Category Archives: Inspiration

Beautiful Day

 

 

What is a beautiful day?

When you wake up, smile and say,

“thank you for letting me rise today.”

Feeling the warm sun on your skin,

breathing in nature’s delights.

The innocence and bliss of a child-

who looks up to you and says:

mommy or daddy for the first time.

The sound of the wind dancing

through the trees.

Friends you have known all your life,

and those that you just meet.

Making someone’s day a little brighter

with a smile.

Pets that are happy to see you,

wagging their tails to greet you at the door.

Parents who love you unconditionally,

who could ask for more?

Love that lives in each and every one of us,

ready to share with anyone at any given time.

Enjoying the “little things” in life,

cherishing every moment.

Poem by Tammy More

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“The Enigma” by Anne Stevenson

107-15

 

 

Falling to sleep last night in a deep crevasse

between one rough dream and another, I seemed,

still awake, to be stranded on a stony path,

and there the familiar enigma presented itself

in the shape of a little trembling lamb.

It was lying like a pearl in the trough between

one Welsh slab and another, and it was crying.

I looked around, as anyone would, for its mother.

Nothing was there.  What did I know about lambs?

Should I pick it up?  Carry it….where?

What would I do if it were dying?  The hand

of my conscience fought with the claw of my fear.

It wasn’t so easy to imitate the Good Shepherd

in that faded, framed Sunday School picture

filtering now through the dream’s daguerreotype.

With the wind fallen and the moon swollen to the full,

small, white doubles of the creature at my feet

flared like candles in the creases of the night

until it looked to be alive with newborn lambs.

Where could they all have come from?

A second look, and the bleating lambs were birds–

kittiwakes nesting, clustered on a cliff face,

fixing on me their dark accusing eyes.

There was a kind of imperative not to touch them,

yet to be of them, whatever they were–

now lambs, now birds, now floating points of light–

fireflies signaling how many lost New England summers?

One form, now another; one configuration, now another.

Like fossils locked deep in the folds of my brain,

outliving a time by telling its story.  Like stars.

A Poem That Spoke to Me

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/kevin-mcfadden

 

Tone Defecit by Kevin McFadden

Can’t tell your oh from your ah?  Go, go or else

go ga-ga.  What, were you born in a barn?  Oh.

Ah.  What do you say when the dentist asks?

No novacaine?  Nah.  Then joke’s on us, Jack:

we gnaw ourselves when we really ought to know.

Can’t tell the force from the farce, nor our

cores from our cars.  The horde works hard in this

new nation of shopkeeps, moles in malls, minding

our stores when we should be minding our stars.

Harmony, whoremoney–can we even tell

the showman from the shaman?  Or are we

the worst kind of tourists, doing La France

in low fronts, sporting shorts at Chartres

and so alone in our elan?  Nope.  We’re Napoleons

of nowhere, hopeless going on hapless,

unable to tell our Elbas from our elbows.

 

Inspiration From The Leaves of Grass

 

We Too, How long we were Fool’d

 

We two, how long we were fool’d,
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes,
We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return,
We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark,
We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks,
We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side,
We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaeous as any,
We are two fishes swimming in the sea together,
We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes mornings
and evenings,
We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals,
We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down,
We are two resplendent suns, we it is who believe ourselves orbic
and stellar, we are as two comets,
We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods, we spring on prey,
We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead,
We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling
ovoer each other and interwetting each other,
We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious,
We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence
of the globe,
We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two,
We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.

Friday is Forever Rumi

 

 

LIKE THIS

If anyone asks you

how the perfect satisfaction

of all our sexual wanting

will look, lift your face

and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness

of the nightsky, climb up on the roof

and dance and say,

Like this!

If anyone wants to know what “spirit” is,

or what “God’s fragrance” means,

lean your head toward him or her.

Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image

about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,

slowly loosen knot by knot the strings

of your robe.

Like this?

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,

don’t try to explain the miracle.

Kiss me on the lips.

Like this.  Like this.

When someone asks what it means

to “die for love,” point

here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown

and measure with your fingers the space

between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.

When someone doesn’t believe that,

walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,

they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.

Stare into this deepening blue,

while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,

light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

Huuuuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?

Huuuuuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,

he’ll put just his head around the edge

of the door to surprise us.

Like this.

 

Poem from The Essential Rumi

 

 

 

 

Grateful Moments

Love by Peace by Piece Crations

 

This is the day of gratitude,

thankful for this precious gift of life.

A great family,

an awesome son and daughter.

Blessed to have a home,

food in my belly,

a place to rest my head.

There have been days

where I have complained.

I am human,

so there is no blame.

When those times do arise,

I feel guilty and sad inside.

But then I think

how blessed I really am,

and for that  my heart

is filled with love

and thankfulness.

 

Poem by Tammy More @2014

The Gift Of Water

 

Rumi the gift of water

Someone who doesn’t know the Tigris River exists

brings the caliph who lives near the river

a jar of fresh water.  The caliph accepts, thanks him,

and gives in return a jar filled with gold coins.

