Archive | Poetry

Great Songs Will Be Sung. . . .

 

 

We need to come to a place now and again when it is necessary to find a mind matched to ours so we can for all purposes say all that is heavy on our hearts.  With no explanation necessary because our route has been followed step by step;  to hear the words,  I held your heart in my hand for safekeeping and here it is, whole. 

And in a whisper would come the words,  I thought it fractured beyond repair!   We are embraced knowing instantly that we were not abandoned to do it alone. 

We prepare then to venture another time to come with the sweet knowledge that great songs will be sung again.

Great Songs Will Be Sung. . .

Should you find the need
to tell your story in words,
think mightily on them and
they will be caught up
in the air’s currents and carried
on the birds’ wings.

They will reach the ears
they were designed for.  You will find
that you are not alone in this universe
and you will be heard.

And when the thoughts reach
the places in the heart of an Other

great songs will be sung again.                                      

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Sometimes From a Distance. . . .

 

Sometimes From a Distance. . .

I recently told my readers that I would post the fisherman’s hat which I knit with thick and burly yarn.  Aging plays havoc with arthritic fingers and new ways have to be found to do the things I once found great pleasure in doing. 

Or told myself that I was contributing to mankind’s evolution by holding conference with the sages long forgetting what contemporary earth life was like.  I knitted in various colors shapes of sweaters and mittens and socks, waiting for loves to come home from whatever dreams they were dreaming. 

An aged one was asked how she became so wise when her life could not afford formal education.  She simply said, I knit.  And they who know don’t speak and they who speak, don’t know.  It has always been thus.

Once one sat hunched with crooked fingers and heavy thread boiled in herbal waters, subtle as the earth was, and knit the garments that did not pretend other than keeping out the cold.  Her thoughts were in conference with the sages and questioned what plagued her mind. 

And I sit here now questing still because the hunched back of one sat and with gnarled hands knitted into my mind those questions centuries before me.  And I am grateful.  The quarter inch progress in evolution has my progeny accessing what I could not.

Because I know. . .

I see worlds in motion, taking a portion
of each one’s talent for their own survival.

This is what I do with my hands,
this motion of knitting yarns to form a piece
of world to fit the mind of an elusive soul.

See here, I, content in what I do, I free a soul to do
the Great God’s bidding
in keeping only one world in motion.

See again. . . I give of my Self in this time,
to free an Other to build what may be
the perfect Universe or many.

So content, this that is mine to see, a great plan,
a strategy, unheard of.  It may not be for centuries
that my knitting fingers will alert the senses
of a soul to keep in motion, a Life, a Being, an Idea.

Sit here with me. . . and show my hands what to do
and they will do. . .The task, so simple will gather
other talents and make for itself
the grand design, futures down the line.

A bidding the nature of what
has never been seen before.
I know it and because I know,

you will know it also.

 

(Modeling the fisherman hat is Mela , our
newest addition to our family.)

 

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The Great Ahhhhman. . . . .

Your Answers Will Be Sufficient. . . .

The path to understanding the other is begun by understanding ourselves.  When we begin the inward path to self knowledge, we can then view ourselves with compassion and then view others with compassion.  All knowledge is applicable to the self.

It is not worthy of the name if we use it to manipulate and maneuver the other.  Then it is a game and all the world knows this game.  It is played all the time and with huge stakes.  Insight implies that the sight will be applied inward.  If it is not, it becomes manipulative of the other.

It is said that some individuals take everything personally.  That is why we have Earth Life.  If it cannot be applied inwardly and used for growth, of what purpose is it.  Granted, some things are just for fun.  But laughter, genuine laughter cleanses the toxic wastes from swollen glands.  It is good and refreshing  to be able to laugh at oneself.

It is only the secure one who can afford to sing in the shower and to yodel with the grandest opera shows a security not too many demonstrate.  To be able to take life lightly displays a growth not to be measured in the local currency.  It is the individual who has gone the route  and has placed things in their proper perspective.

