Calligraphic Poetry... Poetry in Art... An Episode of Swirling Seas . . .

The Moment of the Dawning . . .

                  The End and the Beginning

It was early dawn...

and the dew...

as fire now beneath my bare feet...

I saw gleaming upon the long cold grass

distilling diamond perfection from the breath of sky

inwardly mingling with the soft utterings of earth.

Through wide spaces

between the thinning trees of the wood

I saw the east writing lines of gold in the sky

loosely held on ribboned-threads of low cloud.

I saw the expanse rising as an endless wonder

above the bars of paling topaz...

and all the calming colours found in apricot and lilac

soon fading to a fragile hint of rose 

had caught me...

till I looked up higher

to a clear deep blue, far above...

then down...

catching glimpse of its reflection upon the distant pool

and upon the slow, polished stream beyond the wood.

And within the watery capturing, it seemed to me,

as though the hollowed-out depths of the sky

unto the furtherest reaches of its endless wisdom

was something the earth must at all costs

reach up and take hold of,

that it might apprehend that for which it had been made,

and that all who saw it

might be apprehended of God, himself, 

as he intended.

It was the in-between

of true night and day, so early was it,

when the strange light... 

that was the end of one and the beginning of the other

mingles for one timeless moment

and I was there and I saw it:

the merging of light and the mystery of the dawning...

the fearsome dominion of night

where sleep could not hold me

giving place to the renewing rule of day...

and the hidden fragrance that was there

only in that fleeting moment...

And filled...

with well watered brimming-over joy...

the long fear of night...a fear no longer!

                                                          

                                            *

                              - from:   'Arkiahh Dreaming:' The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

Script in sand engraved through fire in glass... and becoming a rock of truth . . .

A Wisp of Air                                                                                      

Encased within the travelled chest a treasure rare

Of un-pillaged plunder wrapped in coats of skins

The key the map the compass for the find were there

In Everland hid the fragrant heart at one with love

Script in sand engraved through fire in glass

Carried timeless in its purse, its secret fold of words

Engrafted life encoded there, in living jars of clay

As see-through as a wisp of air in nothingness clad

A stone was thrown and broken light spilled out

Of a perfect fashioner the hurt of every jar

How else escaped the light, that left buried deep would die

If scattered only by a tear it could forge of life its seal

Of each season borne the life produced twelve fruits

Green leaf in drought, up-springing joy in dearth

Living letters inscribed inside in every hue of gold

And shades of shadows left, went no more right through

Belts that tie the windless horn to its strength

Held in dust the captured message from the dawn of time

Bound in glory wrapped in living skins of hope

Cords of love the tie that kept the unfathomed dust afloat

Within the sea of life the hidden script was laid

A sword to grind the jars their light in dust to leave

Pride lost, then on every hill a thing of freeing praise 

And the more did broken open letters fly in scrolls of flesh

           
                                                              *


             - from 'The Ragged Writings of Everland:' Volume One

One of the calligraphic illustrations in the 'ragged writings' book: Arkiahh Dreaming . . .

The Power of the Dawning . . .

                                    The Strength of the Dawn

Lightly---on the silver surface of the quiet sea---  

The sun arising leaves his lilac birthing

Fitly swift upon the sea’s-edge wild horizon

Below these shades of palest winter green---

Lilac strands of clouds in glowing topaz---

This fiery orb leaves trace of rising only quickly

Of the light within---each broken open heart

Knows quickened birth---

In all her fleeting colours of intuitive comings

And the strength of dawn in all her new beginnings

                                      *

                  The Power of Night’s Changings

And of the changeful night---

Violet drops of moonlight in deep weathered places

Purple palaces forming and palisades of turquoise

Mauve fastnesses in silver-lit moonbeams---

And all transparent their milk-white tincture

Crushed in black ink mixed with his spilt blood

These were piercing changes I know---

Deep inside me---

Held a moment in pressed currents of endings---

Ripe---through new entrances within

Yet of a single door---the fruit of death unto life

In darts of black currant and blueberry---

Threads passing through

In cream all dipped in amethyst---

Winged thought taking flight

And after a long and arduous journey---

In woken sleep alighting upon that star in you

Which---weathered by the light of ages---

Takes the feathered edges of the passing through         

And makes them new---

                                        *

"A Little Book, Open..." An Opened Person an Open Book: Revelation...

Please find here a link to the manuscript of:


Little Book


"A Little Book Open . . ."
An Opened Person an Open Book: Revelation


_______________________________________________________

(N.B.  This is the complete book... from which the first section (the introduction) was made into a tiny booklet: a chapbook; titled:  "The New Butterfly & The Sound of the Seventh Angel.")


