A very worthwhile bit of reading here. Be sure to click through and show some love to The Silent Eye.
Thank you to Sue Vincent for posting this on her blog, The Daily echo, https://scvincent.com/2017/03/05/interpretations-2/, otherwise I might not have discovered it.
“ … the standard translation of one of the chief scriptures of China refers to the venerable Lao Tse as “the Old Boy”. This sounds comical to European ears, yet it is not so far removed from the words of another Scripture which has been fortunate enough to receive translation at the hands of those who reverenced it; “Except ye become as a little child.” I am not a sinologue, but I incline to the opinion that the translation “Eternal Child” would have been equally accurate and in better taste.” Dion Fortune
Dion Fortune’s comment in The Mystical Qabalah struck me when I first read it, more decades ago than I care to remember. Nothing unusual there, as what I learned from her teachings over the ensuing years has shaped and informed my thoughts and personal journey since my grandfather gave me that book when I was fifteen. I still…
The present is here The past doesn’t exist anymore And the future hasn’t me yet. No time to sit and mope over past regrets.
Be grateful for all that you have today And all that is given to you. Love unconditionally, love freely. Grow in love; celebrate what you have.
The halls and gullies of your mind Are filled with haunting memories. They shall whisper to you every day, The heartbeat of which will never fade.
Your home; your family; is where your heart is. Some days may be tough, So if you don’t just sit and mope Together, you will be able to cope.
Don’t sulk and sob, whine and cry. All you need is some peace and quiet. Let love follow wherever you go. Allow your heart to always be filled with hope.
Leave sad thoughts behind, and Let harmony and joy fill your mind.
— Ranjeeta Nath Ghai
In Peace I Protest For replacing towering trees with skyscrapers And soil with concrete. For arms and ammunition in the hands of children And children in wombs addicted to drugs. For every abused citizen of the country And every veteran fighting for his right In peace I protest. For every menacing bomb that replaces literature And takes away our freedom of speech. For every forceful government Whose policies leave us numb. For every farmer whose yield goes waste And inflation breaking his backbone driving him to suicide. In peace; I protest. For every citizen continually fighting For the right to represent himself as an equal. For paid media creating a chaotic and a violent environment As they continually prove they are pawns to the system. For extreme consequences that nonconformity brings And disparities on pretext of complexion, culture, and religious beliefs. In peace I protest. It’s time to speak up And protest against the laws That allow the violation of our human liberties And deterioration of our resources. It’s time to lead, and simplyBe the change we want to see
It’s time to protest in peace.
— Ranjeeta Nath Ghai
Find and connect with this Creative soul via her links to social media.
Please take a few minutes to enjoy our first guest blogger and new Partner in Peace. We are excited to introduce a wonderful talent with a global vision of Peace as exemplified in the various media they engage in as a Poet, Musician, and Artist.
– – – – – –
‘The United States Of Planet Earth‘ is Michel Montecrossa’s New-Topical-Song about the way into the future.
Michel Montecrossa says about ‘The United States of Planet Earth’:
“Truth or the abyss is the current situation: more greed, more conflicts, more poverty, more injustice, more climate change, more natural disasters, famines and more helplessness or a world wide awakening. If we want to have a future, or even want to survive, we need the United States of Planet Earth – there is no other way out.“
Please join us as we celebrate this month of ‘love’ with love that goes beyond time… Love for humanity, love for our beautiful planet, love for our mother, our father, our brother, our sister, our friends, our partners and for each other, love for peace, and love for hope…and share these tales of love in a mini collaboration brought to you by the #PoetsforPeace trio – Michael, Marie and Neha.
If you haven’t taken part in our previous collaboration before, you can see our #Poets for Peace Collaboration here. Stay tuned for more information on our grand collaboration later this year, #PoetsforPeace2017.
This will be at a much smaller scale; however, will have a similar feel and flow.
Below are the rules to participate:
Please place your contribution in the comments section (We will accept all contributions except for any that we deem hateful or inappropriate) Make sure to post your blog or email address beneath the piece.
Your contributions will be added in the order they come ( we usually try to update every weekend) and your name and blog (if provided) will be listed under it.
This collaboration will be open until midnight (Eastern time) February 28th. So please enter before then to participate.
