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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2014 9:49 pm
by SandyJoy
Oh, oh my, this poem "Kindness" this is it. This is exactly how it goes. Yes, we must lose things to know what kindness is.

After the sorrow and loss-- It is only kindness that makes sense anymore.

Blessed be this Heart of Mine that holds so tender, honest and true.

No one I've read has ever come so close and so beautifully touching on what I know, than she has here with her words.

Thank you Treasure. That one speaks the Truth straight from the living.

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri Feb 21, 2014 3:05 pm
by treasuretheday
So glad you enjoyed "Kindness," Sandy! Thanks for your lovely comment.

Love being itself. Czeslaw Milosz urges: Be the presence of love wherever we go. Be in the world
in a way that offers respect and reverence. Behold "the glow of ripeness."


Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.

Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.

Czeslaw Milosz

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2014 3:16 pm
by treasuretheday
First he looked confused

I could not lie anymore so I started to call my dog “God.”
First he looked

then he started smiling, then he even

I kept at it: now he doesn’t even

I am wondering if this
might work on


Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2014 7:48 pm
by SandyJoy
Absolutely, yes indeed. That's works for people too 8)

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri Mar 14, 2014 5:45 am
by Sighclone
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye, 1932

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri Mar 14, 2014 2:19 pm
by treasuretheday
Sweet tweet, Sandy! :)

Gorgeous, gorgeous poem, Sighclone! I know this is often read at funerals. But it is so nice to see this arresting beauty here. Thanks for sharing.

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2014 12:04 am
by snowheight
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 6:27 pm
by EnterZenFromThere
Wonderful stuff here. Thank you all for sharing.

Rabindranath Tagore - Baby's World (EnterZen cheeky edit)

"I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very own world...
...Where Reason makes kites of Her laws and flies them, the Truth sets Fact free from its fetters."

With love,


Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri May 16, 2014 2:10 am
by snowheight
Special thanks to Ralph, who as I recall first directed my attention to Niz's "love tells me I'm everything, wisdom tells me I'm nothing, and between the two my life flows".


From here Ivan writes:

The real you
is ever new and alive
and much too big to be your own.

To which I reply:

Though it feeds me and clothes me and gave birth to me
I am not the Earth

Though it sounds of a freight train to freedom
Though on it blows in the sweet scent of heaven
I am not the Wind

Though it gives life to all here
Though I feel it burning
Deep down within
I am not the Sun, I am not Fire

Though it cools me and purifies me
Though it quenches my thirst and drips life into dust
Though it flows in every nook and cranny of my being
I am not Water

Though it is my home, my prison, my reflection, my only point of reference
Though it is the nexus of all pleasure, and the only way to greet pain
I am not this body

Though it contains love, honor, beauty, sanity and all that I cherish
Although it is my ultimate survival tool
Although it illuminates the greatest depth of mystery
I am not a ghost
I am not Thought

Though they enchant me in their glimmering
Though they astound the mind to quiet
In their multitude
In the unfathomable vastness of the darknes that embraces them
I am not the Stars. I am not Infinity

Though in the straining, but ever only one deep breath away
In the listening
The glistening
The quiet, the silence, the absence of anything and everything
Though in that, I can actually and finally hear myself
I am not Peace

Though without it nothing appears
Although by and through it's agency all manifests
I am not chaos, I am not the maelstrom

Although it is the only way
To make myself heard
I am not Love


Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Fri May 16, 2014 3:37 am
by snowheight
would you know her if she called to you
from down the depths of time?
Would you recognize her soft sweet voice
as tangled up in rhyme?

Could you tell her touch from gentle breeze
caressing your wet cheek?
Would the ghostly sublime scent of her
leave you wondering and weak?

To know her is to kill her
turn away and then you lose.
Just suspend your image
in real freedom you don't choose.

She is ever all around you
always in embrace.
Sometimes you can see her in
the faintest starlit trace.

Ever though a mystery
yeah ever to the end.
Always love it was from her
she never meant for you to tend.

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Tue Sep 30, 2014 2:24 am
by snowheight
The Sheltering Sky


find me here under the sheltering sky
if you find me here I promise not to ask why
the sky is blue
my blood is red
the roof is gone
to the wind I am wed

look up or look down the view it changes the same
here under the sky I have forgotten my name
here under the sky I cannot understand shame
the view of the rain
as it falls from above
the skelter or the helter ... all meaningless love

there is no other in the eye of the sun
the light does not discriminate
from these rays you can't run
in answer the ground
pushes green pushes brown
reaching and stretching in most wistful of sound

find me here under the sheltering sky
the rent it is low
in this there's no lie
here you will find no perimeter true
grasping, embracing or limiting you

moving with ease
as day wends to night
the scent of the harvest
distant sound of the fight
keep home the seekers
save the county the cost
out here in the wild
I find myself never lost

a chuckle does wave
at the thought of next meal
the accounts they are balanced
nothing wrong with a seal
that some see as broken
though it is a mistake
it never was closed
the container was fake
the sakecloth, the ashes
the rumor of snake

find me here under the sheltering sky
find me here on the day that I die
don't shed a tear
refrain from the urge
to sound the sad note of a funeral dirge
find me here under the sheltering sky
where life sees no boundary
and never asks why
find me here under the sheltering sky
the only home left within sight of my eyes
find me here under the sheltering sky
healthy, happy with just rope left to tie

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Tue Sep 30, 2014 3:25 am
by Sighclone
Lovely, snowy, thanks!


Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Thu Dec 18, 2014 12:29 am
by snowheight

standing in the storm
the snow slaked down so madly
I could hear the flakes
smashing into one another in mid-air
and then finally joining the ones that had gotten to the ground first
a soft, gentle cacaphony

Was there a reason for this blizzard?
Why was I there, just then, to see it?
To hear it?
To feel it?

That sound of the flakes falling
It had no meaning, it conveyed no message
Not to me anyway
It was a remnant of the clash of cold and warm fronts
The confluence of two semi-circles on the weather map
The encoding of the atmosphere onto the ground
A rustling white noise
That not all the words ever written could truly describe

The flakes that found their way onto my skin
Cold and wet
Crystal to liquid
Snow no more but hardly no more in any real sense
Reminding me of body
A light kiss from the void

Why is snow white?
Why is it wet?
Why is it cold?

Standing in the storm
Being there
In the white wet wild
Being still, simply aware of the chaos in the wind
Standing in the storm
Is reason enough

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Thu Dec 18, 2014 4:42 am
by Onceler

Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Posted: Wed Dec 24, 2014 5:44 pm
by Enlightened2B
A poem I just wrote last night in my blog. Thought I'd share:

Blessed Be all that's wrong
Blessed Be all that's right
For all of it is just as is
in the eyes of the Loving Light

Life is ever evolving
Life can never end
It's cyclical in nature
through every curve and bend

From every human being
to every drop of rain
to every flower growing
on every window pane

From every single particle
to every sunset night
your body too an opening
for expression of the light

Death a new beginning
A mere changing of the guard
to the ever evolving Energy
expressed in every card

One Love appears as many
And all within its wealth
One Love that knows that all of it
is merely JUST Itself.

Your truth you hold so tightly to
Your truth you can't let go
Until your world is shattered
and all your truths must go

Then you move towards opening
Then you move towards Peace
and see that separation
was merely just a tease

So, look at life with honesty
Look at life with Love
Understand it's all the same
As below is as Above