“Since this man has come through the desert,

he should return by water.”  Taken out by another door,

the man steps into a waiting boat

and sees the wide freshwater of the Tigris.

He bows his head, “What wonderful kindness

that he took my gift.”

Every object and being in the universe is

a jar overfilled with wisdom and beauty,

a drop of the Tigris that cannot be contained

by any skin.  Every jarful spills and makes the earth

more shining, as though covered in satin.

If the man had seen even a tributary

of the great river, he wouldn’t have brought

the innocence of his gift.

Those that stay and live by the Tigris

grow so ecstatic that they throw rocks at the jugs,

and the jugs become perfect!

They shatter.

The pieces dance, and water….

Do you see?

Neither jar, nor water, nor stone, 

nothing.

You knock at the door of reality,

shake your thought-wings, loosen

your shoulders,

and open.

Poem from The Essential Rumi: The Three Fish

Grace

Divine Light

It’s beautiful and sunny here today.

A gentle breeze dancing through the trees.

The sky above deeper than the deep blue sea.

Clouds bursting in bright white.

Beauty abundant as far as the eye can see.

I breathe in the true essence that surrounds me.

My heart is filled with gratitude and love,

for I know the Divine Light within,

is always there embracing my skin.

 

Poem by Tammy More @2014

Today’s Poem from Rumi: The Pistachio Passport Section

ON LOSING AND FINDING IDENTITY

Traveling alone to Konya in 1984,  I managed to lose my passport.  I’m not sure how I checked in to the Selijuk Hotel without it, but I did.  It was early evening.  I walked along the main street and came upon a visionary nutcart, lit with glorious lanterns and heaped with perfect pyramids of every kind of nut in elegant wooden compartments.  I bought a quarter’s worth, a newspaper cone of pistachios, impossible abundance.  As I came back in the hotel, one of the men watching television called out, Bul duc!  Others chimed in laughing, bul duc, which means “I found it” in Turkish.  The name of the hotel in Ankara I stayed in the previous night.  They had found my passport at the I Found It Hotel.  Ceremonially I went from chair to chair in the darkened hotel lobby, bowing with the paper spiral, Please.

rumi flower

 

 

WITH YOU HERE BETWEEN

Lovers work, so that when body and soul

are no longer together,

their loving will be free.

Wash in wisdom-water, so you will have no regrets

about the time here.

Love is the vital core of the soul,

and of all you see, only love is infinite.

Your non-existence before you were born

is the sky in the east.

Your death is the western horizon,

with you here between.

The way leads neither east nor west,

but in.

Test your love-wings and make them strong.

Forget the idea of religious ladders.

Love is the roof.  Your senses are waterspouts.

Drink rain directly off the roof.

Waterspouts are easily damaged

and often must be replaced.

Say this poem in your chest.

Don’t worry how it sounds

going through your mouth.

A human body is a bow.

Breathing and speech are arrows.

When the quiver and arrows are used up or lost,

there is nothing more for the bow to do.

 

Rhyme and Reason: A poet finds inspiration in the Kripalu Labyrinth

Labyrinth

 

 

 

When I arrived at Kripalu in lat August 2012 (a beautiful 51st birthday present from my husband), I was experiencing a major arthritic knee flare-up that had started a few days earlier.  I chose to drive the five hours from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts anyway–no swollen joint was going to stop me!

The Kripalu catalog had shown up in my mailbox at a moment of transition: I’d taken over my mother’s real estate business when she died in 2001, and I was ready to do something for myself.  I registered for a writing program, because I’ve always loved poetry.

Due to my knee, I wasn’t able to hike, dance, or do yoga, but I was determined to see the Kripalu Labyrinth.  So on Sunday afternoon, when the program was over and I’d said goodbye to two new friends who had instantly become soul sisters, I took careful baby steps down the hill.  As I entered the Labyrinth, there were three paths to choose from, and my first thought was, Am I on the right path?  Then I heard my beloved late mother’s voice telling me that it didn’t matter which path I was on, because whichever it was, it was the right one for me.

The magic of the Labyrinth–and my mom’s words–manifested withiin minutes of me returning to my room.  I was sitting on my bed with my leg propped up, surrounded by my journals, notes from the program, a few books, and the latest Sports Illustrated magazine.  I looked over at [Los Angeles Angels outfielder] Mike Trout’s handsome face staring at me from the cover of Sports Illustrated, and bright lights went off in my head and heart.  Why not combine my love of poetry, specifically haiku, with my passion for sports?

I instantly wrote a haiku for Mike Trout, in honor of my late father, who loved baseball and fishing.  Then I wrote another, and another.  Within an hour, I had written 12 haikus.  I couldn’t stop.  I wroter several more the next day, and kept going once I was home.  I wrote 101 athlete haikus in eight weeks, and found a publisher almost immediately.

Exactly one year later, I came back to Kripalu for my birthday with my book in hand: Haikudos to Athletes: Poetry in Motion.  I’m now working on the second book in the series, and I have Kripalu and its magical Labyrinth to thank for this blessing of inspiration!

 

-Kelly K. Ambler, Pennsylvania