Here is my piece to start this off:
the tales of love,
in the orange skies…
and my heart smiled
to see this majestic glow
It was the day you said hello First thing in the morning that was The lab you were about to show We were introduced, then a pause First thing in the morning that was I was the new girl in the lab We were introduced, then a pause City was a bit of a drab I was the new girl in the lab And you were such a gentleman City was a bit of a drab You showed it to me like a fan And you were such a gentleman Showered me all your attention You showed it to me like a fan With friends, we had a lot of fun Showered me all your attention Till the last day of the training With friends, we had a lot of fun And from a distance, love we bring Till the last day of the training Two years later we got married And from a distance, love we bring After thirty years, love we lead Two years later we got married The lab you were about to show After thirty years, love we lead It was the day you said hello (c) ladyleemanila 2017
Let’s Love Again Walking down streets I look at signboards That hide your name For once we strode These lanes hand-in-hand When love was in the air! I wonder today If we revised our vows Would it revive our love Or are both lies Past redemption Broken promises Like fading ink On yellow paper Is there a chance To put it all behind us Close our eyes To soak up the tears Whisper promises In the tender breeze As we make peace With our tattered love I hope for the day When you will Caress my warmth With the tender glow Of your fiery touch We will make a bonfire Burn all misgivings Of our torturous past And fall in love again! Aneesha (www.felinemusingsblog.wordpress.com)
Golden horizon The first morning of the world Touching earth with love Each dawn a new beginning On the quest for compassion
cause and effects, the butterfly’s wing.
so here on the night watch, all is quiet , no birds sing.
touched by the small thing, softly, we drew together, with words, and gestures in air, in mind.
touched by the old things i draw and weave the ways of night.
upload the black heart, later.
i write, edit, delete. words here, you cannot see, do they leave a trace, tell me.
do you sense their meaning, and the rhyme, are there codes between the lines.
is there something in words not said, or is it here, as clear, as day.
My tiny self is not willing to participate in this suggestion, will not undertake a voluntary evacuation — so it makes a plan for hurricanes, how it will shelter in place, place tape across my eyes
so they won’t break, bring in all of me that’s fragile, gather all it thinks it needs for self-sufficiency, withdraw into some inner hallway deep within, hide inside determined to survive alone.
But Love is stronger than the solitary shelter where I cower, it roars and crashes, takes the roof off, strips away all my protection. Indiscriminate, it also tears away my self-perception,
insecurities and fears of rejection. It rips through this tidy place of safety that I’ve made until there’s nothing left beneath my feet or in my grasp but air, and nothing left for me except to dare the storm.
What is this love thing, then? she asked, cheeks still pink from being outdoors. Because i’m not sure i can do it any more. This fierce grasp on my heart, it’s too much. She sighed. What is this love thing, then? And we walked back along the narrow path between rainbow swirled puddles and glittering glass reflecting shards of sky. I said nothing.
I don’t know. What is this love thing? It’s that shard of sky. It’s that grain of sugar, that dark line down the edge of the cup. It’s just love.
Love is only light That drives loneliness away Gives warmth to our heart ****** Love is the one flame Giving cozyness of life Making us feel young ****** Flames that light our lives Keep us going through ups & downs Is from the love fire
Love Love is holy ,love is pure Love is above all your fear A modest gift we always had near It fills all hearts with joy and cheer Love is the strength when we are hurt Even if we are miles apart Prejudices cannot match love’s proficiency Its grandure is more than pride and vanity So start loving each and every one u find There’s no shame in loving ‘coz love is blind
drumskin resonance snared by the brush-beats that syncopate passion two hearts in their swoon hand in hand for the dance of all dances bliss rising and falling to rhythms of generous urgency teaching two lives given truth of their troth how a love can endure in the keep to one tempo Paul F. Lenzi (poesypluspolemics.wordpress.com)
Somewhere far from the worldly hustle, I pause and look around, The beauty in this eternal nature, Simply thrills to no bound.
The undying beauty of nature, Drives me into a merry mood, To describe it the best, It is the bliss of solitude.
I close my eyes just for a while, It feels like nature is speaking to me, I enjoy the moment and feel, I am sinking in natural eternity.
My heart talks to the winds, Flies with the birds in the sky, Dances with the flowers, And rises up and high.
As closer I go to nature, As deeper I sink, It’s the best gift by God, Is what I begin to think.
