Tag Archive: 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.

~Rumi~

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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~

AT THE EDGE of the park was a hole and above this hole was always a cloud spectrum of vibrant curing colours. This hole looked like a big rabbit hole but it was not a rabbit hole. Everyone thought it was a rabbit hole but you see, Sam knew all about the rabbit hole secret. It was not for rabbits. “Listen carefully,” he whispered to me, “for I can only tell this story about the mystery of the sea to you once.” So, I listened carefully. In fact, I grew into an excellent and eloquent listener because of my great gentle friend and storyteller, Sam. The angel of the park.

“Underneath this secret hole dwell the powers of the purple and golden waters,” Sam told me with an urgent violet look in his eyes. Sam was always wearing something blue and something purple. I learned from him that a colour has an essence and a vibration and that purple has the highest vibration in the visible spectrum.  But back to the sea story of Sam. “The purple waters lead to the golden sea where one will find the deepest part of the earth’s ocean, the place of the powers,” he said. He also explained that this was surprising because the deepest part of the world’s ocean had been charted as the Challenger Deep located in the western Pacific Ocean with measurements placed at 11.03 kilometers. “But you see, my dear Elizabeth, nobody knows that there is a seafloor with a greater depth than the Challenger Deep: the Golden Deep, my dear, the Golden Deep,” he repeated. “The deepest portion of the Golden Deep has been placed at 30.03 kilometers. But nobody knows. These waters are uncharted!”

Sam told me that the powers in these waters were extraordinary and that they were only known to those who lived inside the waters and to a very special select few who lived outside of them. “Who live inside these waters, Sam?” I asked as I clung to him imploringly. “Oh, very extraordinary spirit people, Elizabeth. The lights of love live inside these magical waters,” said he.

The lights of love! Oh, my big full eyes beaming now with curiosity. “I will reveal it to you, my dear Elizabeth, the lights of love who live inside the waters do not come from ordinary spheres of reality but from higher ones. They have special powers that extend beyond themselves and rise into the spirits of others because the depth of their love comes from this other vibrant higher water world.”

From that day forward Sam anointed my life with some of the greatest love stories known to earth: Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Orpheus and Eurydice, Paris and Helena, Héloïse d’Argenteuil and Peter Abelard and so many more. Fiction or non-fiction, it did not matter, to him the spirit of unending love could be found in all rivers that run to the same sea. And all these great lovers even after death were still living as light colours inside the Golden Deep.

II

SAM also explained that I could access the powers of the waters when I would be older and all grown up. “There will come a time when you will have a need to rekindle your childhood dreams, like you would need to rekindle an inner fire,” he told me. But I was only seven years old so I did not fully understand what he meant by ‘a need.’ I had no need to rekindle my dreams then, I was always dreaming, dreaming with my eyes open and dreaming with my eyes closed. Dreams were my higher reality, my golden appearance. “But someday you might not dream. Someday you will live in ordinary spheres of reality and no longer in the higher spheres and that might cause you to suffer and make your eyes loose their shine. You will be you but you might wish you were not. You must come then to these waters,” said he.

“You must sit here by this rabbit hole for three hours but only in the spring. After three hours, the waters will wake and out of this space will rise a force so vibrant so bright that all the cells in your body will illuminate with light. And then you will never be the same again.” “Why, what will happen to me?” I asked hesitantly yet urgently. “The law of nature will touch you. You will change! Your need will change into the face of love that will make you weep with love, and then Elizabeth, you will acquire a new visual perception of life and of love. Your spirit will be filled with a vibrant spectrum of curing colours and you will perceive your life in entirely new ways! And this extra power, which was waiting all your life in life after life for a chance to live will rise and shine.”

III

AFTER 30 years, I went back to visit the rabbit hole with my daughter who is now seven years old. We found it underneath a bunch of branches and leaves. It was the very spot where Sam’s body was found when he died from his drinking problem during the same spring when he gave me the knowledge of the great golden waters. As I was reaching for the rabbit hole, I was deeply reminded how Sam loved me like his own daughter whom he never saw after he started living in the park as an alcoholic. It was my own daughter who said that day that I had an obligation to write down this story in the hope that Sam’s daughter will read it and see the face of love in the face of her father. “And perhaps, mommy,” my daughter said, “she is in need of the purple powers because she is suffering, and her eyes have lost their colours and their shine.”

I am older now and all grown up and it is clear to me now why Sam graced me with this colourful story. He talked a great deal about colours. In fact, he was a colour philosopher who believed that the interplay of true, deep, and unending love was the interplay not of two halves of a whole but an interplay of great spectrums of lights. When he spoke of the lights of love he spoke of the nature and interplay of colours. He explained that if people could truly wake up to their own innate vibrant colour system and embrace both the light and the darkness fearlessly within, then they could acquire a new depth of knowledge, a golden knowledge, of the nature of love in the physical world.

When the all becomes too daunting and too much, I close my eyes now and become a sleeping beauty in the last sunset that fades. My essence falls into the purple powers of the golden sea and I enter into a fifth season where I dream dreams that make me forget I am dreaming, just like when I was a child. These vibrant curing colours, they turn towards me as Sam said, and they spray me with eternal love, unending love, and with spring.

Sam is in a beautiful place, I know this now, he is freedom creating powerful colour spectrums inside the most magical of all golden seas.

~~~

I dedicate this story to Stephen Stymiest 

who died on January 20, 2012 in Precita Park.

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.

Goethe

XXIV

“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