Category: poetry

rumi’s dance

rumi's dance

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you,

but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.



language of flowers

You generate in me the forces of light needed to curl me open come springtime. To curl me open. To curl me. You generate in me the forces of springtime.

I fade only so I can bloom again and rise in ecstasy in its own time. In its own time, I rise again in ecstasy. In its own time, it happens.

My curves move, my sepals elongate so I can bloom like a rose, a kalanchoe, a morning glory, and a night-blooming flower towards the source of your light. So I can bloom. So I can bloom dynamically despite my incoherent cries.

All desires distilled into three boundless desires. Life, Flowers, and Beauty. To pour forth desire. To pour forth. To pour forth by natural process, desire. Desire that does not curl in but curls out so they will not notice me but notice you who holds and upholds me. My calyx. A fragrant strong path. An impetus for perfect phototropism, expanding acts of poetry, remodernism, and lyrical expressions. And impetus for devine directional growth.

The imperfections, I see. I see the beauty. I see the beauty in the imperfections. There, is the light. The light that shines into me that becomes me. So I become a new way of seeing. I become a new way of becoming, a new language. A language of flowers. A language of light.

I fade only so I can bloom again and rise in ecstasy in its own time. In its own time, I rise again in ecstasy. In its own time, it happens. All flowers will dance, all pedals will bloom, all sepals elongate and rise. In its own time, it happens.

copyright ©2012 naomibacker

ariadne’s thread

“There is enough abundance in the universe for everyone.”

~ my sister to me ~


For my sister

At the park today, I looked up to inhale the cosmic beauty of the trees. In that sky upward tree gazing moment, a door in my mind opened for my thoughts to spring ever green. The colours swirled into poetry and perfection unlocking cycles of self-discovery. And there I saw you in a vision with underlying spiritual meanings, and I thought, perhaps, the trees do reflect the perceptions of our minds.

As the branches of the trees began to dance on this breezy summer day, I realized how you have become a spiritual adult flourishing into a gorgeous tree of life. All your years of development, change, and growth have yielded fruit that nourishes. You have always been there to fill my vessel and replenish my spirit. Your energy and visions, your diligence, motivation, and hard work causes my own soil to shift and wake. Your joy, your wisdom, and especially your giving spirit are a gift, which I prohibit myself to take for granted. And in those moments that I do, I am touched again by the way in which you water my life with buckets of love. There is no path that leads to taking you for granted. No path.

I stopped today to celebrate you, my dear sister. I stopped to feel your knowledge within me: there is enough abundance in the universe for everyone. Stay in the light, you are not alone. In togetherness we can do so much. Your threads, your hands always ready to hold. You connect me to world trees, cosmic trees, and interconnectedness to spiritual learnings. With the multiple insights you offer on how to get through my maze, I restore myself.  I apply you and proceed forward.

Ariadne’s thread.

In the park today, I looked up to inhale the beauty of the trees. I saw you in a vision with underlying spiritual meanings and I thought, perhaps, the trees do reflect the perceptions of our minds.

Rooted in your light, I love you.

~ta petite soeur

keep walking

Keep walking,

Though there is no place to get to.

Don’t try to see through the distances.

That’s not for human beings.

Move within,

But don’t move

The way fear makes you move.

~ Rumi ~

sonnet xvii

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


~Pablo Neruda~


i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                                     i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~E.E. Cummings~

Kallisti Muse lives in a cavern beneath the Aegean Sea

Poetry by Kate58

although dimly lit
the cavern rings with sound
& her creative urges flourish
in this dwelling underground

she delights in company
yet is happy to live alone
in splendid isolation
in this cavern made of stone

in the cavern of Kallisti Muse
stalagmites shine in riotous hues
& nobody has the blues
in the cavern of Kallisti Muse

just outside the cavern
is a swift-running stream
where she catches the fishes that she eats
who’ve seen their deaths in a dream

it’s here she lives in secret
happy against all the odds
transcribing her thoughts on yellowed scrolls
propitiation to the gods

in the cavern of Kallisti Muse
you must show proof you’ve paid your dues
& after that you’re welcome to do as you choose
in the cavern of Kallisti Muse

For more of Kate58’s Kallisti Muse poems and poetry
please visit her blog  Poetry and Persistance
Thank you, Kate, for inspiring.

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days ~ three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”

~ John Keats, 1819 in a love letter to Fanny Brawne ~

January 12, Year 2037

~ Zaziwe’s letter of love ~

My dearest Hizkiah, 

Your letter. Your flesh. It arrived! Finally. I hold this precious piece of paper that has traveled past the stars here in my hand as I write. I am unable to let go of it. Unlike the paper, the ink has vanished though. All of it! Would you like to know where it has gone? It eroded away when the light of my own stars touched yours. The solid became liquid and slipped into me. I sipped and swallowed all the spaces where your fingers have traveled.

Downward now your words are spiraling where they are breaking down into smaller units and releasing their energy to form an entirely new star system within me. My spirit infected by your wonders, your words. Peaks of eternal light. Injections of oxygen and gravity.  My peace. The letter, the finest layers of your flesh, and the seventh element that makes up my own human body. So if you are missing your hand with it’s 27 bones, it is here inside mine in a power grip of tactile movements.

