An episode of swirling seas . . .

                         Illustration from: 'Arkiahh Dreaming'

Why Was One Lonely . . .

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

Out of Sequence Light Dabbles in Daydreams . . .

Out of sequence light dabbles in daydreams

Taking random memories sparked by parallels

And giving new substance to them

Forming further doors of inner insight

Out from of its own ceaseless ability

To roam every nook and cranny of my own existence

Past---present---and even future

In no order, that I can see, light revels in discoveries

At any time or place appearing before my inner mirror

A bouquet of thought-blossom from a basketful of days

All growing things, memories, caught below memory

And a scrapbook of happening-life---happening

One stray strand of its fleeting light could make a book

One memory resurfacing could weave a labyrinth

Of current things, captured, even the counting-fall---

In a flow of thought swimming in gold

Sweeping through the tunnels of my mind

Where heavenly things merge with earthly

In a seamless happenstance---if I looked deeper

Light makes me, ‘me,’ out of a myriad cast of dreams

Playing the best---the fiercest shinings of selfless-love

Falling from a collection of memories---all treasure caught

And a deeper insight working---in their further parallels

A mirrored wisdom-light shading things in beauty

                                                          *

(Poetry) A Wisp of Air My Tears Shines Through

[ - from: THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND: Volume One: # 7;  8 ]

7. A Wisp of Air My Tears Shine Through

                                                                             

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

                             *

                        8. Unclouded Truth

FROM UNCLOUDED truth let my tears shine through 

Where the angel roses flower celestial bright

Where the rosebuds of a broken realm can rest

Rare blossoms where their hearts had dared

Pierced the inner rose by love in crystal drops  

From out of darkness where the light shines

Sight they find from blindness tinged with red

The truth from which every selfish heart is hid

Crushed the lilies by love’s most tender hand

Wide the fragrant places where their flower died

From pearled valleys steeped in grief they ran

This joy from which the untouched flower hides

End of night, let light from unknowing shine

From dawn love opens stooped to rightly hear

To comfort hearts that cry from all hurting places

Kind her hid surprise in truth’s slant circuit laid

Cached of love in safety from the prudent and the wise  

Turned upside down the truth she hid in secret places

That none might read to steal she buried light in darkness

Foolish faith not cleverness finds decrease delight

Of love’s own prism split the fragments of the light

Weighed in measures none could fathom truth’s surprise 

That in their going under babes could comprehend

And in their knowing nothing, find in loss the light

    
                                             *

V. 2. / 115.) To Sleep, To Wake, To Watch And Sleep Again

To sleep, to wake, to watch and sleep again

Was that always to be all and the only way?

Was there really no one who understood?

Who, stepping back enough to allow me

Some room in them, could love me?

Or would I be shut out, time and time again

For the saving of their skin, and love of self?

                                    *

V. 2. / 9.) Out of Sequence Light Dabbles in Daydreams

Out of sequence light dabbles in daydreams

Taking random memories sparked by parallels

Giving new substance to them

Forming further inner doors of insight

Out from of its own ceaseless ability

To roam every nook and cranny of my existence...

Past... present... and future

In no order that I can see light revels in discovery

At any time or place appearing before my mirror...

A bouquet of thought-blossom in a basketful of days

All growing things memories from below memory

And a scrapbook of ‘happening-life’... happening

One stray strand of fleeting light could make a book

One memory resurfacing could weave a labyrinth

Of current things captured... even a counting-fall

And a flow of thoughts swimming in gold

Sweeping through the tunnels of my mind

Held where heavenly things merge with earthly

In a seamless happenstance... if I looked deeper

Light makes me, ‘me,’ out of a myriad cast of dreams

Playing the best... the fiercest shinings of selfless love

Fallen from a collection of memories... treasure-caught

And a deeper insight finding in their further parallels

A mirrored wisdom-light shading things in beauty

                                              *

Vol. 1. / Phases of the Moon...

THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND:  Volume One

I watch, and the candle’s flame leaps higher

Coming near awhile and flooding all with light

Then in decline, a sliding down and it drops away

And I wonder if I ever did see it

I know, and the mist’s unveiling parts me further

And there’s a greater understanding lasting longer

Then in decline, a sliding down and it drifts away

And I wonder if I ever did perceive it

I listen, and the wind’s song knows me deeper

Coming near awhile and filling all with joy

Then in decline, a sliding down and it slips away

And I wonder if I ever did hear it

I speak, and the sea’s power surges nearer

There’s a greater understanding, a meaning more

Then in decline, a sliding down and it falls away

And I wonder if I ever did say it

I love, and find Everland’s comfort holds me firmer

Coming near awhile and pouring oil in peace

Then amazed, I see it was all the phases of the moon

And I wonder if I ever did doubt it

                                     *

Vol. 1. / Caught Up...

A man stands against the sun, a ring around his edges

A circling of intrinsic golden light

He moves softly forward, coming straight towards me

He doesn’t stop he goes on right through me

And out behind me on the Other Side

I turn around I see his back as he goes onward

I follow, drawn ‘forward,’ too:

(That which is backwards is forwards now.)