______________________________________________________________

Starlight shines upon a wild rose

Its soft loveliness belies its secret   

That it kept within it a deeper gift

For that both beauty and truth were in it

Irresistible fragrance---for it was bound with a sting

Irrefutable truth---it was bound with grace

Unfathomable the depth of its thorn within

For unthinkable the joy of its inherent Giver

And there the terrible part of the constant question---

Will I run from the painful thing because it offends?

But the carpet is red that bears the feet of them

That have trodden down the grapes

Laid before those who held not back from life

Because of death

It is better to dare than hide   

                                         *

Lifting joy in finding kindred spirits . . .

Runaway water spilled out and over

Up from the broken depths

In joy its message through the hills

Rushing tumbling running laughter

Fitly greeting arriving guests

At the dance of the dawning daughters

A crowd of welcome swallows flew

Up from the rested trail

In hope they brought their fragile friends

Folding homing cached in glory

Swiftly finding a gathered clan

At the dance of the dawning daughters

Love’s tiny children spread their wings

Up from the lighted place

In peace the instant of their battle won

Laughing playing falling over

Finding each their spirit’s twin

At the dance of the dawning daughters

- From 'The Ragged Writings of Everland:' Volume One

Poetry & Art . . . A Child Enters in the Unseen Image of the Visible . . .

Within the secret place . . . and taken beyond . . .

                      

A Wisp of Air 

Encased within the travelled chest a treasure rare

Of un-pillaged plunder wrapped in coats of skins

The key the map the compass for the find were there

In Everland hid the fragrant heart at one with love

Script in sand engraved through fire in glass

Carried timeless in its purse, its secret fold of words

Engrafted life encoded there, in living jars of clay

As see-through as a wisp of air in nothingness clad

A stone was thrown and broken light spilled out

Of a perfect fashioner the hurt of every jar

How else escaped the light, that left buried deep would die

If scattered only by a tear it could forge of life its seal

Of each season borne the life produced twelve fruits

Green leaf in drought, up-springing joy in dearth

Living letters inscribed inside in every hue of gold

And shades of shadows left, went no more right through

Belts that tie the windless horn to its strength

Held in dust the captured message from the dawn of time

Bound in glory wrapped in living skins of hope

Cords of love the tie that kept the unfathomed dust afloat  

Within the sea of life the hidden script was laid

A sword to grind the jars their light in dust to leave

Pride lost, then on every hill a thing of freeing praise 

And the more did broken open letters fly in scrolls of flesh

The Taken . . .

They waited long upon the silent lambs of peace

Captured the possession and the blind ones’ purse

Hidden but linked to an heir and by fairest fields pursued

They wandered ever onward in sightless passioned flight

Comings of walls and their tearing down to dust

Opened the mysteries which from countless ages followed

Yet still they waited not carried by love’s vicarious stripes

All gone astray in deceitful paths each coveting heart

Seeing not the part that with the bad, lambs found their rest 

Amongst the transgressors they knew them not

Nor understood the perfect glory of their disgrace

Un-esteemed of them that thought they knew his name

Cleavings of a stony heart and clouds depart

From what was lost and wasted love was raised to fill

The gap and rushed up from a buried deep between the

Ranks and fortresses of all age-beleaguered thought 

Followed by a foolish few the broken blind were linked

For them love’s patterned words that let the light shine in

Pierced through they shone for those that went beneath 

And torn the blind ones’ purse by perfect mystery known 

None but the seeing blind would think wealth lay in loss

And bliss could be in being turned the other way around

That the purse contained the means of being back to front

Blind-silent lambs of peace all those made perfect from it

Out from the darkest depths they then appeared

And set against a sky of night were as newborn stars

For which we had waited

No more a disfiguring cup of trembling in their hand

Theirs now the day and ‘the-thought-they-saw’ the night

Roles reversed the mighty from their thrones removed

Crowds roared while the freed broken-open cheered

Which travelling faster than the speed of light

Spun the world about, as inner life turned inside out

And the dark was light, where all the world was new

The Ragged Writings of Everland . . .

A green leaf in drought . . .

Hard ripped from a bent twig---

But sent flying

A rose bud in situ . . .

Cruel plucked from a thorn bush---

And taken deeper

My soul untouched is safe . . .

But that is not

What it was created for                                                                  

                                          

Starlight shines upon a garden rose

Soft loveliness belies its secret   

That it kept within it a deeper gift

That both beauty and truth were in it

Irresistible fragrance bound with a sting

Irrefutable truth bound with grace

Unfathomable reason for its thorn in me

Unthinkable the joy of its inherent Giver

There, the terrible part of my unsolvable question

Shall I run from the painful thing because it offends?

But, the carpet is red that bears the feet of them

That have trodden down the grapes

Laid before those who held not back from life

Because of death

It is better to dare than hide