Immediacy

From a hill I looked     

And there before me the ever-lasting picture – 

Though ephemeral, it was forever

Beyond me a long lowish land

Flat but rolling 

Stretching on for miles and miles

And the sky was immense – 

To the shock of one who lived surrounded by trees  

And the vividness of white light

Becoming golden, then rose

The ending of day the picture before me

One that no copied image could convey

So penetrating a content of fullness 

Or such shattering beauty 

How could this live on my wall?

Never on one outside me

Within my inner hall the living thing that Lived

And there again the paradox of parallels

The art of the performing poet

The magic of the pavement painter

Both conveyors of Life in the very moment

Being fleeting lasting beyond the moment

Immediacy and the thing's eternal joy

Unfolding Wings

Lamp lit weavings undone in love’s bright gaze

Jade green comings that can never fade

All outpouring things from soaring lights

Liquid things from lifted heights

And mystery’s puzzled lines from fallen paper leaves

All flowing through my mind’s own outstretched wings

Oh for things which run as deer yet dance as clowns

Their yearning part’s fulfilled as the twig’s let go 

That one which went so far and back again

Till it was lost of every dulling outer outside thing  

And with beauty’s lifted feet came in, in dancing flight

To ply the waved waters through my own unfolding wings

When will I turn to him and bravely leave my holds

And let my captured knowings go, to know more

That first one, oh, it took me far enough

Still, to stay bound to that makes no sense in clouding

Release each twig: watch its returns of joy!

And let my inmost heart go further on in opened wings

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

A Yellow Leaf

A yellow leaf in a muddy brown burn

It skims and circles as the eddies turn it

Through placid pools and rushing cascades

In ceaseless journey laid till it reach the sea

A timid heart in an earthy mixed-up life 

I free flow and a greater purpose carries me

Through trials pale and yet fiercely sweet      

In ceaseless journey laid till I reach the Sea

A white feather in a warm cloudless sky

It flies and twirls as the currents turn it

Through falls and flights it lands and rises

Till it reach its quiet end and there unburdens  

A cowardly soul in a clear loving embrace

But I rise and soar in the will of love   

Through pain and joy I enter by the door

Till I reach his quiet end and there unburden

                               *

It mattered not where I was in the stream

Enough that I was in it and travelling

Predetermined certain of my destination

And I could let loose my hold and, be . . . 

Knowing I was being taken, where I could see 

A Patterned Cycle of Days

As a day has an outside name, repeated every seventh

So has our own day – the inner space we live in –   

Its own special name and inside nature just the same

As the patterned cycle never ends

Repeating itself in fine lines of seven  

Forever there, forever forgiving

Seventy times seven, time found perfect

Beginning out of nothing light from darkness

The evening and the morning were the first day

And my descending and ascending                               

A creative day      

Canday

Taken of a dividing sphere, and waters from waters

The evening and the morning were the second day

And my discerning and separating

A clearing day   

Clearday

Formed of solid earth and a see-through sea

The evening and the morning were the third day

And my falling and flowering

A growthfull day   

Growday

Taught of all the lights in the firmament of the heavens

The evening and the morning were the fourth day

And my waxing and waning

An illumined day   

Shineday

Replenished of life’s joy in sea and sky

The evening and the morning were the fifth day

And my emptiness and fullness

An overflowing day  

Flowday

Blissed with companions love and beauty comes to stay

The evening and the morning were the sixth day

And my being and entering

A lively day   

Liveday

Finished with forming contentment fills the inner void

The evening and the morning were the seventh day

And my sighing and breathing                      

A quiet day  

Stillday

*

Called of an endless sphere back to the beginning again

The onwards and forwards the over and over way

And my practice in peace

A happy life

Always!

                                 

Canday; Clearday; Growday; Shineday; Flowday; Liveday; Stillday

Through Black Gates Rose Morning

Held no more back in hindering clouds of knowledge     

All was plain

Though the light had broken through it took the sting

Love was gentle

Of the un-shadowed tale, she had told it all in quietness

Even silence

That the inside limpet hear the wordless truth

Unveiled in mourning

The inner ear holds fast the truest part of truth

It holds no formings

So as not to be afraid of what was true she set the dove 

Among them

That though the light a new song born of inward sight

A howling sound to some

Was as sweet a breaking call of love as any heard

Who had ever dared to enter!

Laid open bare upon an inner sea

The knowing

Showers of rainlight sent in comfort of her torn brave

The two-edged truth

The swiftlight that only upsurging threads of light

Can carry

Appearing in love’s own appointed time

To tear down, build up, and plant again

All . . . new!

In strengths of given weakness shone the hard light

The treasure

Left no more to fumble through the darkness

The beacon

It had always been there, safe behind  

The curtain

But before we saw to reach out and touch it

The mystery

All see-throughish, as though nothing there

Clear sparkling glass the barrier wall we could not

 See through

We hung back afraid our teachers told another way

The stumbling block

Poppies of remembrance their only tale to keep alive

Yesterday’s child

Wrapped in old blankets through which only worms

Crawled through

(For only on our own bellies through our own dust

Did we the freed captives escape the stench of yesterday’s

Proud knowings

If, that is, we knew we were worms) 

The key of knowledge they had buried in their offerings

Beautiful words that cover lies       

They would not turn upon the pivot of the central thing

And turn about them selves

But left the seeing suffering to fend for their selves

Blind teachers all that went not onward through

Past their own crowning glories

Through to the disrobing fingerlings

Of the dawn

The non-departed clouds of an outer knowledge gathering

Made today’s sorrows

Yet the way flung open wide, made now the simple wise

Through the shedding

In an inner turning

Black the gates that opening of the fire

Reveal the rose of morning

And the new blood of dawn

And the next awakening 

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Four: A New Art

        If art went abstract, couldn't poetry? If some streams of art turned 'incomprehensible,' but not without a battle for acceptance first, should I wonder at or fear initial rejection? Although these 'poems' are not abstract - for like the inventive artist every line or brush stroke is full of known meaning - I suppose they might appear so, at first glance! But I had experienced that the heart 'rent in twain' could carry the mind's every finding further and deeper, and that it wasn't necessary for the outer parts of it to understand, in order to perceive light via the spirit.

      In joy and wonder I was shown that the primary purpose of these poems, is not that they be literally understood, but that they literally make us littler. For the littler we are the lighter we become; and the lighter we become the happier we are, which isn't by more, but by less.