I Followed the Lamb

Where were telling things that took my heart all captive

And the running part that went with cradled dreams

Were the fullest parts the feet that ran the fastest race

The pull of life’s bright flags bringing home the prize?

Where were un-trampled things that went past unseen

And the pleasant paths that went by with tilted grace

Were the heights so scary none would venture further in

The pearls of light the only parts of darkness seen?

Where were un-flattered leaves, curved not trampled

And the underneath bit not bared or paired in cases

Were the counter-turns the rings of the juxtaposed

The drawing paths pulling in the things which go between?

So I walked the rims of every distant covered comet

I followed the lamb whithersoever he went

I left the hold of every safe haven given wandering stars

And in every last question answered, first was I torn apart

Of all the fear that went before none knew the half

Of my tangled tale none knew, seeing only ruin in ramblings

Yet in colours of every shade of green my life inside

Written on a thousand leaves all on one bright emerald

Willowed Stream

Not the sound of any hammer could be heard

Silent the truer work of the turning around

The stinging things being made a delight:

The scriptured cache of past mysteries made plain

The well-worn ancient Puzzlebook being deciphered
And unlocked . . .

The whirring of a fan winnowing the harvest

A threshing of knowledge-mountains, beating them small

Making of the hills of outsides – chaff

That only their sacred centers remain

The whirlwind scattering life’s proud knowledge-waves

Single blows, and the roar and rush of the liked part

Her pearls (the not-liked part) silent for they were as two

Yet the prudent few chose instead a hammering of truth

And what they thought was gold

For which they paid a high price and lost the prize

Single blows and our liked parts were all one-sided truth

All a cat’s purr, but grating as the sound of a saw

And the engine-buzz of a busy fly

All fool’s gold and an apple cradled in a broken glass

Only the severed parts of seven and so never the whole

Seeing what seemed to shine in knowledge’s outsides 

The un-golden apple they held to their breast; which

Not being made to hang onto, was as a broken glass

Not whole, not remade it would hold no new wine

If only parts it could hold, never perfect

Their lines they tangled; their slender unfed leaves

Went dangling down and winnowed fell breaking off

The slowings of life in every willowed stream

The clogged up muddles of thinking we knew

Clearing as the running light came sifting through

Would now they dig out their willowed stream

Let the light of life go rushing through them

A cloudburst’s flood to clear every path of inner mud:

Dead skinny leaves, one-sided knowledge bits  

Let it sweep away all their cloggings up

Of things too long held in overcrowded streams

Light by Maze

The lucid maze figures on to fathom

The broad pillars plied with wisdom                                         

And there weep                                                                      

                                                                                                   

They little know the pain that’s there                                      

That gave the light and brought about

The shame                                                                                  

                                                                                                   

To have seen and yet not to know                                                                                                 

Do they really understand

My Father’s rain?                                                                    

                                                                                                 

He takes to give and they call him a thief

Only those who hold on

Weep                                                   

                                                                                               

They gain who lose who know the rain                                   

And losing all in lucid maze

The true Light win 

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Two: The Ragged Writings

 ‘The Ragged Writings of Everland:  A collection of poetic writing’

       A definition:  n. a 'ragged writing' is basically a poem rejected: being as it is an affront to the intellect, because the most used part of the mind can’t make much sense of it!

  An explanation: a piece of 'ragged writing' which upon first reading appears incomprehensible, will to the diligent searcher slowly render its secret treasure upon each subsequent reading; enlarging the faculties of the inmost being to taste and eat of a whole new kind of fare. If we will but let go the incessant demand of our intellect to understand something before we can enjoy it, we might develop the spiritual capacities that are within us instead – the ones which make us who we truly are – the exercise of which will bring a more satisfying reward than we could imagine.

      It is hard. But narrow a river and it will flow for you more swiftly. Over feeding the intellect has hindered the heart. Help a butterfly escape from its cocoon, and it dies. Its wings never develop.  It needed its struggle to fly.

    Read without wanting. Read as though being read, yourself. These writings are as looking-glass stones, reflecting back at you whatever you see in them. You could work them out, with some mental effort; or you could soak them in, with no effort at all; in both ways are treasures. Most of all you will discover, to your joy that you are given out of not demanding to understand.   

‘Everland:’

       A definition and explanation: Everland: the internal Land through which we ever journey onward, and always ‘further up and further in;’ her shores are as mystical as Avalon, and her waters as dark as Annwn in the elusive quest for the beyond; her interior as timeless and real, as heaven on earth.