The undying beauty of nature, Fills my heart with pleasure and bliss, I just say to myself, It simply can’t get any better than this!
– Nikesh Lilani (incrediblepoetry.wordpress.com)
When In Your Arms
When in your arms, the world fades away and I’m floating on the clouds above. No words need be shared, when we feel the love between us, taking a journey, toward the sky above. When in your arms, I feel the joy that love brings – I can even hear angels sing. When in your arms, the world can’t do me any harm. You keep me warm and safe, make me feel like a queen. You take me to the stars and back, all that I long for, a love that is satisfying and makes my heart beat ever faster, as long as you are there – when you take me in your arms.
if I could but dance I’d lead you through waltzes round rays of the sun and speed you through polkas, mazurkas on end if I could but jump I’d pluck the bright stars to adorn your fair hair and tuck the moon tenderly into your lap if I could but run I’d race the fleet winds across mountains and glens and chase down each songbird for your serenade if I could but walk I’d stroll with your hand in mine up country lanes cajole the world’s blossoms to sweeten our way if I could but stand I’d fold you in close like I did when we met and hold tight forever your heart against mine
Saltwater rivulets run clear down the stone face leaving an invisible stain that only the heart can trace deceptive the tranquil pose with each passing second of your absence my equanimity erodes I swim in the shallows of my emotions fight the current traveling upstream where love spawned a lifetime ago I began my journey back to you
M. Zane McClellan (https://thepoetrychannel.com)
eyes meet hands clasp hearts race this moment like the last and the one before never growing old with time
My love for you first formed From the beat of a drum In a circle of grandmothers, mothers and daughters I heard your voice I felt your unconditional love and acceptance My vision of you came as peace And a beacon unto the world A promise of faith in mankind I loved you the minute I felt the beat of your drum
Growing into himself too quickly he questions the composition of his face positions his eyes slightly closer together as if an acute pose will make the mirror aware of his inevitable manhood
tight with time, he is a builder, toppling his hair, climbing it again with minded hands he is arched as if running a bridge, elevated in his position as the undefeated ruler of himself.
I have encountered my only enemy, I realize, a mirror that speaks to him in futurist illusions of adulthood, wherein lies of glorious independence speak in imaginary tongue, and I am the voice of unheard truth:
“romantic possibilities are not on the other side of your reflection, know the blessing of your present reality and speak to it as if it loves you more than you can love yourself.”
The dark is my welcome time now your original mirror, your arms tight have you forgotten yourself? simple presence with original source oh, what little you know of life I will teach you everything.
In an unexpected time zone Somewhere in the infinite, I stand here straddling, The known and the unknown, There’s not a single sound. Only a Blurry mind; And lingering thoughts Waiting for an unimaginable surprise.
Blurry pictures Of life lived; though chaotic, But truly beautiful. Blurry moments Of your lips entwined with mine Rise and fall of our chests with every breath. A relationship so real. A secret that no ones knows.
Playing truant; words don’t get through They’re just syllables now. With a blurry mind and Lingering thoughts… As my eyes shut I think to myself, “I know I’ll be having trouble Falling asleep…”
Somedays when the heavens open up Cupping my cup of coffee, I open up my window And watch rain fall again and again. Rains; as they fall, fill up all the emptiness within.
Somedays there are nights when I wake up And sit wondering Without anything to do at all About my purpose in life instead And if things will always end the way they do.
Somedays I just lie in my bed Surrender myself to laziness, and To myself I say, “it’s for the best… You’ve done enough for the week And now’s the time for you to rest.”
But somedays I wake up Wishing my loneliness to disappear That you be near me, waking me up Maybe just once But I would like to wake up in your arms again.
Someday we will meet face to face. I dreamt That you and me will find each other again Somehow. Then we’ll walk away, Hand in hand, together.
Somedays I question myself What I’m doing? If at all anything! What I’m turning into and who I am? Where am I going to find the answers to my problems? When will I finally able to say I did something and am happy…
Somehow Someday I guess All the jigsaw pieces Shall fit. Someday…..
No Words You reach me; no words needed. I feel it intensely inside; when you smile. I am swept away by your eyes. My soul dances; every moment I am near you.
(C)BJG (Blair Gaulton)Feb 2017 bjgaulton.wordpress.com
Like following Hansel’s bread crumbs, Picking one at a time, Is what it was like for him To choose the right words To confess his love For her.