Oh Kiah, I am billions of years away from earth, more so now that I hold your letter. Incredible how light is being created on the dark side of the moon! Such inconceivable discoveries in new necks of the solar system. But do tell me how to walk here on this planet when your moon life is so immeasurably far removed from it? An alien now in my own atmosphere. A moon rock not on the moon but alone here on earth. I fell upward and then down into the void between moving stars of a foreign field. No here, there, before, or after. Life lost in uncharted spaces where earth life is unable to reach me.  Nebula now. A particle of the Pillars of Creation. Humans still see me because of the limited speed of light, but I no longer exist. I am thousands and thousands of light years away waiting to disappear into nothing.

It is your gift to discover the secret of the stars and powers on other planets.

But I can no longer stop wondering why you continue to stay wired to sustain the human race outside of it’s own planet. Why, when it means separation from the greatest forces of love and life here back home on earth for indefinitely.

If our species will cease to exist like any other species would cease to exist then let it loose its form, and perhaps it will find its way to continue in another one. Why must humankind continue as we have known it? Why do they think our safety is guaranteed on mars or the moon? Extend our life out where when our species is unable to protect and tend to the life-trees and earth’s expanding wonders and powers right here? If not on our own planet then surely we will not be able to sustain a life of liberty, beauty, and sanity outside of it. This lunar mission, I know where it will end. They are not remapping the moon. They are remapping you. They are remapping me.

I miss you. My love for you is greater than love, so how can I not long for you in all my hours? You are not a man whom I love. You are love in the form of a man. There is a difference. Abundance. Eros longing for Eros in an entirely new planetary system.

My love for you travels beyond my planets, beyond their dreams. All great poets of the earth were right. Earth, a necropolis without agape and eros. The world not a world without love.

I had a dream. It  lasted three days and my last three full nights. We traveled back in time. You were Keats and I was Fanny Brawne. When flesh touched flesh we transformed into butterflies. And then we vanished into meigetsu seifu ~ clear moon, cool breeze some 7000 light years from earth into the portals of life.

I write to you from a specular sphere reflecting uncharted colours in all kinds of cosmic directions. Because my love for you is greater than love, I look at the solar system and see you ~ butterflies everywhere. 

~ your Zaziwe



“But since the end of all poetic art

Is the improvement of the reader’s mind

(Or so we’re told), my verses for their part

Shall point the usual moral of their kind:

This life’s a crazy journey, and our heart

May stumble, but two mighty powers, we’ll find,

Can move the world and help us as we go:

To Duty much, to Love far more we owe.

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [The Diary]

madame bovary

“She felt her heart beginning to beat again, and the blood flowing inside her flesh like a river of milk.” ~ Gustave Flaubert [Madame Bovary]

“” I knew from that moment on, till my dying day, I would be in love with Emma Bovary.” Thus, Mario Vargas Llosa, Peruvian novelist and presidential candidate, paid tribute to his lifelong passion for Flaubert’s Madame Bovary.” ~ Lucy Pollard-Gott  [The Fictional 100]

Fevers of flesh. Passion particles. Deep secret pathways and underground longings. Sooner than later the silence of silence became her own silence and killed what was left of Emma.

Her final desire: death of torment and another hour. Poison, she took it, to poison her wretchedness and the last crumbs of her passions. The key of Capharnaum opens the ruins of woman in an underground grave. Debris field of heartbreak, illusions, the real and the dream. Her poetry and passions perished in acid. Not angels but demons now visiting her heavens, to tear them up.

Life lied. Lover lied. All a lie. Shipwrecked, she struggled with spirit and dragged herself one tick at a time through the hair curls of life. Marriage. Did you not promise Emma happiness, happiness and blessedness with the fulfillment of duty and a ring? Emptiness not happiness puncturing holes in a woman’s heart. Capsized, it sank to a bottomless chaos. Death of the rapture of wife.

Emma! You dreamed the most beautiful dreams you could dream to make your heart drops of emptiness bearable. Such thirst, such hunger for a breathless higher human ecstasy and a true love undiluted pleasure. And so you drowned your heart in the rivers of your dreams to feel the milk of the dream fill you with everything.

But instead the lie of the dream moved through your veins like venom. Body bitten in a swamp of earthly desires. Oh Madame Bovary, Charles, Léon, and Rodolphe, such misery and disaster. Such a chronic violent collapse!

What to do with such bloodstains of realism in literature? Bovarysme, the will-to-illusion through fiction… And so, the artist paints another picture. The poet writes another poem about the Emma Bovarys who inhabit our world.

One of the greatest character creations in literature ::: Madame Bovary ::: desperate destiny dreams.

“In an 1853 letter, Flaubert remarked that Emma Bovarys could be found suffering in at least twenty French villages at that moment. To be sure, such unhappy women inhabit not only the rural France of the 1850s; they represent not so much a certain place or time as ‘a certain permanent attitude toward life, capable of appearing in the most diverse guises in different places and different eras,’ as Vargas Llosa describes it.”  ~Lucy Pollard-Gott  [The Fictional 100]


* My art inspired by Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Mario Vargas Llosa’s The Bad Girl, and Lucy Pollard-Gott’s wonderful book The Fictional 100, Ranking the most influential characters in world literature and legend. (Madame Bovary ranks no. 37).

Author Lucy Pollard-Gott also on twitter @Fictional100 and her blog Some of My Best Friends are Fictional