I caught him up – and caught up we two were one

A cloud, he disappears; I am on my own, but not alone

I turn not back again nor even turn around   

Pressing onward I went where he went

Following - if I could have seen him, but I couldn’t

And it was so and as it should be, though I didn’t know

Before me is a wood, and the sun shines around its edges

Earthly – the first few rows of trees seem brightly lit 

Invitingly – but they are full of their own light

I move – with arms outstretched I run toward them

Ever hopeful winged in delight, and barefoot free

Yet, made of hollow shells, dry branches do not greet me  

I follow on – I do not stay, I pass right through them

As though they were not there

Wood-caged people they are grounded in Earth.

In their own light, the trees not caught up, melt away.

Passed through them, I am out on the Other Side, alive

For them, I am sad: misunderstood I am all alone

For this lack of losing all how much is lost.

                                      *

( - from THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND: Vol. One)

A Book is like a Scented Garden

  

A book is like a scented garden 

A fragrant blossomed bower

An arbour rare, a secret meeting place

To curl up in, to dream and read

Its life, a theme in me that slowly opens out:

Grows the wisdom seeds within, it lightly sows;

Its pages set a wall around absorbing thought

A deeply planted garden, filled with flowers

Poem from a Sequence:

A Rain of Booklight
Part 1  # 24

© Judith Evans Deverell, 2014

The Bookmark Project

A Book is like a Spritely Dance

A book is like a spritely dance . . .

It takes me lightly, holds my hand

Through starlit woods to inner fountains led

It captivates the heart it mends

A book is like a gifted chance . . .

It comes to me, a thing of light I had not seen

Through crowded halls to ivory towers led 

It delights the soul it singles out 

Poem from a Sequence: 

A Rain of Booklight
Part 1  # 8

(c) Judith Evans Deverell, 2014

The Bookmark Project

(Poetry/ Vol. 1. ) A Circlet of Thorns

from THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND



A Circlet of Thorns

A shadow oval wrought of twisted gems

Wreathed with plaited thorns deep, thick

Gathering together the offence of every age

Hide my sight behind the canopy they flee

Gems these harbingers of my writhing pain

Interlaced with rain in a healing of oddments  

Centered inside the darkest darkness of knives  

The never comprehended rainsight of heaven

I close my seeking eyes I see the oval clearer

The closed gatherings of piercing gifted bits

Their eyes hindered in many lined followings

They will cast away the best part for the good

Sentences lifted up of many other cut fingers

They cannot figure my inside gifted sightings

All of vain billows and the driftwood castings

They ride upon the sill of their rejected waves

Always torn apart their refusals convey light

But hid they see it not, they turn the other way

Unlit they pull the swiftlight and find only dirt 

Only the willing few go on through the thorns

(Poetry/ Vol. 1. ) Immortal Wound . . .

Ever Present

The immortal wound it had always been there

Throughout every age, throughout all of time

Through the entire universe it is there: the pinning pivot

Turning dead living toward the source of ever living wine  

Through my every portal the heavenly strike

The dividing smite, the flash of light rending me asunder

Wounded of a thorn in flesh, and immortality for death

The price, the pivot of life in spirit and in truth is bliss

           

Way of inner life: the fleshly wounding of me to see

Way of inner delight turning me upside down to know

Precursor of abundant joy, ever there my lively thing 

Pierced in and of mortality ever living immortal wound

(Poetry/ Vol. 1. ) Born of Wrinkle Wrestling

Spiraling Stairs

Spiraling stairs born of wrinkle wrestling

Shiftings sharpen, called of willow fastings

Brought my dry tinder found in mystery’s keeping

And furrowed far the onward pull

In every star’s wisting

Lifting patterns born of dark-light banishings  

Sightings quicken called of slender declinings

 Lit my inner fire found in farlight’s curbing

And deeply ploughed the forward draw

 In every angle’s knowing

But why the enmeshing and entangling of lines

Why wrap the releasing light in spider’s webs

Put in harboured nests the unfathomed quest

Why, lest they see, and in seeing take the spoil

Lest they think they know, and in knowing fall 

And falling find in loss their quest’s own behest

(Poetry/ Vol. 1. ) The Glass Pebblestones: the Shadow & the Substance

The Glass Pebblestones

In a place where there is nothing

But a level plain and a lake

Shimmering and translucent

Are many glass pebblestones

On a trail there; waiting, refulgent

Many treasured battles are hid there

All preserved inside

Each stone with its own entity was left

For a thing of LIFE was in them

Lowering the sun casts their long shadows

And there a picture of where they weren’t                 

The dark place where the thing wasn’t

                         

In an earthly lowering of an inner light 

My sun sinks

And the more I have of the shadows of things

Empty pictures of glass pebblestones

Not their substance

The lower the light the longer my imaginings

And the more I had of what isn’t

The higher, the harder my wisdom sight

The smaller, my deceptions

And the less I had of what wasn’t

                                                           

 In a heavenly lifting of an inner oyster seeing 

My sun rises

And the less I have of the illusions of things

Outside were the pretenses: not ‘it’

Not the real thing and the pearl itself

Outer sight made semblance of realities

Where really I had . . . 

Nothing