Category: Poetry

Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal Pouring redemption for me, that I do the will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal, Grow with nature again as before I grew.   The bright stick trapped, the breeze adding a third Party to the couple kissing

  To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun,  To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening Beneath a tall tree  While night comes on gently, Dark like me- That is my dream! From Langston Hughes, Dream Variations

Love is the cure.  Your pain will keep giving birth to more pain. Just let your eyes breathe out love as easily as a flower breathes out its sweetness. Rumi, Love is the cure,

  This form, this face, this life Living to live in a world of time beyond me;  let me Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken, The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships. From T.S.Eliot, Marina

Once I am sure there's nothing going on I step inside, letting the door thud shut. Another church: matting, seats, and stone, And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff Up at the holy end; the small neat organ; And a tense, musty,

A poet is someone who can pour light into a cup, then raise it to nourish your beautiful, parched, and holy heart. Hafiz

  one day a day woke up and was sky, air, light and itself. Later, evening tapped my shoulder: a reminder, a privilege, a job to do. Record, it said the elegance of the day's decline, and the perfect curves of all that is left of a tulip. Tom Davis, after Denise Levertov

Once I am sure there's nothing going on I step inside, letting the door thud shut. Another church: matting, seats, and stone, And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff Up at the holy end; the small neat organ; And a tense, musty

  To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour. From William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

    The middle region of the sky, where spirit lives, is radiant with the music of light; There, where the pure white music blossoms, God lives, in delight. Kabir (15c)

  Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God. Emily Dickinson

    An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and

A poet is someone who can pour light into a cup then offer it to refresh your beautiful parched and holy heart. Hafiz

  Lord, said David, since you do not need us, why did you create these two worlds? Reality replied: O prisoner of time, I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity, and I wished this treasure to be known, so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart; its darkened

    The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place. It has to construct a new stage. It has to be on that stage, And, like an insatiable actor, slowly and With meditation, speak words that in the ear, In th

When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder If I have made of my life something particular, and real I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened