An episode of swirling seas . . .

                         Illustration from: 'Arkiahh Dreaming'

NEW POEM: 'There is no such thing as nothing; out of nothing were all things created . . .'

There is No Such Thing as Nothing                                        

There is no such thing as nothing

Out of nothing were all things created

More could be made out of nothing

Than out of something

For there was no limitation to it

It was as elastic as infinity

In the containing of everything

‘Nothing’ rejected no, colour

So it was colourless---

But pregnant---with endless possibilities---

Until the brush of one’s imagination

Painted it with what was desired

In the containing of everything:

‘Nothing’ held all, miracles

All that was ever needed

Came of it---by faith

When---in perfection---all things are taken

We are left nothing. Full stop!

And for a long while

Nothing feels like nothing

And the unbelieving---feel cheated

But those that believe---begin again

Knowing they have all things and they do

                                                                   * 

                                              from:  ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three.  

                                                

N.B.   All my artwork is done completely by hand....(No ‘Photoshop,’ etc.)....I create on paper with pencils and erasers, and different sized ink pens, (and sometimes brush and watercolours,) and a tiny sharp craft knife, for stenciling. Afterwards, I scan the finished picture into my laptop; and from there into my books and this Blog.

A Portrait of a Lost Door . . . A New Ragged Writing . . . New Section Written . . . A New Poem in Three Parts . . .

Portrait of a Lost Door                                 

It was from a far country I had come---

Where endless illumination came out of darkness:

Out of what wasn’t understood---till one did---from it

There, one was of no age, neither, young nor old

One just was and always had been

And of no size, large or small, but the right size

Perfectly fitting that place where one desired to be

Here was, no language or wisdom

That we could understand

Some say we lived here before ever we were

For we have ever been

And say, too, that we knew this country

When we were very, very young

But should one not have retained

The slightest memory of it

It would not diminish, even so,

It was within one not as memory but as life

My ability to cherish it now and tomorrow

A fact---a gift---

In all my yesterdays it was in me already and ever is

There, the smallest child

Was wiser than the wise and prudent
Another kind of language was there
Thought strange and foolish here
As incomprehensible as snow is to fire
And as a jewel is to the blind

The more I have of the wisdom of this world

The less I have of the other

For it was of a quality
That cannot be measured by gain

But by loss---because it was without end

A bird can fly by

And I can see it as a dart of dark or light

And it is gone

But there I am not separated from the beauty I see

I am with it---

And no matter its speed---alongside---

One with its---life

Leaps, that are, here impossible

There are, a matter of course---perfunctory

I was with all I saw and had always known it

  

In the touch of beauty

The sense of sight took on a look of---

Having---possessing---because one had nothing---

A sense of knowing what couldn’t be known

In dwelling in the source from whence it came

And as for sound---

The site of it was ever in the midst of love---

And sight in the centre of peace---

And all that was of their marrying there            

Was as back-to-front as dark and light

And no man knew it that had not life

It was from a 'far country' I had come

Where endless light came out of fearful darkness

Darkness---because total light could not be understood

And so would not fit him who had not life---

Yet beauty had once been his to give as he saw fit

He only returns to life and light who only knows 
He is dead and dark

               *                           

In the breath of loveliness

There were no shut places in my country---

No places where the taken-air could not escape once

Its beauty had entered in the living open heart---

It flowed out in measured lines of airy darkest Light:

Truth---that having worked its life---within

Went everywhere---and on and on, so,

Gathering---in its gifted freedom---

All of solace that it could ever meet

And so sure---the laden breath---of no shut place

The loveliness never faltered as it went on

To enter every rested heart it met

Show the taker’s face---reveal the giver’s heart---

The influence of beauty reached more inner-homes          

Touched more inner-souls of men

Worked more wonders in each and every one                                  Than we could ever imagine
                                     

                                    * 

And of the door

No man yet had entered through it

That of his, own volition

Had tried to enter in

It was the mystery and paradox

Of the distant country---

Its door was not made of any      

Substance comprehensible to the world

And visible only to them that took the trouble

To let down their wings---

Their tightly held selves---and let go all pride

It was the nearest door and the one most distant

That was the threshold of the inner glory

And the beginning of the way of life---     

Once opened---

But the door before us the hardest to enter in

Love alone would reveal it and open it inside

Of silver---refined in a thousand fires it was made

Inlaid with gold---sealed and purified

Of the substance of down----light as snowflakes

It would seem to be wrought

Such as could be plucked from the breast

Of a goose---

One of ‘foolish’ trust---and with a broken wing

Led home---held in a child’s arms

Of its hinges---

It pivoted upon one’s cross---

The door swung on joyful expectation

Balanced in a cup of faith

Imbued with patience

Its handle---

True courage in adversity---

That turned tragedy to glory

And made of every difficulty

An opener of gold---

The possession of the weak

Made strong in surrender . . .

               * 

All my simple portrait of---a lost door---

The door in the tree of life

That took me through---

That opened in my loss of me

It was the way of entrance waiting to be found

Drawn in pastel upon every sunset cloud

Painted in sunrise---the oils touched within---

In every drop of silver mist

Its reflection shone---

Its picture in every blade of dewy grass

            And upon every lip of truth it kissed 

                                    *

                                                    From: ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume Three

Why Was One Lonely . . .

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

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

I Stand In Rain . . .

I stand in rain

Fierce light pierces the deluge---

Caught--- I am pinned to the earth

Rain--- seeping through my thin coverings--- and

I am drenched in all the goodness that is in it---

Loosed--- I am lifted to the least above

Twin streams run down my face

Salt and fresh mingle there--- 

And it seemed to me--- emptiness and liberty---

The vast spaces of it--- were one---

And the tender mercy and love of God

Waiting at the heart of all experience---

And I was well again

I stand in rain

Built of rock there, I can be nothing

In peace--- complete---

I can be happy again

                                    *

- From:  ARKIAHH DREAMING; The Ragged Writings of Everland; Volume 3

Poetry: Vol. 3.) Arkiahh Dreaming . . .

                                      THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND: Volume Three

Arkiahh Dreaming

ARKIAHH dreaming in rapid folds of words

Under-light pourings from a book of hours

Quick-cradled wraps of cut-skin brokenness

A swathing of sad hearts in milk and honey

Arkiahh dreaming in rock-clasping heights

Holds in basalt ledges over valleys of beauty

Vantage sight gatherings of nine points of view

Countings in veiled places of moonlit seeings

Arkiahh dreaming in nine amber-cloud skies

Her one less than ten dreams in jasper and topaz

All findings of paradise in makings of nothing

Inner loosings in pure light that perfection won

Arkiahh dreaming in thirty days of writing

A month’s yield of starlight illumining hours

Crisp-lights in water from a pure river of life

Apples of lit-silver in bright pictures of gold

  

                                       *

(More... new poems, below...) 

 POETRY DIARY:  PART SIX:  INTRODUCTION:             

Everland

   

   Space within for life and I wrote in air the ragged writings--- Everland in my heart--- the internal country in which we ever journey onward. 

   Everland is that true inner kingdom within us---the intangible realm of heaven---made tangible where we touch base, see ourselves as we really are, and meet love - Love who is everlasting: ever there!

   

Everland, Everland!

The Land that Ever was

The land of every heart’s own joy

Wherein we ever are!

   I was given the interesting word amaranthine to describe this strange kind of poetry that flows from the realm of Everland; amaranthine means ‘never fading;’ and comes from the word amaranth which refers to a purple flowering plant called, ‘Love-Lies-Bleeding.’ All the ragged writings that come out of me are caught up in the mystical beauty of dying to self and eternal life; hence a love that lies bleeding for there is a cost in loving truly and in laying down our lives for others. But therein is born, joy, and the language of Everland, which never grows old, nor fades with time. 

  The lucent shores of Everland are ever far-reaching; and as mystical as unbounded waters; and as dark as the unknown---in the elusive quest for the beyond. Her interior is timeless---and as real---as heaven on earth. In the dreaming back to lost worlds of beauty, the longing eye turns inward to find her perpetual fountains; outward to find them flowing into the whole broad spectrum of life! 

   Found in the compelling pursuit of love rose these artesian waters; spilling in inner-given words; emerging in elusive perplexing songs. These were ‘the ragged rosebuds of Everland:’ the tight-curled flowers of eternal youth; and the mingling of puzzling lines to un-puzzle the mysteries within spirit-led life and light. 

