For ‘The POET By Day ~ Jamie Dedes ~ Wednesday Writing Prompt ~ There is Someone…

writers desk

Share with us the poet in non-ordinary reality, the doorways that lead from the physical to the spiritual. 

There is someone who talks to me
And keeps me waiting-
If only I could see The Spirit
Which I feel close by, yet so far

A bar on thoughts and actions,
I cannot think because my mind is quiet
And not moving or stirring
Lest the sweet words of The Spirit
May not find their way in-
And I may crush the tender layer thin

In between which keeps us bound,

I cannot let go the joy
I have found in my heart
at hearing the mellifluous melody
of the affectionate aura around,

which seeps into my soul to make peace
and washes smoothly away the tears
and the fears so deep,
I can now sleep with ease

For I cannot speak of the
Good Night Prayer

That descends in time so rare
my soul, to repair

And I cannot say that if I wake
Life may be like a snow flake
White and pure and sure, as
The Angels will come to Heaven, take.

Advertisements

For The Poet By Day ~ Wednesday Writing Prompt ~ MAY 23, 2018 ~ JAMIE DEDES ~ It Comes From The Unseen Source ~

Tell us how you receive and experience your own poetry as an unexpected visitor, a surprise perspective or observation, a gift, or as a mystical thing … perhaps even as an occasional inconvenience.

20180503_141308

Words and thoughts  felt in transparency, unknown, unseen,
senses benumbed, as vision scans nature’s  changing vapors
against a canvas, bordered by shivering trembling green leaves
of stretching, bound, firmly rooted growth, shaping into one
strong trunk…strange is the form yet studded with beauty …

as feather like as water drops, soft, in feeling, a medium,
which passes through, touching the body soul and spirit
breaking the trance to discover, an idea ‘arranging deepening’
in the mind, revealing a song’ or a story’ or poetic drama’
so ‘poetry should be naturally expressed’ though along the way-

‘there are places that beckon us to stop or warn that these lines
are true,these thoughts good, let the words flow’, in early drafts
don’t try to control the poem’, feel free to alter the facts’,yes,it is
easy then, but it is work, hard work, the idea comes from the unseen
it is then from ‘me ‘ to something real outside ‘ in order, to craft’

IMG_20170314_180040_095-1
sometimes it is Light’ spreading gold in the sky on hills and land
cutting darkness to glory divine’ when green goes dark looks grand
mind stirs wonders eyes gather images and thoughts seek words
to amalgamate colors, beauty serene, majestic mystical  hills of sand
who made them? how much more beauty must be in His Domain !

2014-03-06 17.23.11
a poem can be, just be, it comes in moments, in time, at night
sometimes nothing descends for days, nothing inspires, a lone
still, lifeless object, may strike the soul, yet it all is formed only
when the mind in its richness of  language receives the ‘order’
‘a divine gift ‘it is as poets have revealed in the past across ‘border’

Mirza Ghalib wrote’

Aate HaiN Ghaib Se Yeh MazameeN Khayal MeiN
Ghalib Sarir-e Khamah Nava-e Sarosh Hai

 When mysteriously topics or subjects come in ones thoughts,
Then the sound made by the pen, resonates like the voice or sound of angles.

and so it is for me…

NAPOWRIMO 2018 ~ Day 24 ~ Elegy ~ Crowned Statue on My Land

 

10835236_10152974785955747_7632640011804952797_oI love my land my adopted land,
my native land I never saw after I,
was taken away,or sent away; as
someone else had taken it in hand;

My land  most beautiful I am told
I dream as I listen to the stories retold
I bleed inside, with deep pain, I reach
out try to clutch for support,emptiness

I am not bold or strong when I think
why and how  my land was just sold;
Oh My dear My native land you are
covered with rivers of blood so cold;

elders played  sang ate the fruits ripe
why they laughed and cried then all
suffered with separation, memories
remained, rivers ran dry, of stories

who cares who will care ? if failing
drifting falling listening deaf ly
my land so precious left behind,
flowers tulips houseboats calm

and we were so innocent lost
in games,jumping ropes joyful
hopeful, as stories continued to
be told,we should have known

but we do know that you are alive
my land,slavery is not dead—
which song is stilled which bird
is killed,where the eagle is perched

where blood is sacrificed The Land
never dies,see how high the eagle flies
discerning eye can see,the discerning
heart can feel, seeking truth,not lies

My Land I loved you I loved you miss
the peaceful scented air I first breathed
I think I pray hide in the shadow of  the
rock finding flowers silently growing dead

It is not a dream Look beware’ there still
may be the dark statue, placed to grace
crowned commanding all the space, but
No My land is mine, my love will trace

my way  and will take me back to the valley…
My land you can never be killed but with
brightness will shine, boulder by boulder
when united, will for joyful tears,give shoulder’

NAPOWRIMO 2018~Day 9 ~ When I killed a Bee …

We challenge you today to write a poem in which something big and something small come together. Happy writing!

