Archive for the ‘poetic license’ Category

when love is present

Thursday, March 25th, 2010

when love is present

when hate is superior,
conflicts are born

when love is present,
relationships rewrite the rules

when anger is allowed to mature,
it dulls the senses like a mist
and can quickly turn into bittersweet revenge

but when happiness forms,
it gives us a chance to change
the bad future
for love,
happiness,
and overall peace.

Rory Devlin (age 12)

Δ

Ed note: Every once in a while something miraculous happens. Humbling. Thanks Rory, superb writing, V.

a compass

Monday, February 1st, 2010

a compass

~

not a novelty hat or a painted picture
I give you a compass

a directional pocket watch
it gives you hope
when in solitary confinement
battling the elements
directing you home

hear
it will take you on adventures
over rolling hills
and treacherous peaks
essential to your survival

take it
it will never fail you
no matter how warm
or cold
dry or wet
it will point you wherever you want to go

consistent
whatever journey you take
this compass will be there
a slice of me guiding you home

Rory Devlin (age 12)

Ψ

poppy

Sunday, August 23rd, 2009
Living with illusion, the transient nature of life

Living with illusion, the transient nature of life

Poppy


I write, erase, rewrite

erase again, and then

a poppy blooms

Φ

kaite mitari

keshitari hate wa

keshi no hana

Hokushi 1718

Ψ

Editor’s note: the flower, in Japanese poetry, symbolizes human life. Keshi translates as both poppy and erase; and so the erasing of a flower is metaphorical for the transitory nature of human existence.

ART: this poignant Japanese haiku inspired the Op-Art work on canvas Poppy. To view in full, visit the VA Art & Print galleries by clicking on the image. Giclée prints available on stretch canvas & paper.


open the door

Tuesday, August 11th, 2009

Open The Door

Half of my body is fighting
with the other half.
Don’t just stand there.
Come, do something, reconcile them.

A raven and a falcon
put in the same cage
inflict so much suffering on each other.

Open the cage so they can come back to life.
The fight ends when you open the door.

Reason and being are locked inside our chest.
They keep fighting each other.
Both are in bad shape
and feeling woozy from separation.

If you want them to fight,
close the door.
If you don’t,
then be a peacemaker.

Rumi

a life without art

Monday, August 10th, 2009

A Life Without Art

A life without the love of art
is an empty, wasted life.
Nothing else matters.
Other words are nonsense on this path.

Rumi


Editor’s comment:  Harsh… but fair!


just do it

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Just Do It

Who can find a trace of you?
There isn’t even a bit of dust from your track.
Who could find your home?
You have no home.

How can I praise you?
What can I say about you?
Foam is the only form in the sea of meaning.

A great, unseen town
lies just behind that curtain.
Our world is nothing compared to that.

Don’t lower yourself.
Don’t knock on every door.
You yourself are what you are looking for.

O heart, raise your tent up to the sky.
Don’t say, “I can’t.”
Sure you can. Just do it.

Rumi


Editors note: think the title could catch on, might try selling some trainers with it.


don’t you recall?

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Don’t You Recall?

Do you know where you came from?
You came from God’s harem, that’s where.
Yes, from God, who is without fault or flaw.

Try to remember.
Don’t you recall those divine, beautiful lips?

In truth, you’ve forgotten them,
and that’s why you’re so confused
and your head is spinning.

You’ve been selling your soul for a handful of dirt.
What a lousy deal!

Return that dirt. Know your value.
* You aren’t a slave. You’re the master.
You’re the sultan.

Beautiful faces came down secretly from the sky,
just for you.

Rumi


Editor’s comment: * this 13th century poet got it, how long before the rest of us catch up to this realization? We’ll stop being slaves, and be truly free when we start walking the walk.


the journey starts here

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

The Journey Starts Here

Don’t go off sightseeing.
The real journey is right here.
The great excursion starts
from exactly where you are.
You are the world.
You have everything you need.
You are the secret.
You are the wide opened.

Don’t look for the remedy for your troubles
outside yourself.
You are the medicine.
You are the cure for your own sorrow.

Rumi


God’s Ocean

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

God’s Ocean

The soul of the universe is a pure and clean ocean.
Forms and shapes are the foams on that sea.
Plunge into this pure, clean ocean.
Don’t just play with the foams.

The foams on the sea’s surface never stand still.
Waves constantly move them about.
When they dry up,
they’re no longer even part of the sea.

The foam either turns into water
or becomes part of the sand,
because two colours cannot fit
into God’s one ocean.

The wave comes from the sea,
then watches and bows down to itself.
“O, Ocean, essence of my existence,” wave says,
“How did you turn into so many waves?”

All souls are one.
All existence is but the reflection of the Sultan.

Rumi


choose love

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Choose Love

Because of the beloved
my heart is happy,
my soul illuminated.

From the beloved’s greenery
hundreds of blessed rivers
are flowing to the rose gardens.

In order to enter into your rose garden,
the soul makes peace with the thorns.

Choose love. Choose love.
Without this beautiful love,
life is nothing but a burden.

Rumi


divine road

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Divine Road

A shepherd comes every night
from the land of absence,
frees souls from the bodies
and scatters them like camels.

He guides them secretly
back to the land of absence
and places them lovingly
in the pasture of his kindness.

But he covers their eyes
and doesn’t let them see the road,
for this is a divine road,
not the road of self and senses.

Rumi


windmills of your mind

Friday, August 7th, 2009

Windmills Of Your Mind

Round,
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that’s turning
Running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half-forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly?
Was it something that I said?
Lovers walk along a shore
And leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway
Or the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the colour of her hair?

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Alan Bergman & Marilyn Bergman


too many names

Friday, August 7th, 2009

Too Many Names

Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
Time cannot be cut
with your exhausted scissors,
and all the names of the day,
are washed out by the waters of night.

No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or María,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it has no name.

When I lived amongst the roots
they pleased me more than the flowers did,
and when I spoke to a stone
it rang like a bell.

It is so long, the spring
which goes on all winter.
Time lost its shoes.
A year lasts four centuries.

When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not I while I slept?

This means to say that scarcely
have we landed into life
than we come as if new-born;
let us not fill our mouths
with so many faltering names
with so many sad formalities,
with so many pompous letters,
with so much of yours and mine,
with so much signing of papers.

I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, make them new-born,
mix them up, undress them,
until all light in the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crackling, living fragrance.

Pablo Neruda


imagine

Friday, August 7th, 2009

IMAGINE

Imagine there’s no Heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one

John Lennon

come to the edge

Friday, August 7th, 2009

“Come to the edge.”
“We can’t. We are afraid.”
“Come to the edge.”
“We can’t. We will fall!”

“Come to the edge.”

And they came.
And he pushed them.

And they flew.

Guillaume Apollinaire