   And their amaranthine message---the inner banner she flew from her highest towers: that beauty and truth were not made one---and so, never-fading---without their stinging thorn; and that, flesh cannot abide! It will endlessly reject it; and that to its own demise! Not understanding that its very piercing and seeming dying was the life of the inner path: the sword being pulled from the stone within us and the reigning as a ‘king’ in this life! 

   It was the missing piece of the puzzle---the piece we didn’t want, so it was always missing---for we clung to the shadow, instead of to the Light which had cast it. We trusted in the outer forms of things, instead of the inner Substance which had made them. We saw barriers that could sting us, instead of doors which would let us in. We saw mud, where we could have seen stars. 

   But unless we become as fearless as a little child we won’t understand. Only the small would comprehend. It was the blind who saw. It was the poor who were rich. The weak that were, strong. And the process which made them so? The key to that strength that was the thing to comprehend. Only then the possibility of the drawing of a sword from a stone and the evidence and power of a heavenly life. 

   It was hard. Very hard. But it was worth it. Who would not want to pull from the stone the very sword of ‘kingship’ which made one rich in Life! It was still there! Ever enthusing and empowering the brave of every generation, and through all time. ---It was irresistible.

   

                                 *

          The Inner Explorers

A RIVER WINDS through a far-forgotten Land

A wind blows in cryptic wending lines within it

Former holds of knowledge there, now run freed for new

As tadpole tiddlers changing form in summer waters:

Leaping little bits of twigs---going further out

Little joyful understandings---

Grown---of a heated former confusion 

As the inner wine, entering, takes them in its endless flow

Leaving less and less of them as they go

Love flows in scripted lisping-lines---in fluid forms

Life filters through Everland’s honeyed heart---within

Holds of old thought, being overturned for new, and            

Butterfly beginnings changing form in lit-thinking:

Leaping little pieces of perception---moving out 

Sown---of a fire in a furnace of knowledge

As the inner beauty, piercing, sees them speaking

Giving more and more of them as they flew

Explorers---ply the sea’s most fearful depths

Researchers---go to any lengths to solve their riddles

The brave---they just glide by now---in extreme pursuits   

Mountaineers---still climb every misted height they find---

But, Everland’s inner realms---who will conquer there?

Her inner sees, her hills and mountains---who will climb?

Who’d ever give up all to win what they couldn’t see?

                                      *

Stones of Fire

A SWIFTLY FLOWING stream was tumbling

A great many stones and pebbles

And within the stream the stones

Were tossed and turned upon each other

And there, they made one another

Smooth and very beautiful

But those outside the stream

Lay undisturbed.

Stones of fire were in the strong stream

Brightly shining there

But those too afraid to enter

Lay as they always were:

Un-touched: un-shining

                        *

Poetry: Vol. 3. ) The Ragged Writings of Everland... Arkiahh Dreaming

To Poetry Returned . . . Dreams to Take You Through

 THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND:  Volume Three: 2018:

          Arkiahh Dreaming    

As well as writing a series of picture book short stories (...and I will continue to post these on this site from time to time...) I have recently written a new, third volume of 'ragged writings:'continuing an inner-given adventure in free-flow writing. The more I write in this vein the greater the joy and freedom; for through the liberty that this style of poetry accords, I find my inmost spirit released and my heart grown fearless to better express its hidden treasure. I hope you will join me in this new adventure. Posting these new poems... every day... as from today.

                         
                                                              *

Dreams to Take You Through

DREAMS TO TAKE you through

Offered gifts being held out to you

Not denied any perfect place

Opening in a purposed heart

A child’s lisp sent through air

A book written by a sparrow

From fledglings in springtime

Come little, lit flows of words

Longing and hungry for more

But not taking the time to eat

Finished rags gone unconsumed

A songbird seen through the gap

Quick droplets fall all in tune

For as long as sound filled holes

Rounds in circled playgrounds

Pools playing multiple songs

Winds roar for fear of obstacles

Words speaking in closed mouths

Moon-dew held in warped windows

A settled idleness in dank holes

For as long as it shall pour

Her secrets shall be watered

Growth out of dark holes

For small lines take their time

Out of darkness the light shines

Out of what wasn’t seen, seeing appears

The mystery of the lighted thing

Kept-sounds hid from closed minds

Fall from a cracked jar

And find being, being broken

Your watered inner secrets

Growing out of all dark places

                                     *