Image result for buzzing bee

Nothing is either big or small but by comparison
so wrote Jonathan Swift, about dwarfs ‘n giants

ants met the grasshopper the lion met the mouse
Swift became a giant only when he left his house

I was feeling quite alright till I heard n saw the bee
I felt afraid n so small, she looked bigger than me

she buzzed so loud and buzzed around the bulb
I stared and stared n prayed n took a fearful gulp’

O Allahji  please hear n help, You know I am all alone
What if she dived, bit and stung me deep in the bone ?

Allah Most Gracious Most Merciful as Always, Hears’
sincerely  pray, ten times He Helps n removes all fears

my gaze fixed my soul in prayer upright I sat upon the bed
seconds later the bee fell ‘zzzzzzz’thup’,on the floor, dead.

I sat and thought about my fears and strengths,
as the night slowly drifted away to its dark ends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

NAPOWRIMO 2018 ~ Day 8 ~ Ode To The Haunting Image’ ~

Let’s take a leaf from Shelley’s book, and write poems in which mysterious and magical things occur. Your poem could take the form of a spell, for example, or simply describe an event that can’t be understood literally. Feel free to incorporate crystal balls, fauns, lightning storms, or whatever seems fierce and free and strange. Poetry is like that ….

IMG_20180205_172416_368

 

O’ Thou Mystic Celestial Skull, suspended in the vast boundless mysterious canvas, white and blue –
Death seems to follow thee with fears haunting
Or pallor grips you for painful loss of lover true-

what treasures awoke thy spirit up high,what coffins
broke to release thy head, the body buried in Earthly
pyramid  tombs, never engaged in secret battles nor
‘ever caused a rattle, nor rain skeletal scorpions,

Suspended in the boundless unknown dome
filled or empty or left open as  the deserted path
I wait and wonder, what engages your sockets?
invisible to me you see what voices you hear?

Tell Me is war visible ? clouds of murky dust rising,
children bleeding crying running, bodyless like you
silently succumbing to shot and shrapnel, carried –
what trophies may win the killer’s bullets surprising.

the ground looks green and trees appear tall
and rivers flow flooded and fields full harvests
grow mountains rise strong tops shine with snow
people are happy and not lying as homeless pests?

No but you will not say for I know what’s there
here and everywhere, that is what robbed you
of health and heart and body too, and now your
spirit roams soulless aimless helpless with despair

and I a mourning  poet with words n verses weak,
peace love courage forbearance patience seek
may fiery dragons come flying in, unicorns rush to
waste wilderness clear, with weeping flowers sweep.

NAPOWRIMO 2018 ~ Day 12 ~Abandoned ~

Today, we’d like to challenge you specifically to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. It may be the high sierra, dusty plains, lush rain forest, or a suburbia of tiny, identical houses – but wherever you live, here’s your chance to bring it to life through the charming mix-and-match methodology of haibun.

Happy writing!

20180411_125658_001_resized

After I abandoned the teaching profession I turned to welcome life in the jungle. I seriously felt that learning was not taking place in the technology equipped classroom. Away from the densely populated city, rush of traffic, flow of polluted waste on walking spaces, I paused amid peace calm and quietude. It is true that hilly areas are cooler greener and healthier. Putting down the markers and chalks eased  my mind. By the riverside I discovered the life of crows.Three nests on three trees in a line.Crowing messages from dawn to dusk. Carrying morsels to their young, cradled in the high branches.Where lies poverty, greed or hatred or deceit…

contentment galore
in jungle peace there is more
write books, plants restore

 

NAPOWRIMO ~ 2018 ~ Day 11 ~ Mind In Itself Is An Unseen Thing…

Write a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does  y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”  Happy writing!

20180411_125720

 

What can the future give? who can see, who has ever seen?
mind in itself is an unseen thing, caged, alive,coiling grey
not green, green is the thing or blue, like a rainbow rare,
who can see the Earth where mankind resides with care

careless,  fearlessly eats beats cheats, competes, defeats
seeks power, animal like, makes weapons guns and war
hungry angry loud, I have not seen a mind uncoiled  soft
in speech body and thought, what future mind may bar?

what state of fate may occur in deceit rampant,hatred
profound, killing continuous no reason given,lawless
stabbing firing bombing raping shooting kidnapping
what present love is like ? is work for peace, all dead? 

I may dream of colors bright, in future pure delight
mind in meditation, grace in knowledge drenched light
Truth is the Yellow Brick Road,reality the experience
Future is sacred, revered with hope, of eternal  peace.

Wait O’ not so innocent rebel,’ thy own mind is Future
isolate not but participate for it is the true ‘future feast’
spirit will be free when sacred becomes the human body
honor the pearl in a shell, King of Oceans like Poseidon be.