It is only with inward growth can we see that life is not a death matter, that our selfhood does not depend on the trends of the moment, that our lives do not depend on what importance the world credits but what our own premises are.

Who we are, what we are, where we come from and to where we go is not adolescent fare.  It is the meat of our lives and the wine of our maturity.  To understand the why of ourselves, why am I, is the beginning.   It is not downhill all the way but to those who reveal themselves, to them it will be revealed.

To be able to say I know and am known is a beginning of the long trek homeward.  You will not be destroyed but you will construct on solid ground with secure footings.  Shifting sands will not trouble you and your own eternal why is on the way to being answered.

Your answers will be sufficient for you.

 

(excerpt from The Rib Cage. . . )

For in that place in you
which rocks with pain
and fills the night with cries,
we hear. . .

There is no thing that fails
to place itself forever in the Universe.
All is seen, all is heard and from
the rib cage housing the great heart,
the ethers carry

the great Ahhhhh Man. . . .

 

art by Claudia Hallissey

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A Convocation of Saints . . .

 

Not Fun and Games. . .but in communion . .

My eldest in a conversation at one time spoke of the torture of those given knowledge in the inner journey.  He said there was no one with whom to share what has been given so they drag in nobility aspects of it.  He was a young man then and he was right.

The need for physical arms around one is not lessened in the light of cosmic awareness.  If anything it points up painfully how few there are who share or can share in this journey.  It points up even how very few there are who know of what we speak.

The desire to clasp hands across the table with a like mind is so intense that the desire is quickly dismissed with uttered arguments.  Yet they are just moments.

One learns to walk in communion with invisible friends and these times do make the empty house full.  I walked through those rooms with warm woods and the empty house was full.  The voices of long ago loves occasionally break through and ears ache from pressures of invisible friends.  There is a convocation of saints and the company of good minds still present.

I can throw back my head and laugh at a thought co-mingling with mind and know the presence of a kindred spirit.  You have too and to the questioning glances of those standing by explain. . . ‘a thought just struck me funny’ . . .and wish they were such good friends with themselves to be able to laugh out loud.

I can weep with unstoppable tears at ancient anguish hidden within centuries of genetic history.  I am given love and have the capacity to love the Spirit within me and to love the Spirit and struggle of the Other.  I am pieced and peace-d.

And in the company of those who love, I rest.  It is a way station.  The journey is unending.

The Welcome. . .

Come, we walk.  Take my hand.
Lean on me for a time to gain
a respite for a work unending.

I stand by you, ready
to catch you if you fall.
My arms are steady and ready.

I will not stumble, so do not be afraid.
It has been a hard journey
and you tire.

I’ve stood the watch and marveled
at your tenacity, your perseverance.
Though you faltered, you stood upright

without hesitation.  Now breathe easy
for a job well done.  No one
could have done it better.

Welcome to the winner’s circle.
It was worth the run. . . .don’t you think?

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A World Made Manifest. . . .

 

If it was a certainty that world creation was a fact, what kind of world would you create?  If you knew for a fact that your acts upon days upon days created just such a world, how would you change your behavior?  And what would be the attributes you would enhance that world with?

What kind of world would it be?  You think it would be different from where you are now.  It would be filled with actions that would not break hearts by words or deeds   .  It would be filled with responsibility because loving carries responsibility for who and what you love.  Children would be born of love and wanted for the best of what each parent was.  And considered a sacred commitment.

Children will learn early that actions have consequences.  There will be high standards and they will be considered the norm.  There will be values carved out of your heart and experience.  It will be a world of moral values and high hopes and the joy of learning.

And to sustain life,  all systems will adhere to functions that steward the world and Nature in harmony.  It will be a place of growth and it will be matched by those whose values are similar. 

This is the world of your graduation dreams.  One day it will be a fact we work toward because our father’s house has many rooms.  But we were told that but did not know we were all in the creation business.  How special will your world be?

A World Made Manifest. . .

