A Book is like a Well of Water

A book is like a well of water . . .

A force of scripted life to draw from:

A wide oasis found, artesian rising,

Crystal lit in pools of unravelling thought

A quenching dream, clear flowing deep,

A cup of wealth into which I dip;

Water into wine its unveiled surprise

Captured life, and its gift of inner joy in me

Poem from a Sequence:

A Rain of Booklight
Part 1  # 31

© Judith Evans Deverell, 2014  

The Bookmark Project

Whispered

Tingling tales, gold pools, and light through starry veils 

All ideas and gleanings through those things the wind

Whispered 

They are ever flowing by

Their shining parts countless

All streaming in through a thousand portals

With their star bright kernels happening going shooting out

Having differing places for their comprehending –

Through me

Having different destinations which can comprehend them - 
Beyond me

Greater faculties are in us than we have ever imagined

But as all earthly cautious first things

Need only earthly searching hearts

Second things needed ethereal ones

And they are all

Inside us

Going by mainly undiscovered there

Mostly untried

Everland’s highest fiery light

That only out of darkness shines

Can only there be known 

And only so, if left unknown

Stars shine only in the dark

Why was the swiftlight made so impossible?

Why not make what is meant, simple

It is not in responses put in leavened words that touch 

But only those which evoke beyondness

Fear of what I cannot understand

And I paralyze all my powers of perception

First life understands by plainness

Second by enigma

And all in empyrean delight

As the river’s flow understands its own water

As a cloud’s formation apprehends the vapour within it

So is like with like and meetings where met

And I cannot use earthly capabilities 

To comprehend ethereal sensibilities 

Amethyst Poetry / Writing Saga # 3 / The Overflowing Fountain . . .

    Have you seen a forest spring, how it never stops bubbling up, rising from its womb hidden deep in the moist dark earth, making a little channel for itself as it runs;  in its steep places, even cutting through the earth in the force of its flow? 

     I drew courage from my fleeting glimpse of a forest spring as I went walking. Up from such a tiny fragile beginning I saw the river’s power grew. From my own feeble origins in the earth of my fragile life, just like the woodland spring I have seen inspiration rise and grow and grow. 

     As the source of the mightiest river is found in the tiniest spring, so the beginnings of our smallest endeavours may result in a mighty cataract. ...If, that is, we never cease flowing! Stop a flow of water – by a dam – and there is no river.  Stop a flow of writing - by our own barriers of self-imposed defeat - and there is no book of life in us.  The river grows because it always flows; the sum of its power increases because it always runs. 

     There is an artesian well inside us only awaiting faith, our permission to let it spring up in joy in streams of living light. There is an overflowing fountain within my life. It is my continual daily delight.

These are the titles of the next four ragged writings:

Origins

Golden Castings

Fair Fairways

The Return

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Six: A New Awakening

     In no way aspiring to be instrumental, perhaps it might be true, that without pushing the limits, without crazy-seeming innovation and experiment, people, and literature, and all forms of art would stagnate . . . and without knowing it   . . . because you can’t know something without something to know it by. So maybe we ought not to resent or resist those things which we cannot understand – even though fearing the unknown is a natural human instinct – but rather brave the intangible, plunge into its dark and delight in it; and increase within the wherewithal to know it by. Else, what will we gain from sticking to our own pride’s right to comprehend everything before we approve of it? We will gain only dimming pools of reluctant water, and perpetually paralyze our powers of perception. But anyone who has once learned to surrender their impressions finds a new world forming there, where they let go, and an eager surge of lively water, rising in a new awakening.