Tag Archives: prose

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.

 

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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

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.

 

May I Present Humphrey Gifford

1580 woman

 

A Delectable Dream

Here is a timeless satire on the faoibles of woman.  It was written nearly four hundred years ago, yet it sounds like a twentieth-century comment–a twentieth-century man’s comment.

A woman’s face is full of wiles,

Her tears are like the crocodiles;

With outward cheer on thee she smiles

When in her heart she thinks thee ill.

Her tongue still chats of this and that,

Than aspen leaf it wags more fast;

And as she walks she knows not what,

There issues many a truthless blast.

Thou far dost take thy mark amiss

If thou think faith in them to find.

The weathercock more constant is,

Which turns about with every wind.

Oh, how in pity they abound!

Their heart is mild like marble stone’

If in thyself no hope be found,

Be sure of them thou gettest none.

I know some pepper-nosed dame

Will term me fool and saucy jack,

That dare their credit so defame

And lay such slanders on their back.

What though on me they pour their spite?

I may not use the glozer’s trade:

I cannot say the crow is white,

But needs must call a spade a spade

(c. 1580)

glozer: flatterer.

I Write About…

A great poem from my friend Venus Bohemia. Enjoy!

ROZIET GARRUSE

I write about Love. Whatever that concept means to me.
I write about Fate, as if I know what Fate really is.
I write about Pain, convinced that I feel it everyday.

I write about Children, as the future of a questionable prorated world.
I write about Men, as creatures, for quite some time, overrated.
I write about Women, including myself, as opposed, but liberated now.

I write about Music, as the “cause and effect” of our insane society.
I write about Politics, and their crookery, power-hungry status.
I write about Nature, and the way humankind destroys it day by day.

I write about God and His Unconditional love for my son and for me.
I write about Sins, and how hard it is to stay away from it, on my daily basis.
I write about Free-will, and the disguised idea we all have, “we can do everything!”.

I write…

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A Love Dream

Love by Peace by Piece Crations

 

PLEASANT thoughts come wandering,

When thou art far, from thee to me;

On their silver wings they bring

A very peaceful ecstasy,

A feeling of eternal spring;

So that Winter half forgets

Everything but that thou art,

And, in his bewildered heart,

Dreameth of the violets,

Or those bluer flowers that ope,

Flowers of steadfast love and hope,

Watered by the living wells,

Of memories dear, and dearer prophecies,

When young spring forever dwells

In the sunshine of thine eyes.

I have most holy dreams of thee,

All night I have such dreams;

And, when I awake, reality

No whit the darker seems;

Through the twin gates of Hope and Memory

They pour in crystal streams

From out an angel’s calmed eyes,

Who, from twilight till sunrise,

Far away in the upper deep,

Poised upon his shining wings,

Over us his watch doth keep,

And, as he watcheth, ever sings.

Through the still night I hear him sing,

Down-looking on our sleep;

I hear his clear, clear harp-strings ring,

And, as the golden notes take wing,

Gently downward hovering,

For very joy I weep;

He singeth songs of holy Love,

That quiver through the depths afar,

Where the blessed spirits are,

And lingeringly from above

Shower till the morning star

His silver shield hath buckled on

And sentinels the dawn alone,

Quivering his gleamy spear

Through the dusky atmosphere.

Almost, my love, I fear the morn,

When that blessed voice shall cease,

Lest it should leave me quite forlorn,

Stript of my snowy robe of peace;

And yet the bright reality

Is fairer than all dreams can be,

For, through my spirit, all day long,

Ring echoes of that angel-song

In melodious thoughts of thee;

And well I know it cannot die

Till eternal morn shall break,

For, through life’s slumber, thou and I

Will keep it for each other’s sake,

And it shall not be silent when we wake.

 

Poetry by James Russell Lowell ,Lowell’s Poetical Works, 1892