The book is a collection of original poems on a variety of topics. From the secular to the spiritual. Dunne covers the spectrum.

Coffee Shop

By Bob Dunne

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Bob Dunne
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-4807-2

Chapter One

      Break the Mold!


    We like our clothing, some dress up in style.
    The edge of what is real satisfies us.
    We don't progress through error and through trial.
    We think the truth is only one big fuss.

    We like the unreal better than the real,
    For games are just more pleasant than true work.
    For us, the finder has no real appeal.
    To want true treasure makes of us a jerk.

    Yes, going for full life is so suspicious.
    It has to be a cover for a lack,
    But to consume true life is so delicious
    That you for more always come on right back.

    So throw away your garments, stand stark nude.
    Start eating what's around you to behold!
    The substance of true life is holy food,
    And follow nothing set, just break the mold!


      Fear

    It's time to rid myself of all the fear
    That stops me in my tracks when it is near.
    So many shining days just pass me by,
    And all I do is softly give a sigh.

    Fear is a killer. It destroys your soul.
    Though you once loved now you're an empty hole.
    It sucks the goodness clear straight out of you.
    Can someone tell me what am I to do?

    I don't know what this fear is made up of.
    It seems to come from hell and not above.
    Do I think that a friend I will not be,
    They will begin all laughing in their glee.

    A person once said to me I must start
    To cherish all those souls, not keep apart,
    That I must stop believing I'm no good.
    My life would not begin until I would.


      Feel the Feeling

    Our knowers, they look at the world and think
    That all's explained. From golden cups they drink.
    Their king is nothing other than their science.
    On it sits everything, all their reliance.

    Our doubters don't have anything to base on
    Some truth or creed, the things that have a face on
    The stuff behind that they cannot get down to.
    There's no perceiving, even by a small few.

    And there are those who go by one set system
    That gives them every answer to all questions.
    The thing they're "blessed" with is an old religion.
    All that departs from teachings they will shun.

    For some of us, the world is mystery,
    Exceeding all the theories that now be.
    Our joy is in the silent moments when
    We feel the feeling truly once again.


      Hell

    I don't know how to make it clear to you,
    But what I say is right, oh, it is true.

    I haven't the capacity to move,
    It's something I can't show and I can't prove.

    I'm stuck here on this strange unmoving seat
    And cannot move one toe upon my feet.

    I think I'd die of laughing if I could,
    But cannot make a sound, my tongue is wood.

    No, it's not funny, but really rather sad.
    I must have done a thing that was real bad.

    I guess I'll let it all just be, oh well.
    I can't escape, for this is really hell.


      How You Will Bloom!

    Sometimes I feel so open I could die.
    With only genuine love will I comply.
    The truth is in my heart, and we are one
    When all unneeded thinking has been done.

    How can I hold from you a single thing?
    I want you to come near, avoid the sting.
    I'm filled with love that you cannot resist.
    Both cheeks, your whole face, now, how I do kiss!

    You're dear to me, I'll never let you go.
    The more you pull away my love will flow.
    So let me pull your ears and grab your nose.
    Perhaps I'll even put bells on your toes.

    My love is like a waterfall that can-
    Not be stopped, like working out God's plan.
    It opens up your heart and makes you feel
    Just like a bum who's getting a new deal.


      I Love Your Spirit

    There's nothing I would rather do
    Than love your spirit through and through.
    Though others like a baser love
    The kind for me comes from the dove.
    When you take hold of holy teaching
    You need not hear all the beseeching.
    The woman's body becomes pure,
    And touching begets more and more.
    The man is greater than a tree
    Of cedar. He will set her free.
    So what's the point of passion's flow
    When two together never grow?
    They travel blind, nothing to gain
    But momentary loss of pain.
    Go to the mountain, look up high.
    Your destination is the sky.


      It All Begins With You

    Compassion, love, concern – they make us free.
    They turn around the feeling of deep hate.
    Do you such transformation ever see?
    Well, if not early, better it be late.

    We all proceed along at our own pace.
    We learn the things we can at the right time.
    So try to see in others a pure face,
    And all will have their rhythm and their rhyme.

    Don't let your anger stare right...