We are seekers of freedom, Hope stirs in our waking bones, Moving to places disturbed and Discombobulated. To be centered In a world Of hate Takes the deepest folds Of love Of peace Of understanding.
How much of These are you Willing to give?
I am in your heart, It’s where I live. I have been there Since the beginning of Time. You have felt me Ticking away at your soul, Newness tap dancing in Old form. I bring thunder from the Gods, dousing your core With truths untold.
In this crazy world Of use and take, Depleting you is never An option. I only wish to fill You up until the Lines of your body Burst at its seams.
Spring yawns and sprays a gentle dew on delicate green blades. Winter’s heavy sigh retreats and April washes the icy, pale grey canvas with lilacs, reds and golden yellow as a regiment of buglers play to the ripples moving below a bank of tulips and crocus laying together; their heads peeking out like lovers in the mist – looking for summer, watching but never sleeping, fading, but holding on – shrinking, but timidly keeping a hold of the light that singularly wraps around us both.
Begin with three words. Begin with faith, hope, charity. Reflect on them. Were we not raised with them? Are we not told they summarize the values of the Pilgrims, the men and women who fled persecution and immigrated to pursue the promise of the New World, of America?
Think about the three words you see written into every billboard, every magazine ad, three words burning the phosphors of every television screen into your brain. Think about envy, lust and greed. Values to make America great again.
Love poems unravel at your kitchen table. I watch your lips caress your mug and know you would forbid one. Phillip T Stephens ptstephens.com
Love Isn’t Roses
or chocolates or flowery cards with rhymes printed in Kansas City, Missouri, even if you scribble an appended message of adoration, or wine and table d’hôte sitting across from a candle in a dimly lit room where others converse as well, and it sure as hell isn’t swearing, “Jesus loves you, and by the way you should love him too” to anyone who listens, it requires leaving your true self at the door, taking a towel and basin, washing the feet of the terrorist you know would rip your heart and family from you and call it a moral victory; putting his gun to your head and saying, “Go ahead, pull the trigger if it will salve your pain,” and, even more difficult, forgiving the asshole who calls you a terrorist too.
You can’t love God and deny the dark corners of creation. The earthquake will plunder your village more quickly than sunshine warms your home. God loves the shark scavenging the underneath. He sends her minnows, marlins, and, occasionally, one of us. Those who dwell on God’s yellow happy face — who picture his children as well-scrubbed and chubby — will never love the battered child sitting on the porch who spots the tabby sleeping in the sunlight and kills it to vent her rage. They will turn their faces from the child who sits on the curb, kicking at the leaves, while she waits for her mother to score, never understanding the fury furrowing her brow. The children know you though. They watch you silently as you tap your finger on your steering wheel, fiddle with your stereo and pray for the light to turn. To refuse to look into shadows is to discard pieces of the puzzle because you can’t accept the picture assembling before you. Believing love glosses any blemish, you stare in anger at the soul who brandishes her blemishes like beauty marks. Every child we bear can kill as well as cuddle. Some children, filled with rage, vent their rage on others. Honest killers vent their rage with knives, spelling their anger on their victims’ flesh. Devious killers dissect their victims with sharp remarks. If you suckle the killer and send her on her way, massaging her esteem and ignoring the canker she nurtures, you become the killer yourself. When you feed the killer take his knife, keep him close, hug him until the hate drains from his heart and still keep him close. Keep your body between your child and her victim while praising God for the chance to love the beautiful child he gave you. The debris that gathers at your desk, the detritus piling up in your in-box and forcing you to change your focus to answer this last minute memo asking why you never delivered the report an earlier memo said to ignore, forcing you to spend the next hour searching for the original request that was actually made to another department and only carbon copied to you; the supplies delivery left on your chair but meant for the office upstairs, leaving you with no option but to cart two cases of 11×17 copier paper down the hall and up the stairs so that you return to your desk just in time to see a single flashing e-mail icon, which launches a memo claiming the report is now one day overdue; the debris, detritus, the endless paper trails suffocate your soul. They trap you under microcosmic, micromanaged microsignificant microcrises that kill by accumulation. In those moments, when another work order stops your heart and leaves you struggling for a single breath, remember that God never created desks and that his angels surround us even now, waiting for the word to smite down personal computers, slice through file drawers, smash and shatter desks and nameplates and cubicle walls; to smash the shackles of commerce at our ankles so we may rise from our swivel chairs, praise the Lord and rush from our parking lots to our homes, our children, our gardens and parks, to Bible study and prayer, to contemplate dharma, to bow toward Mecca, to chant the Kaddish, to light candles in prayer in the sanctuary we choose to delight in God and escape the detritus of the day.Lord lead us to the work we love, bring the poet to her poems, the artist to his canvas, the mechanic to a car, the farmer to his field, the builder to a lot, the carpenter to the house, the healer to the woman with the lump in her breast and no future, no comfort, no hope. When the evil ones lure us off to find our fortunes and convince us money is our work’s reward, we sell our souls to commerce. We lock our poems in desk drawers, tuck our sketches into briefcases and crunch out memos, fill out forms, process work orders and bow to suits who kowtow to designer suits who conspire to climb each other’s backs to the top of the corporate towers. Work for pay wearies the soul, distracts us from our families, diverts us from our best moments, divides us into warring camps willing to kill each other for a prize we still lose when we die. The work we love cultivates other lives. Music brings joy, poems enlighten, houses give shelter, healing gives life. The work we love is God’s work, laying bricks for others to build on, foundations that survive us.
