The knowledge of graves

the Book of Pain

Quddús, the Forever Youth laughs:
“So along came they
to tear down My grave
and Me up along with it.
I wish I had a hundred such plots
so that they could desecrate them all.
I’d say, ‘Look, there’s the hundred and first!’
and off they’d scurry to dig that one up too.”
And then He laughs again.

But I know that place whereof He speaks.
It is a place of mystery
yet a spot of sweet clarity,
the conundrum at the crux of a knot.
There the worldly are lost,
the dead live on,
and the living, while living, are yet dead.
It whispers: how do I empty the blood
from my veins so that His flows there, instead?

Quddús is one of the Letters of the Living, a group of 18 individuals who were the first to believe in the Báb, the Prophet-Herald of the Bahá’í Faith. Their role in the history of the Bahá’í Faith is somewhat analogous to the…

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No Surrender

Everybody Means Something

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Peace

Ripple Poetry

Creative Commons – Mark Smith

Peace, like Giant Saguaro Cactus,
Took fifty years before flowering hope
Just night and green morning
Over quickly
Then flowers came out again

Again out came flowers then
Quickly over morning green and night
Just hope flowering before years fifty
Took cactus Saguaro Giant
Like peace.

(c) June Perkins

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Peace Within~Writing Course 201 Day 10

WritersDream9

Peace

Searching in the sand for my peace

Rhythmically etching your fine lines

O how you trace the smooth and crease

Your humble simplicity surely shines

~

Will I find my pleasure in your grains

Meditatively refining my point of view

Your quality of serenity still remains

To face the world refreshed and new

~

My fingers notice your rough texture

Bringing my awareness to the now

In your specks I have found a treasure

Concentrating on my truth I do avow

~

The world can no longer me contain

You have lifted me high above the pain

~~~~

© Carol Campbell 2015

Writing 201 Course

Prompt:

Pleasure

Form:

Sonnet

Device:

Apostrophe

❤ ❤

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An early fall walk in the evening

the Book of Pain

What I remember best is the sharp smell of wild grapes
carried aloft in a warm updraft, their sharp tang a hint
of the coming winter, when their leaves will be withered
and the vines hard and dry, their hopes gone and the roots
hidden in sleep. I know they don’t, but I wonder—do they
dream, longing for a wet spring and a warm summer sun?

Do they yearn for another year, to bear again their bitter fruit?
Do they think about waking, and then, knowing that they are awake,
do they bask in the knowledge that they are the good creation of a
good God, aright in their place and placed aright by love’s design?
So much living, I think, for such a little tang on a last warm night,
there and then gone in a quick waft of air. Was it ever there at all?

It was actually on a bicycle ride when the scent of wild grapes hit us, so it is a small exercise of my artistic license…

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As were they

the Book of Pain

Thus
burn madly
before glowing and then fading.

Fires come–souls go
receding,
sparks caught up light in the wind.

Have you ever met someone so filled with spirituality that they seemed on fire? They seem, somehow, light, as if the physical gravity is fighting against the spiritual lift to take them away.

Or have you ever lost someone who was deeply spiritual and close to you? They seem to slip through your fingers, even as you yearn to hold on to them because you need them so badly and love them so dearly.

Thank you for reading As were they. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

john

© 2012 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License

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Beneath the Debris

Everybody Means Something

Given my recent preoccupation with finding a way of connecting with my deepest self and the deepest reality, it seemed a good time to republish some poems with a similar theme.

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Dots

WritersDream9

Little Dots 1 dot=1 person. Blue=white. Green=Black. Red=Asian. Yellow=Hispanic. Brown=Other. Census from 2010

It’s official

We have been divided and conquered

Relegated to the reality of a dot

Separated by deliberate false constructs

Flowers denied equal sun and rain

Leading to self hatred

Hatred of “them”

It’s official.

© Carol Campbell 2015

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The Hollow Reed: A Song of Tai Chi Dancing with the Wind

Republished by permission of the The Hollow Reed Blog

A SONG OF TAI CHI: DANCING WITH THE WIND

The idea for this work came from my dear friend Nasser Butt and his beautiful and inspiring work of creative writing and prose entitled “Traditions from the Old Tower, A Song of Tai Chi”.  I envision this poem as unfinished, as our practice of tai chi is always “unfinished” or perhaps it is tai chi that is unfinished with us…  As tradition demands this poem will require the completion of 108 lines. The image is called Vapor and it was completed in gold and silver last summer.  “I am vapor, watch me disappear”. A Song of Tai Chi:  Dancing with the Wind Let the spirit dance begin By breathing out and breathing in. I hold my destiny within my hand And enter a path that is called Grand. Open then the door within By breathing out and breathing in. I cross the heavens in my search Just as a bird must leave its perch. Enter then the flowing wind By breathing out and breathing in. I reach to grasp the sparrow’s tail And trace the air along this trail. Swim then through the abiding wind By breathing out and breathing in. I hang my arms in single whip And into eternity I gently slip. Push then the clouds with the wind By breathing out and breathing in. I open my soul like a sail And set off to find a holy grail. I am not alone within the wind By breathing out and breathing in. So let the spirit dance begin…

Breaking Through

WritersDream9

Breaking Through

Cuddled within the darkness

Surrounding like a blanket

The comfort of the known

Leaving not a clear interest

~

Sounds from without enter

Curiosity is sparked inside

An urge suddenly arises

Break away from the jailer

~

Little by little; piece by piece

Chipping at what once was real

Sure that something better awaits

No more confinement just sweet release

© Carol Campbell 2015

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