This is a world made manifest
by yearning to touch what
the eye could see.  To be felt
only by hands tender as a baby
still fresh from the womb.

It is the world of thought
that brings forth the birth
of worlds, similar.

Without the need of
fulfilling vendettas, old wars
never fought to frightful finishes.

It will be a world of fresh grasses and
clear waters without the threat of toxins
to maim the brains of those too young
to complain and voice their wishes.

It will be the world that thought
brought to bear on hearts long singed
by ugliness.  Look toward the graduation
of a soul whose transit bears relation

to what life has chosen to negate.
It will be a graduation
of merit, a time for fruitful finishes,

the resulting birth of a yearning heart.

 

painting by Claudia Hallissey

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To Walk My Fields. . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Succor the Night. . .

This she-man, this daughter of a brother
whom I loved and now with whom I speak
was asking. . .
”do you walk the fields at night auntie,
because I am walking with your essence.

You are the essence of who walks,’
she says, ‘succoring the night with me,
succoring the night.’

And I know I am lost to the night,
to the fields of my youth,
giving me back to who I am.
I was lost for so long
believing I was a nothing for so long.

I folded my wings then,
thinking they were broken
never to fly again but no,
unfolded I began to flutter kick,
giving them strength to soar.

Soon they will give the span needed,
wing tip to wing tip,
to lift the heart of me home,
with knowledge given the all I had
back to the All in All.

Weave through the air softly, weave gently,
allow the wind to lift my Spirit.
Directions are

imprinted on my heart.

 

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I will give you a white stone. . . . .

White Stone. . .

I will give you a white stone.
On the stone will be your name
and you will read it and remember it.
I have called you over and over
so you would not forget it.

I have loved you long before the earth was,
even before we first walked the heavens.
I have shown you how to love,
unconditionally and forever.

I have been generous with your love.
I have spread it profusely
and the earth greens.
I have sprinkled it finely and with
long fingers I have pressed your love
into the heavens and you call them stars.

I have taken the heat of  your love
and put it all together
to warm the earth and you call it Sun.

I have stood you on a hot rock and
you molded it into a cool sphere and
I took it proudly and set it to light the night sky
and we call it Moon and man loves by it.

The moon warms his passions when they flag
and the sun browns his body when it pales
and the green earth eases
when the rocks pierce his feet.

But the stars are for you,
for you counted them and found
the heavens could not hold all of them

so I put the remainder in your eyes.                

 

 

 

Psalms of Love is on sale on Amazon and
White Stone is included.

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In Good Hands. . .

 

Many times I have said that this is a classroom and recently I was made to understand it will always be a classroom.  This is what is its purpose.  And my heart hit the floor when I realized it.  Our purpose here is to learn and to change ourselves into what we need to be.  Any fallout on an Other is from our abundance and by example, we teach.

That was the kicker.  All the effort, all the work, no matter how hard, was not for others as I thought, but for me.   Any good from me was because my cup runneth over.  Good that came from abundance was good, from duty, resentment clouded the issue.

Coming to mind again was the vacuuming I was doing when my grandson saw how tired I was and asked why was I doing it.  I shouted because I love your mother!  And his head swiveled and to this day I remember his look of surprise.  He does so much for others gratis because he is multi talented that I knew he didn’t realize that he, too, worked this way.  He was loved and what spilled over he gave from abundancy. His good given would be everlasting good.

We feed our belief system to build ourselves into what we need to be.  The good benefits us first.

It is a small hope that I harbor that the purpose will be for this planet to be simply united peoples.  With learning being our prime purpose of life, to learn of cultures and languages and what unites us all.  The only requirement is that we love life and think we can make a difference and Being is worth the work.  In all worlds, all worlds.

In Good Hands. . .

I will invite you to sit beside me
on my couch. . .
to lean into my arms to wrest
the fatigue from a body
grown weary with age. . .