originally published in Poems, Parables & Prayers for the Third Millennium (Austin, TX: Plain View Press, 2001). Out of print.
We dreamt of places where love lay lost, beside the ocean we counted waves hoping to feel the rush and change in and out fluidly moving, rhythmically the tide pushed to where we stood, as the sun came close to curtain call I felt your hand find mine, leaning into you I felt the touch lingering like the water rushing my legs, pulling me into your gaze drowning in the desire knowing it would again come. Love found like a treasure, held like a child carried in eternity. By
But how do I tell you Son About love How do I tell you The true meaning of it I realised Quiet late This emotion Which binds us always How do I tell you I can see people fading like sepia tinted memories I know slowly nothing will remain just a Book full of picture Will hold all How do I tell you Why I write The only way To hold moments Son how do I tell you I can’t define still Love but I see it In your eyes When you hold my hand When you look for me how do I tell you how I cherish each moment Each second How much I love you Son ..
@notyet100 on twitter & instagram
you were like an infant
coming from comforted darkness
into an array of wailing fresh light.
Mama has always given herself up
to send you forth
into the harshness of thought,
grow your legs
from the moist clay of the Earth,
open your mouth
to echo the sorrows of visible truth.
When you find this sweet country home,
you will find life, growing up and growing old
in the confines of honest exchange
in the textures of embrace
in the borders regardless of need.
Rests in you is barren forgiveness
in its most eloquent form.
Pity what we have lost to these huddled men
more than our country
progress in its infancy—
recognition of the dark, indignant past
we have ignored for too long.
There is no returning home, or so it seems
when the possibility of one another is lost this is my nation at war, grappling…
It was another challenging week for judging the entries. Not only were the couplets popular with the voters, but of such a fine quality that any of them would have made an excellent addition to the collaboration.
Ken, from the wonderful poetry blog, Rivrlogr, entered a couplet the glided just a feather’s width above the others.
Read Ken’s entry, and the Renga in its entirety HERE.
Thank you to all who entered and participated. We hope you enjoyed the experience as much as we did.
We also hope you will join us again as we hold future collaborations leading up to the main event, our International Peace Day poem, #poetsforpeace2017. Last year was an amazing experience and we hope to share that with more than the nearly 200 internationally renowned Poets from around the world who joined us last year. That collaboration will begin in early July, please inform as many posts as you can.
The judging just keeps getting more difficult as nearly every haiku submitted this week could have been chosen for the Renga.
A few poems did not meet the 5-7-5 syllable requirement for this week. Remember, they will alternate between. 7-7 syllable couplet (this coming week’s required form) and the aforementioned 5-7-5 haiku.
Also, a couple were either a little too off topic, or did not diverge enough from the Hokku. Remember, each stanza is relevant only to the one immediately preceding and immediately following it. So that this week’s haiku should have pivoted away from the Hokku and only related to it in an oblique way.
Keep in mind that this is new to all of us. We are constantly consulting what references we have. But also, this is not a competition. Rather, it is a collaboration and whether your proffered poem is selected or not, you are helping to create the Renga.
That said, the poem chosen this week is: