Archive | Poetry

The Breaking Day. . .

 

Not often do we find sunrise photos.  I thank Jon Katz of BEDLAMFARM.com for this photo which he so graciously lets me use.   Here in California,  morning’s sunrise can be counted on pretty much and often to our detriment as these weeks have shown.  Still, photos like these require a photographer to rise early to greet them and be in the right place.  This is a favorite of mine and says perfectly what I try to say in this Breaking Day.

The Breaking Day. . .

There is a texture to the morning
that I distinguish from
the silky drape of the night,
to the languid folding
of two o’clock in the afternoon.

I greet it with a welcome
and crisp breath that
will increase sharply my taste
of morning coffee.

The smooth touch
of the furry Newfoundland with
his wet nose give off a sparkle
of light in the rising sun.

I taste of the morning with its clarity
that I will miss in the
oncoming heat of the day.

But this breaking day I move
my arthritic fingers with
their numb tips and wonder where
the girl has gone who never gave thought,
not once, to the dawn that
would ever break unevenly
in her world.

Nor did she ever think that the magic
of her mornings would ever change,
and never knew of the Grace
that the Greater Heart would grant
her aging one,

to feel supremely blessed.

 

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Sum Virat Honor. . . We Honor Truth. . . .

It is not without recourse that the soul cries in the night.  It is not with abandon that the individual who mourns whatever loss, be it of his innocence or that of a physical parting, is left.  We know and are known, and never is there a thought which rises from the physical brain and immortal mind, that is not noted.  It is these hard times that call our heart’s yearning.

My Song Goes Out. . .

My song goes out on this morning’s air
and penetrates the sky to where the stars
hang in the universe.  My lyrics ride the beams
that will meet the sun as it rises and
hang in the midday until even the grass hears
the melody or the mourning.

Look who is here, who is here, they say,
she speaks to us and we hear, we hear.
And I will say, it is a good place, this Earth home.
And I learn to speak its language and to learn
to sing its songs.  It is this space
where my sounds break out into form
and I see, oh yes, I see.   And I knew it all the time.

So listen to me, dear Earth and sea and sky.
I speak your language, your sound and hear your music.
And it is all for me, for me.  The tension
in my body is the lyre on which you play your music.
The mind is my opening onto worlds that I know
exist and can feel through the thoughts
winging sometimes painfully against my ears.

Listen to me, they say, and hear, hear, really hear.
I have songs to sing and lyrics which spell out
your beginning which never was and ending
which cannot be.  So listen and I will long
to seize you and carry you and tell you
of a richness that is yours since you were a star.

Laylo, laylo, sum virat honor.  I liken you
to the eddy which flows in my direction.
Laylo, laylo,  sum virat honor.  We honor truth.

 

photo by
Joshua D. Hallissey

 

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Show Me. . . you are the more. . .

Show Me. . . you are the more. . .

When I see you in your prayers,
you pull from me
something akin to obeisance
of the highest kind.

I drop to my knees
and want to pray with you,
to the mighty of All That Is
who garnished upon us all
the sweetness that would
turn the hearts of stone
awash with tears.

Tell me,  how do you enter
that holy place so quickly
when your thoughts begin
with the heart of the child
and take them to the
highest altar of the mind?

You almost take
the highest and best into yourself
by some turn of mind
and close out the rest of us
like the door closing against
the onrush of minor thought . . .

How to get there?
Who lets you in?
Somewhere you go that
closes us out but, yet. . .
your love includes us.

You step over what is invisible
and takes you to the promised land,
which is not a place but a condition.
You know of what I speak
and so do I.
I want it for me.

Because you are the more because of it.   Show me.

                                                                    the Teacher. . .

 

(Scribed.  Journal entry August 27, 2017)
art by Claudia Hallissey

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A Balanced Judgment. . .

Many Chances. . .

I had written that it is a wonderful play on words when we are given a phrase and then run like the wind with it.  I had written about  ‘a sense of snow’ and someone with this sense can tell you many things when seeing a footprint in the snow and who made it.

There is also a sense of time and also a sense of place,  a sense of self and a sense of who we are and what we bring to the moment.  It sums up what we do in gathering ourselves,  the many parts of our self and bring to the present moment the substance of us.

