,
the claque responds.
Across the stage, the actors move,
through climax to finale,
to the final stroke of the score.
And the libretto is passed through
the ages and generations.

(c) Shawn D. Allen.

Everything is Now

If you dig down deep enough, you will touch the clouds.
If you sit in silence, only then you’ll hear the song.
If you go on long enough, you will never die
because, one day, you realize – everything is now.
When you give up knowing, you will understand.
When you’re at your loneliest, you are not alone.
When you travel far enough, you find that you’ve returned
for that is when you realize that everywhere is here.
You know this in your heart, though the mind says it’s not so.
You feel it in your soul, when you don’t put up a fight.
You understand the universe, you understand yourself,
on the day you realize – everything is you.
If you reach up high enough, you will grab your feet.
If you dream it hard enough, you’ll hold it in your hand.
If you watch it long enough, you’ll know the way it moves
and on that day you’ll realize that everything is now.

(c) Shawn D. Allen.

Ain’t No Man Can Shake My Tree

Ain’t no man can shake my tree.
No man gonna bother me.
Think I’m lyin’?
Don’t know me,
‘Cause ain’t no man can shake my tree.

Got fools drivin’ down my street,
Clumsy bastards stomp my feet.
Folks is fightin’ in the hall,
Angry voices thru the wall.

Guvmint can’t get nuthin’ done
‘Cept fussin’ over what’s been done.
Dude’s pants hangin’ round his knees,
can’t tell if that one’s ‘her’ or ‘he.’

But ain’t no man can shake my tree.
No man gonna bother me.
Think I’m lyin’?
Don’t know me,
‘Cause ain’t no man can shake my tree.

I grabbed up some of my stuff.
Chose to live a little rough.
Climbed up here among the leaves
Where I do jus’ what I please.

Got a blanket keeps me warm,
Got the wind to keep me calm,
Got some food, I got a book –
Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck.

‘Cause ain’t no man can shake my tree.
No man gonna bother me.
Think I’m lyin’?
Don’t know me,
There ain’t no man can shake my tree.

(c) Shawn D. Allen

What Must Be Remembered: a meditation

Paradise is not lost, we just refuse to find it;
Nor can you fall from grace, when grace is not a place above.
There is no sin except in refusing to be innocent
and there never was a Hell but those we make.
To believe that God is separate, apart from us,
is to believe the lie you know to be untrue
for God is a part of all of us.

(c) Shawn D. Allen

Fire and I Are Friends of Old

Fire and I are friends of old.
When I was a child, I would wake
in the darkest part of the night
and talk with the fires burning in my bed.
We would sing songs of burning,
and dance in the ways that fires dance.
They told me stories only fires know
in their languages, known to but a few;
and showed me the secrets of their kind.
As I grew older, they came less often,
and they grew larger and brighter.
They taught me of alchemy and shadows
and they whispered their names into my ear.
Now I am an old man, and do not sleep,
and in all my hours I dream of infernos.
They leap and chant and weave their spells:
the sound of them is like drums.
They tell me of a new world birthing,
of new suns rising over new horizons.
They tell me to share their stories,
they ask me to sing their songs.
Fire and I are friends of old.


Find the Child

You say, Find the child,
the innocent within.
Yet, you know nothing of the child I was
and was forced to become
or how that innocence,
murdered by time and agony
and death, is but memory
without headstone or marker.

Then you say, That is the past;
it is not today, not now.
Yet, you do not live with the scars
and the hidden places
or the shattered masks
I had to create and to wear
and look through, to survive
for just another day.

You say, Forgive all that,
it only holds you back from life.
Yet, this is my own story, my journey;
this propels me forward
to create a new world where
there is never again need
for anymore forgiving, nor searching
for these lost children.