To Be Met and Matched

I knew that when I should turn a page

Another treasure I would find

And a greater

I knew that when I should open a book

Another milestone would appear

And a greater

And that I would be met and matched inside

And made fuller

Recharged in the near instant

And taught immensely

I didn’t want much

Only to find some twinning thing

Some harmless watching thing outside me

Waiting for its meeting within me

To find in a single mirrored sameness

The true workings of my mind

And that destiny had been waiting for me

All the while that I had the yearning to know 

I didn’t want much

Just to be found-out of an outside

What was inside  

I saw how the bee found its flower

After it had been buzzing around for a bit

I saw how the lamb found its mother

After it had been bleating awhile

I saw how the ship found its haven

After being blown off course for a day

And I saw the joy of a father being born

When his longed for baby was 

Everything inside me had its outside counterpart

And all that was yearning for its twinning thing

Could always find it . . . in the heart

Two Parts of Thought

There in the curving trail of the locked ellipse

I was, full of wonder placed sitting on the ground

Putting out one hand to lean on as I turned around

Glimpsed, fluttering, a tiny bird passed by 

In its flight I saw:

First seen, the upward part of thought: a bird

Then a whirring of wings as simple things go exploring 

Caught, waiting, held in high-flowing expressways  

For fast tracking thoughts

The singing of things, which are in Another Place

The unravelling centers where all my flying things go 

Prickled, stinging, a tiny thorn beneath my hand

In its gifted pain I knew:

Second seen, the inward part of thought: a thorn

Then a pulling of weeds as hard things go deeper

Sad, breaking, yet glad in low-moving sightings

For slow piercing thoughts

The crying of things, which are deep within me

The layered harvests where all my lying things hide

There in the curving trail of the locked ellipse

I was, full of questions placed far above

Putting out one wing to realign on as I turned around

                                          *

It was in being sad, at their first sighting that I was freed

For then came the knowledge that my thorn-weeds 

Had their own place

Where they could change in being transplanted

And there, not frowned on were called flowers:

Trails of briar and columbine, tangles of muddled thought

Mainly selfish, but in their transplanting – transforming

And from there the inward part of treasure: 

The all-answering love-gold

The Fall and Rising Again of Many

 If of immortal flowers light was heat

Then was heat light

Then were no gardens of ornament which could confine it

That beyond which budding flowers were deemed weeds

Then were no barriers to the sun

It shone on one as on the other

None excluded from its light or heat

The will of the sun

To bless each weed and flower as one

If of perfect beauty truth was love

Then was love truth

Then were no forms needed to hold it in any container

That outside of which you were deemed lost

Then were no divisions between men

None being any better than any other

Love alone made equality clear

And the whole picture plain

The prerogative of love to make the good and bad alike

When truth was only love

And love was all the truth

Then would simplicity be restored 

And babes would take the stand

The mighty from their thrones would be removed

Who sold the truth at a cost to others not themselves:

That one-edged truth which could never please all men

Then would wonders be everywhere in wisps of air

Truth free of rigid form love reigned  

When all the messaged leaves

From all the trees of selfish men have fallen

When every petal of every flower of Sensennae

Lies discarded

Each one surpassed and so proved senseless

As half truth left and soon forgotten 

Then life will begin again

And out of beauty’s selfless sap renewal rise

And through hearts that long have waited

That love should turn the tables of the balance

Choosing fields that please all men

And loose the downtrodden restoring all things

 

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Five: Wisdom of the Amaranth

         How easily and unconsciously creative expression becomes enmeshed in conventional practice, and current trends put up walls. To live outside the box is always a challenge! All around us are living pictures of ourselves, which give insight into this universal truth; as it is in the world of Nature, so in all things. The living ‘flowers,’ of a single ‘plant,’ come to ‘bloom’ for awhile, then die for new ones to flourish. In their continuously necessary, cycle of life and death, continuous renewal: the way of LIFE, for all things. But we are not so wise as the flowers! We hang on to ‘the stem,’ refuse to fall, and so, miss out on what’s next . . . the wisdom of the amaranth . . . the never-fading flower of truth.

  

   [I have written extensively of the above – Nature’s universal truth – in my memoir:  ‘THE LIGHT TREE JOURNAL: A Twelve Month Story-Journal: Portrait of a Lost Star.’ (Creative non-fiction.)  This section of my unpublished book is available in pdf format in Microsoft Word Document 2007 from the author. Email: judithdeverell@hotmail.com ]

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Three: Springtime of Acceptance

     From the commencement of an inner springtime: my heart made transparent, I started writing poetry once more; and where I had left off. The sap rose again, and more powerfully for having endured such a harsh winter. Up through the fiery pillar, in the midst of me, ‘the force that through the green fuse drives the flower.’ * The issue of life out of death, light out of darkness, brought forth new uncurling ‘leaves,’ having torn my heart, even further apart. And now it seemed my writings were even harder to decipher; they were, perhaps, even more incomprehensible! But that was alright! It was alright! Delight washed over all I wrote, and I knew I was where I was meant to be – in the Unknown with God. Confidence revived. The door opened.

                                                                               

* (- Dylan Thomas.)