Poetry

 

‘Poets Are Technicians Of The Sacred’ – Jerome Rothenberg

 


 

Little seems to quench the thirst of being, yet poetry is a touchable oasis in the desert. A faultless poem reaches some place that is ineffable to the mind; it leaves the psyche silently grasping, yet is drenched in hope and wonder.

Here I share some of my poems, written during different seasons of my evolution.

 


 

Divine Ocean

Lord, let me drink from your Divine Ocean;

A Nectar so sweet and rich,

Beyond all notion.

 

I beg on hands, on knees,

Like a youngster with a gift.

Engulf me in your Sacred Breeze.

 

I cannot walk this place alone,

The opposites cloud my Soul.

Grace is the place I yearn to roam.

 

My words are not yet pure,

My intentions debased.

One day, I will become the Prayer,

Only then I’ll be sure.

 


 

The Inner Zodiac

Sol, rays glistening, giving all life.

He stands still come 21.

To move again, northwards.

Forwards to the mermaid goat,

His rings a wonder.

 

Luna, a mirror of the glisten

Reborn each cycle to full fertility.

She stands alone at sea, with love.

The light in the darkness.

 

Gaia, natures full expression.

4 children, yet 1 being, harmonised.

Her beauty deceives the ignorant, so foolish.

The rivers cry into her ocean.

Be ready, she is upset.

 


 

The Anointed

Decide, which path to walk?

There is no strength in following,

Just appearances and comfort.

Break this mould, it is tired and solemn.

The path of the wise man calls.

 

Dedicate the energy of the Soul;

Spirit knows its calling,

Let Grace lead the way,

And you shall truly know Power, and Peace.

Anoint oneself with all;

Christ has risen

 


 

‘The poet lives and writes at the frontier between deep internal experience and the revelations of the outer world. There is no going back once this frontier has been reached; a new territory is visible and what has been said cannot be unsaid. 

Poetry is a break for freedom. In a sense, all poems are good; all poems are an emblem of courage and the attempt to say the unsayable; but only a few are able to speak to something universal yet personal and distinct at the same time; to create a door through which others can walk into what previously seemed unobtainable realms, in the passage of a few short lines.’

– David Whyte


 

Ancient Brew

You will be called, not through choice.

The whisper of the serpent echoes.

Into your being she calls, incessant;

Until the decision is made.

 

Caress her brew, chants of love.

Hours upon hours,

She bows in gratitude, her message now able.

Bitter, yet unmeasurable and wordless.

 

Lips breached, nowhere to hide;

Meandering through your soul.

Like Amazonia,

The shadow illuminates, take a look.

 

A stone rose,

Roc solid, but soft and beautiful.

From the depths of darkness,

To the light of spirit.

Stand strong immortal one,

The benefit is great.

 

Night now mature, but don’t look up,

You’ll be lost in wonder, the Universe gleaming.

Dance for a while, or sit and be still;

Your heart has been woven, healed.

 

Now take all with you;

The messages she weaved;

Until next time, Madré.

Gratitude.

 


 

The Elders

From West to East they travelled.

Land of the apple to Neilos.

Wisdom of the ancients known, through blood.

Knowledge and Truth, conquered by nothing.

The seas, not a match,

For the pure western serpent.

 

The Pharaoh, standing Divine.

Not in the West?

We have been fooled.

Atlantis knew, Lumeria too;

That today has been here before,

Hidden; a secret.

 

The Universe speaks, they look up;

And know the Truth;

As above, so below….

Carry this truth in heart and spirit;

Let the Oak Men flourish.

 


 

“I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”
― John O’Donohue


MAYA

Man has fallen, looks into the illusion.

Material overtaken the senses.

Just physicality remains.

Modern science, the newest religion,

And burden of true intelligence.

Whilst all is available, he stares,

Into the abyss of duality.

 

How can it be, that we see all colours,

red to green?

Yet have only one?

Vision of the wise ancients knowing;

These eyes are for Maya;

The pine cone pierces through.

 

Transcend this falsity.

There is but one Light, magnificent.

But know, you are that which you seek,

Just Look.

And Now, Maya winks.

 


 

You Have Chosen

Your Soul seeking more in a world of plenty?

You have gold and silver, bricks and mortar,

And still, fulfilment evades.

More and more brings less and less, empty.

Like attachment,

Have you chosen?

 

The mind, like an arrow,

Piercing everything that isn’t.

The hole has appeared,

The rabbit dug down, deeper, wider.

Do not be afraid wise spirit

You may have chosen.

 

You try and leave it,

like a bad dream.

But it stays, a stubborn gift.

Nothing is familiar, your patriots waver.

One word spoken and there is a howl to silence.

But now you have seen,

For you have chosen.

 

The Light shines, both in head and heart,

No longer just beating, but soaring.

Divinity and the spark of wonder.

This place is different now isn’t it?

You know you are the choice itself,

And you have chosen.

 


 

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