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

                        *

V. 2. / 121.) The Purple Seashells . . .

The purple seashells

Pressed in place upon the golden strand:

The jewelled porticoes and windows

In my castle made of sand

These – these had been the things

I had counted in my house for good

But which, in my seeing them, as such

Had been as empty eggshells only

And, as brittle, easily broken, were

Vanity alone

All my sequestered

Good was nothing but emptiness

My celestine riches – my purple treasures

Once set within the gilded castle of my heart

Had been all unknowingly for show

Life’s stolen sea of riches to placate the self

It was the age-old way of goodness

A way once the norm but now no more

It didn’t work

Red herrings all, and in the end deceitful ends

Dead ends all – showing only –

The evilness of goodness:

Pressed in good – visibly added  

  

         *

Castle Light

A near-ruined castle stands in this wide-opened place

Its towers still lifting where the amaranthine banners fly

Abundance is everywhere!

Her soul long-broken stands in this wide-spaced undoing

Its upward muse still rising where sealed writings fly

In wide opened delight

A lit moat encircles full-fetched in shining pewter grey

And beyond, many fields where ripe wheat is growing

Abundance is everywhere!

Her circling ciphered water keeping closed minds away

Beyond, spaces for contact where spreading love was growing

In wide opened delight

A courtyard’s lit within the castle’s crumbling walls

A fire lighting all her towered rooms

No dungeon darkness kept where light did sweep it all away

No trace remains to spoil or mar the traveller’s quest

Her castle’s happy secret’s kept!

Infused the light, that brings so close her every stone

Uplifting singing fire coming near to stretch the hurting joy

No dark place here, where love has conquered unravelling ink

No shallow lines, to make it plain and hinder

Only castle light inset by tiny candles

The smaller brought, the further flew her bent purple banners 

And greater the space love left for life, in wounded sepia halls

Rails Retracing

Runs and rasps and rails retracing

Covered parts of subjects chasing

Pilfered traps and bundles trailing

In further rays of rattled fin flaying

Rips and tips and tattles telling

Mitered parts of people moving

Saps and frosts and rendered fraying

In further splays of patterns playing

Depths and deeps and colours showing

Savoured parts of personal growing

Whispered peeps and shadows clearing

In further arrays of rainbows crossing

Running outflows all telling one tale

What was within, was what would come out

Whatever was there, was all that was hale

And the things outside, now inside out

Amethyst Poetry

     Sometimes, truth, too hard to be said in one way, will find another way to express itself; love never ceases to translate its fiery gems. Sometimes beauty, too piercing to be conceived in its raw state, will come to us clothed in complexity that we might be able to bear it; even appearing in a form we might naturally resist in order to protect itself from being too easily seen. The interior of love too wonderful by far to be perceived by any proud eye, its secrets were the portion of the pure in heart. As the ennobling fires of beauty and truth wait to be welcomed of the poor in spirit, so the shining amaranthine gems of Amethyst Poetry are poised here, their truth and beauty hidden, yet waiting to be discovered. All gifts of love to all who read...shine through the amaranthine rocks Amethyst Poetry . . . 

A Ring of Love

He has taken me with a snare, a ring of love

And broken me when I fell stumbling

He has taken me with a fish trap

A tangled web of passion

And peeled me when I surrendered

He has opened me with sunlight, and filled every gap

He has seen me with moonlight, and tipped me out

He has chosen me with a circlet, a ring-knife of swiftlight

And cut me in twain, torn down all my walls

He has chosen me in the furnace of affliction

And set me amongst the fiery stars

Not any hurt can harm me, nor any terror shake me

With their silent speech with the circle of their sound

He has married me to the Songs of Wales

Made of ever-living roads, I am

Yet, before ever they were, the rising wells

With the lucent shore with the amaranthine rocks

He has married me to the Tidal Sea

Made of mortal flesh, I am

Yet of Spirit overawed and overflowed