Slant

Life  does often seek to manage mind,
where sanity demands another face,
and reason edits out discordant sound;
so is the heart embraced in mental vice.

Reality  becomes a ghastly, raging foe,
where thoughts fill  narrow ranks as demons,
defies the bounds of what we want to know;
hope on salted ground is surely leavened.


Insanity can hold the upper stony ground,
and mock from echoed distance all we are,
so do the angels hold out waiting hand;
salvation shines although its touch is rare.

Slant does twist the world of outer truth,
invokes that dance polarity to then ensure,
a mirror which reflects what is, as both;
in opposites,  all then revealed as pure.  

http://dversepoets.com/2014/05/22/meeting-the-bar-at-a-slant/

Change

Rose and Forest, Watercolour, Roslyn Ross 2013. (c)


Why do so many find
change  so hard
and resist beyond
all measure, when
softening, letting go,
releasing, embracing
or just accepting,
can relieve so much pain
and take us further
than we might
ever expect?

Would we rather face
ruin than accept change,
and reject something
new and unknown,
because we fear that
which is not familiar,
and which offers
no illusion of certainty,
to clothe the dark
places which fear so
carefully constructs?

For many the answer
is yes, yes, yes,
until the Fates take
us in hand and no
longer guide us but
drag us, to where
we are meant to be
and where we are
called to be, and
where, the pain of
the strange, unfamiliar
and unknown, will
shape us more clearly,
as the fine-edged
knife of transformation,
is wielded.

If we said yes to
Change, more often
than we said no,
would life be more
of a wonderful
adventure, a journey
through exotic lands,
and places of which
we had never dreamt,
even if sometimes
they are nightmares?

Unless we learn
to say yes, we will
never know.

Incarnation

As time caressed the desert dust, spread as living dreams,
so did the camel pass through needle's waiting eye,
and in that crushed, deep driving force delivered;
so was the myth made manifest through endless sky.

Those archetypes did drift in resinous waiting sleep,
as clouds like trees did hold,  and lifted desperate branch,
so angels roused from idleness were gathered round;
hope flounced dress in shivers, fragile as mere chance.

Tight the Goddess wove her truth into material, managed form,
where words held close to number, brought reality to birth,
and Fate does know who then to kiss and hold in settled place;
across the ditch which keeps pure heaven from this earth.

Souls did sit in patience, sipping slow their  all-forgetting tea,
that cup of brew which would remove all knowledge of the cost,
the cloth of memory wiped clean, brushed that dark, forgotten door;
thought falls  quietly into the hole of deep unknowing, and is lost.

As Snow White opened wide thin, reddened lips to surely bite,
upon the apple Eve had thrown delighted, into the cosmic ring,
so did the future stir and hopes of incarnation begin again to foam;
Self held hands with Spirit, smiled at Soul,  as dawn began to sing.

http://redwolfpoems.wordpress.com/2014/05/22/wordle-18/


Bastet: eye camel living
Barbara: resinous crushed driving
Rick: sky sleep trees
Viv: idleness hope hold
Debi: shivers tight fragile
Hannah: truth knows words
Christopher: ditch kiss tea
Jules: sit cup cloth
Irene: dark hole door
Misky: apple stains thin
Yousei: stir foam dawn

When two are one

'If ever two were one then surely we,'
those words do resonate across the years,
found long ago in written form, believed;
reflecting the deep truth we both do feel.

In meeting there was made relationship,
as if twin souls had found each other then,
and left behind the years of separation;
soul union sealed as everlasting friends.

The script has faded slowly over years,
words no longer clear as they once were,
and yet the meaning shines eternally;
Love is always clear and never blurred.

'If ever two were one then surely we,'
spoke volumes to us both so long ago,
blossomed in the time that we have had;
continue their rejoicing - endless flow.

http://dversepoets.com/

Purpose

 Watercolour, Roslyn Ross, 2012 - Forest and Distance.


Eternity does cradle slow in  forming fractalicious shape,

that dance of pure becoming wrought in silent, perfect steps,
and in the doing so creation does display and twist as minuet;
time holds out the baton, determines when there will be rest.

Within the cultured moments of the endless active hours,
there comes a perfect balance  then made manifest,  revealed,
in purpose calligraphed upon the heavens truth has wrought;
so then is meaning, purpose and intent no more concealed.

Slow breathing into being is the call from angels sung,
and trusting that the process will endure, forever moving on,
then does the mind of God incarnate in the material world;
so are we birthed to our becoming, whether short or long. 

Who am I?

I.

I gave you my love
and you held it so near.
I gave you my heart
and you held it so dear.
You gathered my laughter,
and stood by my pain;
a guard by my fear
till I joined you again.
But when I gave you my anger
you lowered your arms,
and stepped from my side,
as if fleeing from harm.
And you turned from
my tears, when I gave them
to you and they fell to my heart
and washed my love through.
What I wanted you see,
was to give you myself,
but when I had finished
removing all that,
you wouldn't accept,
then I couldn't find me.


II.

To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.




) Who are you and whom do you love?
2) What else are you, that no one has seen before?
3) Describe a morning you woke without fear.
4) What lingers when all is said and done?

 http://dversepoets.com/

Wings of life

Wings of hidden life did slow arise in night,
blackbird of mind's grief in sorrow flies,
and in the broken moment light can see;
eyes of time are dead and soul is free.





Wings blackbird life arise eyes broken moment light see, dead night free

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/05/04/wordle-158-2/