When we see our place in the larger scheme of things, when we enlarge our premises and push out boundaries, we see how we contribute to universal evolution.  It is our purpose in life in this dimension to contribute to all of life.  When we become aware of our sense of this, we cannot become unaware ever again.

(I scribed the following for a journal entry. . .’unite whatever effort in mind with hand and you will have consumed an enormous portion of this life.  Be it for the benefit of mankind and you will have found your life’s purpose.’)

In that same journal entry I mentioned that we had friends over for dinner that night and were enjoying the conversation concerning issues ongoing and deeply felt.  We were discussing Mozart and the movie about him and at one point the conversation was silent. 

It was everyone’s question which was why it was voiced.  Why,  a kind and gentle man asked,  why would God have put such wonderful music into such a vulgar man?

Precisely why,  I said, precisely why.  And no one at the table understood my comment nor saw the connection when I explained that it was sobering to offer judgment without knowledge of the substance of the subject.  Persons are vast subjects and to presume judgment limits all parties.

When there is a sense of self and many selves,  all in evolution,  and we are aware,  we see the fullness of who we are.  As the wise Ethel Waters said, ‘I am somebody.  God don’t make no junk.’  We are not a whim of the Potter.  Life is a soul keeper and we are given many chances to achieve our potential.

(Excerpt from poem)

When I Change My Life . . .

When I change my life for a new one,
I will have another chance
to love, to feel, to laugh
and to stretch my psychic bones
and shout to a world a hello again!

When I change my life I will remember
what made my life sad and
not to do it again and what made me glad
to remember to do that again.

I will remember why you cried
and why you went hungry.
I will remember we are two haves
and I will share what I have
and you will share what you have.

It will be a better world and
we will work to make it so.
I can say that because I know.
If daffodils get many chances
to come up new and mushrooms too,

am I not worthy of many chances?

 

 

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An Observation. . .

Nowhere Else To Go. . .

 

There are  those who are quick to say that all of life consists of making choices.  And choices are made many times.  But what is not considered is that Conscience is a heavy determiner.  There are circumstances that prevent choices and options are non existent.  Commitment and responsibility are obvious reasons for negating personal preferences.  The road becomes narrower as one ascends.  Be compassionate before leveling a charge of ‘you made your bed’ at anyone.  One cannot know the weight of the world Atlas shrugged.

 

 

 

An Observation

You say. . .
What I see as your reflection
is not what you think.

I say. . .
I don’t only think but I see
this face I don’t know.

Her contours are strange to me,
speaking of an old one
who can no longer
remember another face.

You say. . .
Her light shines for me,
speaking of a road traveled
long and hard.  One that would
not be freely chosen unless
one loved much.

I say. . .
The road I traveled was mine
because of circumstances I
could not change.

You say. . .
Hard it was
though not for naught. . .
The derision is only surface
signifying a significant accomplishment.

I say. . .
It did not make
the face beautiful.
My eyes do not deceive.

You say. . .
Other eyes see differently.
And one day other eyes will be yours
and with those eyes  you will say
. . . there was nowhere else to go.

And nothing else to do. . . .but do.
And we will vouch for your authenticity

and share the awakening.

 

 

art by  Claudia Hallissey

 

 

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As I Watched. . .

 

 

My journal entry says it was a Tuesday when my world folded onto itself, the trees blending into oblivion and the screen folded onto itself.  I was in a place as close to a cabin in the woods as I could be.  I loved it.  It seems I have been a recluse in several lifetimes and in this one it still was an effort for me to mingle with others.  As the world faded from view for the last time, I felt within, whole, and that I could step over whatever boundaries were beneath me.  It was the way I entered my nights voluntarily and traveled.  I lost it then because the next I knew were burly men shunting me over a gurney and into an ambulance.  ER became a reality as did the next days.

 

 

As I Watched. . .

Part of a whole,
yet wholly here.
Slowly as I watched
the silence was encompassing.

Piece by blessed piece,
each tree, each entity
slowly folded upon itself
and laid itself down.

The screen protecting
vanished as it bent itself
into nothing,
a wisp of an idea
no longer useful.

Trees,  one by one,
bent over themselves
and laid themselves down
and disappeared onto
the forest floor.

And I thought now neat!
No evidence, no residue
of debris to litter
the surroundings.

I murmured his name
as I watched the scene disappear
and he said to me, don’t move.

And time collapsed for me
and events catapulted me again
into the frame of reference
I know as mine. . .

And again the journey continued
and I sit and wonder and marvel

at this multifaceted existence I know as life.

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Apriori. . . the twig is (already) bent. . .

 

Apriori. . .the twig is bent. . .

It’s a loaded question, this one of evolution. Ask  anyone’s definition,  they will either stutter or give  an answer that barely touches the meaning.  Mostly they will be arguing whether it is man-animal or animal-man we have in mind.  Or they do.  To confirm the statement that evolution has been stagnant in many areas,  let us look at some things.

The simple meaning of please and thank you is something everyone! they say knows.  But they don’t.  In some cultures it is unheard of for males to say please and thank you.  Or to ask for anything when they assume females should know their wants.  Not needs, but wants.  A cuff upside the head tells of their displeasure.

For some areas of the world, evolution enhances the abilities of people to conceptualize.  That is to conceive of a thought  and to be able to see it manifest.  For others, the ability is not yet evident and is outside the frame of reference.

Draw a picture, they say.  Show me what you mean.  They are unable to take the steps from point A to point B simply because the brain has not evolved  to do this task. Yet in some areas they show magnificent talents to feed themselves from local wild spaces   Knowing inherently the difference between edible and toxic plants.

There are emotions that are unknown to various peoples.  Groups arrive from worlds where emotions are unknown,  not evidenced even in the toddler.   By example they must be taught to hug and love and show some feelings.  In some even honest anger is unknown.

Mythic writings tell of worlds (Lemuria is one) where fight or flight is the way of life. Our world calls them myths but myths have weight to them when we are confronted with members who cannot face obstacles or facts that cause unrest.  We say in today’s world they are in denial,  when their inability to confront may indeed stem from the world they came from.

We know the saying that as the twig is bent, so shall it grow.  The majority assume that life after birth bends the twig.  It is long past time for us to note that there is a history to each of us apriori.  We come from worlds  that have already shaped us and continue to shape us.

This does not mean we cannot change.  Because of the example of someone we admire, or love or honor,  we by due process change ourselves.  We evolve,  we grow.  And we take giant steps.  Evolution.  We can become all that our full potential promises.

You Must Not Think. . .

You must not think
it is useless to have trudged
the overgrown path
to make a road
easier for the one to follow.

We must grow up
and put on training pants.
It is time.
We must develop discipline
to house the night’s pleasures
and discipline
to work our days.

Evolution is what the name
of the game is,
but it really is life;
a way station only to the stars,

on the way home.

 

photo  by John Stanley Hallissey

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The Universe I Know. . . .

 

Sometimes things need to be repeated because the lesson has been worn and the fit now is less traumatic.  On November 5th, 2013 USA TODAY had an article that the space observatory Kepler telescope had shown that about 8 billion stars in our galaxy had planets almost the size of Earth that could support life.   Flares should have been sent up by our religious institutions that emphasized the fact that our Father’s House Has Many Rooms.  The beginning centuries’ mentality could think in those terms only because at the horizon man thought he  dropped off the Earth.  Less than a handful at that time could grasp a subliminal concept.

Even now tempers still rage over evolution/creation and evolution/salvation.  Surely we will evolve to the point where we will see some truth,  a truth in all when our brains enlarge to grasp the larger understanding?  There are those whose lives were dedicated to the divine in all life and even God in a rock.

Destiny brings mavericks to Earth to enhance physical life.  They possess intelligence beyond what institutions teach.  They are not trendy nor dress in costumes designed for fashion.  They speak not of reality shows but of substance showing that thought is their companion.  When recognized one would surely yearn for such a companion.

They speak of life elsewhere.  And not of linear measurement.  Their worlds are rich with forms patterned by consciousness invisible to the common man.  Where worlds are filled with thoughts having a reality palpable.  Where mind speaks the nuance of meaning not needing the vocabulary as understood.    Where these worlds outside our own, watch closely the actions  of Earth gods that will determine their futures,  for many of them already acknowledge the divinity within mankind.  And the divinity is an uncertain kind when viewing man’s behavior.

The ancient knowledge of the mystics must be understood to uncover man’s future progress.  Man has argued for his rights loudly and now must own his responsibility.

On The Universal Watch. . .

Glancing into the icy calm
of the darkened sky,
leaving little to the night’s magic,
is a knowledge from minds in action.

Saying little in languages understood,
it moves itself with intelligence,
looking for evidence bespeaking intent.

Always wary,  ever beseeching,
reaching conclusions seeking
a desired peace with an enduring future.

Not only one world in motion with
an anxious search,  but many
whose futures are determined by the
results of a whirling planet
whose emotions are in turmoil.

A learning place, a starting place,
whose tentative decisions determine
the futures of roles dependent on
the unbridled, unharnessed emotions
of childhood still groping.

Worlds looming as non entities,
not proven by the laboratories
of the science gods,
is life in other forms;
as intelligent, viable, thoughtful,
as intent on living within the realm
of their possibilities as we on Earth.

Searching as we do as gods for an enduring Peace.

 

photo by
John D. Holmes

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Crowded Into Minutes. . .

 

What I contribute to are more philosophical questions than most are interested in.  More biblical inquisitions than I would go for answers.  I don’t know but what there are few sources that I would find cogent or even unbiased.

There are those who argue the universe is benign.  I find myself venturing toward its viable good because we would have long ago disappeared with so much behavior ending in violence.  God is life itself.  Life is god.  When I walked with an elder and said I love life she said she never thought to think anything about life other than to get through it somehow.  Who did she think was checking her progress and keeping tabs?  If at all?

We walked down the street and it was snowing as we came out of the diner and the street was cast with a falling snow and the evergreens were shadowed in front of us, like some high peaks shrouded in a mist.  Beautiful, so beautiful and I wanted her to see what I saw. I thought she did.  But she did not.  It was as nothing to her.

I cannot understand why people hold onto this life with such tenacity when they do not love life.

The next day we walked to do some errands. At the corner of my street  I heard a marvelous bird song.  I stopped and looked up and there was a solitary bird singing his mighty song.  I see you,  I said and I hear you.  And he stopped his singing.

After a few streets of seeing and hearing and then not seeing the birds,  I finally said do not stop your singing though I cannot see you.  And they continued to sing.  My bird ritual.

To me this is life.  This is god.  This is dominion.  It is mine and I love it and cherish it and it is good.  God is the divine in me,  within every creature and thing. The All has movement, a motion and a right to be,  though obviously not in words destined to be understood in our world with a vocabulary to define it.

The contradictions are apparent and there are many simply because our focus is too narrow to contain it all.  And the brain not equipped for enlarged understanding.  Evolution is a process.

But this much I know.  That which keeps me breathing and moving and loving is Spirit, part and parcel of the All That Is, and of which I am. 

(excerpt from poem Life Everlasting . . . )

I can see, I say for this is mine. . .
only with how I perceive
this limited existence.

Fair enough, for this time, I think,
but only for this time.
There will be other times
when it will not be enough. . . .

And then I grow unto his splendor. . .
I will be guided unto his doorway
and I will be led. . .

And there will never be a final time . . .
It only begins here and now and

again it will be time to move on.

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Another Matter of Trust . . .

There was a little exchange with an elder.  I said, but you told me this and I believed you!  That was your problem!  was the retort.  But why say it if it is not true?  And then the paradigm spilling forth;  ‘there is no one so gullible as the one who loves you!’  There was laughter,  indeed.

Over such a small matter as saying that when you come to Wednesday of the week,  the rest was a piece of cake!  And I believed. And I worked very hard being promised relief.   Wonderful exchange,  wonderful lesson.  And again in a manner deserving of note,  learned that no one is so gullible as the one who loves you.

The one loved needs to be trusted and the one loving the loved needs to know these matters are not to be treated lightly.  Trust must undergird all relationships of note or all else erodes.

(excerpt from the poem)

Trust. . .

What precious treasure
to compare to this?
What pearl or diamond rare
has seen its equal?

Who would not raise it high
for world upon world to see?
And guard with life
if this be asked?

Not often given, but rarely refused
by those who trust have earned.
A burden love has made light.

Trust is a burden love has made light.

 

photo by
John Stanley Hallissey

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