Re: The Poets Garden

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." - Thomas Gray
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Christine
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Re: The Poets Garden

Post by Christine »

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." ~ Robert Frost

We are all poets in our hearts for music plays there and asks to be given thought that turns to words. I have long wished to have a special place for poetry and the heart's song.

Weaving magic through the trees,
Black eyes peering through the dark,
She commands the Glowing Spark,
Yes, the one that'll never cease.

Moonbeams tangled in her hair,
The Gypsy moves with ghostly grace,
Her dancing steps leave but a trace,
A perfumed whiff of flowers rare.

Creeping, creeping comes the mist...
She surveys her nightly toil.
As the Keeper of the Soil,
All the world fits in her fist.

Gnarled old roots tug at her feet,
Not one candle lights the Trail,
At this time the moon shines pale,
But she needs no light to weep.

Woe, the chance by Mankind missed!
And her....She's the one that Death has kissed.

MoonSpells - The Keeper
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Re: The Poets Garden

Post by Christine »

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‘Were’ is my Wolf...?
I have looked and looked

Through every forest
And waded brooks

Until I finally arrived
At the edge of the sea
Where I got down on my knees
And collapsed in pleas

There is no trace
No scent
Not even a paw print
Just an eternal race
That only ever gifts
A hint or a glint of grace

They always cower and flee
None are strong enough to see
To be able to truly run in the open free
But that’s how I suppose
It’s meant to be

Forever in search
For eternity
Of the mysterious key
That will unlock my soul
To release my shadow
Oh ‘Were’ is my masculine me....

~Asher Elle
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The Elephant Song | Ben Bushill - The Poets Corner

Post by Christine »

This brought me to my knees as tears run silently down my face. I tremble to the marrow of my bones.
Endless grace, endless

Love unbound and free in utmost humility,
Christine


[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_cont ... iyFAWtrkJE[/youtube]

The Elephant Song - Ben Bushill


Elliot Witheart
Published on Feb 28, 2011

A Master Peace written and read by a friend, "Ben Bushill", with music by Ellen Molnia and Thomas Falk.



Song for the Elephant


Great grey god,

The canyons on your back

Carry the dust and darkness of a lifetimes wandering.

Nomad child

Clay and sunlight

Earth and hope.

Your presence here sends me tumbling into the mystery,

I am carried by the endless brown sea

Of your eye

Into the story of my own birth,

And the song of death.

I would lay down this nomad's body with the great white bones

Of your ancestors and have my body turn to red earth

Under that mythical sun.

Not for me this long life of civilized death

For I am riding on your spreading back

Into a dawn of my own

And the rose dust sky is as wide as forever.

And for bearing me

I give you thanks

And whisper some of my own secrets into that silent cave

Where all pasts are remembered as echo songs

And all futures dissolve

Into a thick pounding wave of blood

Washing out from a heart

Of red dust and quiet starlight

Flood

Somehow a page turns
And beauty is revealed
Remembered.
The deep hands of love
Open their fingers
To free the dove that
Soars from the heart
Toward the infinite perfection
Of this simple life.
This simple life
Where miracle is the essence
Of every stitch in the tapestry of time and feeling.
The dance unfolds across worlds
Worlds upon worlds,
My feet tread the earth
My tears fall on the page
Love sweeps through me
And the waves takes all in its arms
Crushing, turning, soothing
Endless grace, lost and longed for
Nourishes the dry corners of forgetfulness
As the water rushes
Across the desert floor
And life awakens in every cell,
Frogs hear the call of their birth
And celebrate the rain
Flowers spring forth from doubt
And the whole vibrant, impossible
Infinite universe
Turns green in wonder
As my heart knows once again
the reason for my birth

The bear

Lie with me

And I will hold you

With the round, deliberate presence of a bear.

Bury your head in my fur

And I will rest my claws on your soft back

And when you listen to the sigh of my breath

And feel the rising and falling of my great chest

You will know what it is

To be held by the animal green

Of the world.

In total rest,

In warm blooded silence.

And those who saw your closed eyes

Could be forgiven for thinking you dead

With the peace soaked so deeply into you skin

But the smile upon your lips

And the light about your face

Tell the story of the earth

And that story

Is a story of life and wonder

That story is written on our bones

For us to read

Again and again

As we drop into the peace of the world

And the light of remembrance

Unfolds in hearts

Crafted from the dark, sweet soil

and sung into life

by the endless voice

Of the source of love.


So thank you Ben for sharing this with Me and the world, which is the whole and self renewing source and destination of love

http://cozomiya.wordpress.com/2010/09.." onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;.

The rest of the CD is available at: http://www.klicktrack.com/klicktrack/.." onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;.
Or You can buy a physical copy directly from Ben via Email bushillben@yahoo.co.uk
And I really urge you to support Ben and Yourself and buy the CD, its truly marvelous.
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Re: The Poets Garden

Post by Fred Steeves »

Sorry for straying a bit off topic, but it's possibly related. That reminded me of one of many things a well seasoned contractor I used to work for taught me back in the day. I still employ it. He was laying out for me this huge scope of work we were getting ready to start on a three story remodeling job, and the sheer volume was just overwhelming for the young buck.

He noticed it straight away and reeled me right back into focus: "Fred" he says, "how do you eat the elephant?" I don't know. "You eat the elephant one bite at a time, let's begin".
The unexamined life is not worth living.

Socrates

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Re: The Poets Garden

Post by Christine »

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PeKfZlBBa7k[/youtube]

Rumi Poems

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth.

Mystic poet and philosopher Rumi. A short poem reflecting on the loss of a loved one, the remembrance of the beauty of Love itself and the journey of life. I hope you enjoy this short poem and may it be used to remind you of the infinite and transformative power of love. The end of one journey and the beginning of another awaits us all, may we always be mindful of the ever presence Love has in our lives, even in the darkest of hours.

""The original words of Rumi are so deep, so perfect, so touching, that when one man repeats them hundreds and thousands of people are moved to tears. They cannot help penetrating the heart. This shows how much Rumi himself was moved to have been able to pour out such living words." - Hazrat Inayat Khan
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Re: Re: The Poets Garden

Post by Christine »

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All the True Vows
by David Whyte

All the true vows
are secret vows
the ones we speak out loud
are the ones we break.

There is only one life
you can call your own
and a thousand others
you can call by any name you want.

Hold to the truth you make
every day with your own body,
don't turn your face away.

Hold to your own truth
at the center of the image
you were born with.

Those who do not understand
their destiny will never understand
the friends they have made
nor the work they have chosen

nor the one life that waits
beyond all the others.

By the lake in the wood
in the shadows
you can
whisper that truth
to the quiet reflection
you see in the water.

Whatever you hear from
the water, remember,

it wants you to carry
the sound of its truth on your lips.

Remember,
in this place
no one can hear you

and out of the silence
you can make a promise
it will kill you to break,

that way you'll find
what is real and what is not.

I know what I am saying.
Time almost forsook me
and I looked again.

Seeing my reflection
I broke a promise
and spoke
for the first time
after all these years

in my own voice,

before it was too late
to turn my face again.
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