It will come to nothing, this fatigue
with aging because the heart of you
is alive and well though failing. . .
Alive for the world you have prepared yourself
with work, with love, with patience. . .

How do I know this?

You invited me in to have a time
of repair of Spirit when I needed. . .
to sup at your table full of good talk
with laughter,

at the fire with corn in the one bowl
I shared with your sons. . .
to have sat to converse with topics
scraping the souls of their transparency. . .

These were the times I knew
my choices were good ones
and the futures of my worlds

in good hands. . . .

 

 

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The Roses Are Yours. . .for keeps. . .

Long before the world ever was. . . .

As co-creator and creature both of the universe, it is man’s prerogative and innate yearning to stand erect.  To bow down all the time leaves one eventually on one’s stomach.  Man rose from the crawling position.  There are too many yet who find the child’s position too comfortable.

To stand erect means that certain responsibilities must be accepted.  And that includes responsibility for one’s person and attitudes.  There are worlds yet where man will find the child’s position more comfortable and comforting.

To be adult means that one has to survive the inner turmoil and the outward condemnation which the world applies.

You do not defame the heavens.  The heavens are not all that peaceful and without its own turmoil.  There are many cliques yet which aim to destroy what man in his finest moments tried to accomplish.

We continue to say at every life’s departure that we go to a better place.  Unless our life’s pattern has been to work toward that better place,  we may find ourselves again learning the lessons we failed to learn but in lesser circumstances.

Like primer on bare wood, being and doing good must be innate.  The Source of our impulses must be the Greater Heart.

The Roses Are For You. . .

I tell you true.  You were known
before you came here to this vast land.
A waste for some, a paradise for others. . .
for one a dim place, for another the sun shines.

You took upon your spirit a work, a job,
looking to make a difference.
You said to send you where your heart
could change the world. . .

You were given your wish, hard as it seems.
You have not failed.  Your ripples are felt
on unnamed shores and even the unborn
know your thoughts well. . . .

Come, be kind to one the heavens
sing praises for.  Your work is virtuous
and your talents creative.  We make bet on
the one winning the trifecta.

The roses are yours.  For keeps.

 

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Have A Heart . . . Ours. . . .

In my life I have seen much damage done when people have been deeply wounded by emotions  that could not be handled or words that cut and sliced the heart.

Is it for us to walk untouched but acknowledging the emotions that devastate us and continue to live our lives with no further ado?

Emotions become a burden needing to be understood before they are shrugged.  Once understood they become integrated and no longer need to be carried as excess weights.

Emotions belong to Earth life and here they are learned.  There are worlds where emotions are an unknown, where to love has to be learned and compassion is an unknown.  Where caring must be learned for those of less kind circumstances and must be attended to.

Those of us who have read the Doris Lessing’s Shikasta series or Frank Herbert’s books of Dune know intimately and identify worlds  with emotional innocence and sterility.  They are a shock to the sensitivities but even harder to live with such persons.

We cannot write a check to feed the world nor bandage its wounds, but we can walk into the mud to lift our brother up.  That to me is what emotional understanding does.

The Counselor. . .

She sat across the desk, crisp and sharp
and in charge of who she was.
Emotion is not fact, she said, so separate
what you feel from what is happening.

Then why I ask is my heart breaking?
And with composure she assures me
my heart is whole.  She does not see that my world
is built on feelings that shape my days.

I was born to paint my life
with the wide brush of emotion,  to teach me to love,
to see, to care and learn to Be.  When love
withdrew from me and left me barren,

I knew I would not forget its power to lift
me high enough to touch the heavens
and care enough for this Earth I walked
to sweep the debris where others might walk.

To see the opening of the crocus in the covering
of snow to tell of Spring arriving and of days becoming
longer with light and caressing me with breezes
as soft as baby kisses.  She did not know of worlds

where emotions were not born yet,
where facts dealt the cards to be played,
where feelings did not lay color on days and nights
and where learning to live with feelings were reasons

why we asked to be born of Earth. . . . .she did not know. . .

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