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Post by glimmer on Jun 14, 2015 9:52:47 GMT -5
being ocean
a wave becomes
then crashes
into itself
(trying to capture the feeling of something Niz says about becoming and being, the ocean concept is of course used constantly .. it is rather along the lines of being stirring towards becoming whilst becoming stirs towards being)
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Post by charliegee on Jun 26, 2015 17:34:46 GMT -5
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
what can you do
strange, this life
you're here this moment
and gone the next
what can you do but
offer a smile, perhaps pained
you get news from the doctor
that ain't so good, that might
put an abrupt end to things
what can you do but try
to right the wrongs
I don't have anxiety
or anticipation
what can you do
but go along
offer love to all you see
and do your very best
what can you do but love?
charlie giardino 6/26/15
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Post by zin on Jun 27, 2015 6:49:15 GMT -5
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- what can you do strange, this life you're here this moment and gone the next what can you do but offer a smile, perhaps pained you get news from the doctor that ain't so good, that might put an abrupt end to things what can you do but try to right the wrongs I don't have anxiety or anticipation what can you do but go along offer love to all you see and do your very best what can you do but love? charlie giardino 6/26/15  |
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Post by zin on Jul 18, 2015 18:06:31 GMT -5
Hours make the young old.
All changes have arisen from the hours:
the one who is freed from hours is freed from change.
When for an hour you escape from the hours,
"how" no longer remains:
you become familiar with that which is without "how."
Hours are not acquainted with timelessness.
For the one who is possessed by time,
there is no way there except bewilderment.
Rumi
translation Camille and Kabir Helminski
(Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra)
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poetry
Jul 19, 2015 5:24:02 GMT -5
via mobile
zin likes this
Post by glimmer on Jul 19, 2015 5:24:02 GMT -5
there is such power
in addressing YOU
in a poem
YOU who is anyone
but me
YOU are other
and all
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Post by zin on Jul 19, 2015 8:22:31 GMT -5
there is such power in addressing YOU in a poem YOU who is anyone but me YOU are other and all there is such power in reading "YOU" in a poem "YOU" is only me and all others are in the poet |
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Post by glimmer on Aug 31, 2015 4:29:42 GMT -5
home
I craved the path
of home
and you
showed me
the path under
shadows of ourselves
and I wandered
the path and was
lost to 'selves'
only gathering shadows of
deeper truth that cannot
be held by palms
turning them over knuckles
knot like those in trunks
of trees pooling in
bark surges yet they
are such a long way from
those inner rings
telling of times gone by
but if you can go back
ring by ring by
root by root by
sprig and before seed
there the trace remains
of the inner-ness that came
somewhere when the sun
and rain and fertile soil
began a process of fermenting
inner-ness and outer-ness
although I don't
really know which is which
there are always rings within
the rings we think we know;
if we didn't know
but just went back
and back then there
are traces
of where we are going
and have always been
and home can be touched
in the untouchable way
of it and of course
there is craving
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Post by zin on Sept 8, 2015 16:50:27 GMT -5
AUTUMN [DAY]
O Lord, it is time
The summer was so vast
Put your shadows on the sundials
And in the fields let the wind loose.
Order the last fruits to become ripe
Give them two more sunny days
Push them to fulfillment
And force the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
He who has no house now will not build one
He who is alone will be so for a long time to come
Will stay awake, read, write long letters
And restlessly walk in the park among the blown leaves.
Rainer Maria Rilke
(translated by Charlotte Schmid)
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Post by glimmer on Sept 15, 2015 4:20:29 GMT -5
after watching silver's vid on breakdancing monks:
break-dancing monks
and that's
entirely normal
in the sense
of beingness
I want to go home
so I came here
now where are
we when we're here?
smack in the middle
of the art stream
one receives a flow
like the break dancers
yes, entirely normal
I want to stay here,
home, and where
am I when I'm there
in the hustle and bustle?
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poetry
Sept 15, 2015 5:50:36 GMT -5
Post by glimmer on Sept 15, 2015 5:50:36 GMT -5
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- what can you do strange, this life you're here this moment and gone the next what can you do but offer a smile, perhaps pained you get news from the doctor that ain't so good, that might put an abrupt end to things what can you do but try to right the wrongs I don't have anxiety or anticipation what can you do but go along offer love to all you see and do your very best what can you do but love? charlie giardino 6/26/15 and it's strange when a friend's last poem is about strange life and pained smiles to doctors what can we do but go along with life in all it's colours of shade for shade does dwell behind the colours of summer so we'll follow you and offer love to all we see and do our very best because what can we do but try to right wrongs like you say and offer what we can and you have all that nailed tight in all the words that trail behind your insight |
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Post by glimmer on Sept 15, 2015 6:06:24 GMT -5
when you think
'I cannot meditate'
listen ..
read poetry if it helps
or listen ..
rustle, chirp
swish, woosh
nature is always
talking poetry
so listen ..
pssttt
now you are in meditation
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poetry
Sept 15, 2015 6:07:41 GMT -5
Post by zin on Sept 15, 2015 6:07:41 GMT -5
when you think 'I cannot meditate' listen .. read poetry if it helps or listen .. rustle, chirp swish, woosh nature is always talking poetry so listen .. pssttt now you are in meditation   |
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poetry
Oct 9, 2015 16:10:20 GMT -5
Post by zin on Oct 9, 2015 16:10:20 GMT -5
This is a part from Rilke's "Letters to a young poet" (who is Franz X. Kappus) on the subject of writing poems. (translation Stephen Mitchell) I had mentioned that book once here, thought a quote would be good.
"You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must", then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose."
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Oct 19, 2015 9:54:22 GMT -5
Corvid lands on a streetlight
Dancing..
What else can I say?
...
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Post by stardustpilgrim on Dec 3, 2015 18:18:39 GMT -5
pursuing truth
on a journey of being
the path, narrow, lonely, arid, cold and dark
dark turned to light
a clearing open, warm and bright
'trail upon seeing
vanished from sight
path now invisible
to unknowing eyes
was traveled yet further
by soul in disguise
no seer who sees, only seeing
That knew all along
as I too began seeing
that as I was pursuing truth
Truth was pursuing me.
sdp Jan. 10, 2002
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