Your presence is dancing me
late into evening
releasing You breathe in me
lessons in lessening
enlivening so soulfully
salt dreamings and weathering
till sleep sliding othernesss
untethers me from all of us.
Your presence is dancing me
late into evening
releasing You breathe in me
lessons in lessening
enlivening so soulfully
salt dreamings and weathering
till sleep sliding othernesss
untethers me from all of us.
Hazrat Inayat Khan Vol VI p. 205
‘for the person who as attained to the mystery of Sadhana (detachment from worldly things) there is nothing in this world which cannot be attained, all is within his reach, his power, his grasp’
grasping beyond all that is spoken
transforming insides in complete
focussing tight rightly pray to be opened
by boundaries way out of reach.
find nothing and all in acorns so small
where both Beauty and horror is riven
thorns stemming foes as rosebud unfurls
perfumaries for the forgiven.
atmospheres calling unseen and untold
pure waters hydrating dryness of form
seedlings compost in saplings of old
returning to unfurl in soft streams of dawn.
Turning new leaves to:
re route this wait
enlighten fear through
unloosening gates
empty and clearing
without and within
actively resting
and as we refresh and uncling.
Beneath this dry crust
grit, dust and pain
soft whispering tears
gently refresh Your name
to re-soothe this fright
caress stress and this strife
impress hands side by side so
to fill within Light.
chorus
cheek by cheek, may we discover
Jugular breathing of Lover to lover
Beloved release us, incense us with sweetness
immerse us in perfumes of True Love’s completeness.
Light pouring out
Illuming this living
Re-shining doubt
so to see without seeing
exposing confusion
we free flow these Oceans
to joyfully drown within
earthly illusions.
During lock down I have been offering
an eight week ‘Poetry for wellness’ experience via Zoom. Me and two friends have been communing around some poems and themes offered by Lisa DeVuono (and others) in their wonderful new ‘Peer Facilitators Manual’. At the end of each week we have written spontaneously for 15 minutes and then shared snippets with each other (to further feed our ensuing weeks).
As I come to write up and share the final email with my two compatriots I have re-met these offerings. For a record of my journey over the eight weeks I have curated glimpses of my spontaneity within those 15 minutes of free flow writing below. What a privilege and what beauty my two friends offered, it is a shame I cant post all of their offerings, but during the first week we offered lines of our writing to each other which formed a group poem:
Initial group poem
Simple things in life, melt in.
Is this my child speaking and waiting?
I plant seeds for salad to eat soon and
I plant a tree that will bear fruit next year.
The harvest of an endless crop
The translucent sunbeam through the trees
Teasing new shoots to grow.
This life is an invitation to melt in.
Week three: On self-compassion
Unforgiving
drunkenness
crawls within me.
Week four: Making it real
Shutting out the world
is really
not an option
it has never been
it comes in glorious floods
sensations, opportunities and creations beyond
my wildest imagination.
Maybe I can be gentle enough
Featherlike enough to, let this newness
fall
and rest in my hands.
Week five: Overcoming obstacles
If
I embrace
this
Unknowing
maybe I
can ease
into my growing
and while
facing
the Sunshine
maybe
I will
emerge
more
clearly.
Week six: Creating Hope
Together
we are
melting fatigue
by
swaying on the branches of impulse
launching songs
entraining sirens of newness
we are
Together.
Week seven: Being in gratitude
To become released, to become more open, flowing even.
To hide and be happy.
To appear and be happy.
To be resourced and tearful and gratefully imprinted like Gibran, with his
‘Tear and a Smile.’
To allow the tears and be gentle.
To find the light, like my old friend Shuntaro Tanikawa.
The light in the darkness and darkness in the light.
To celebrate re-finding old friends, who I have neglected for so long.
Shuntaro, you have taken second,
third and fourth fiddle to Rumi and Hazarat, Gibran and Neruda
but now your ’62 Sonnets’ press in on my pen.
With silence my companion,
Floating the river of Melancholy,
Coca-cola Lessons,
The Traveller, The Naif, Watashi. All yours, signed sealed
and delivered to my bookshelf.
And ah, At Midnight In The Kitchen I Just Want To Talk To You.
Yes, tomorrow my friend, If I should be so lucky, we too shall talk again.
Week eight: Self care and endings
I am wondering where to go now
where to go now,
how to grow
How to move freely
Breathe more deeply
Love with an openness that
is all mine, an otherness that
is all yours, a togetherness
combining to stop time.
Sitting here with
Sidney Bechet
Live!
24th Mai
Redez-vous Club.
Him and me
in my 1950 Philadelphie
reverie
a surprised sigh
yearns for the clink and clatter
and the slightly pickled
muffled laughter that,
only this January,
definitely
disturbed the clarity
of the great vinyl
spinal tingle
That is you
You see, with this distortion
in mind
I contort to
send my ears beyond this
long gone Jazz friend.
Now surprised
as I say
in my noticing in
my deepening reluctance
to let it be ‘just one of those things’
those social gatherings
that syncopate
brilliantly only
to end too early
instinctively
I decide I need
to pick myself and
the needle up
and with new found instant relief
I resolve to reach out
and to play once again
within yesterdays social rounds:
discovering wellness
in the sweetest of sweet conversations
far beyond his Georgia Brownness
and today’s wistful uncovering of grief.

Fuming beyond
this zebra crossing dripping throng
this head down, striding long
Gortex sway of human form
as wiper blades scud and grate
across this screen that separates
my heart from spleen from
gentle grace of
worried lines on
brethren’s face.
And yet.
unknowingly still I bow, yes
beyond this dashboard reach
for conditioning air
this rain filled rage begins to clear
as Lightening weight accelerates
and soft green shoots now reappear.