Spirited Away

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Picture: One of my arts/crafts pieces that I make and sell for my charity CRUK.   Ghost peacock painted on heavy slate.

Azure lawns cry,
stuck in the past
like dew tears
on dampened stones.
Sometimes
the darkness can be still be seen,
held tightly
between each
raw nerve,
each blade
of black grass
on which
dancers mop up tears,
waltzing the air
with ghost like peacock
fans over their broken faces;
pallid feathers
hover like wisps
of winter taking
one, last, look back.
Its memories
spill over
where those peacocks
once ran wild,
their rainbow fans
since crumbled to dust
to cover all that must
stay hidden while
Azure lawns cry.

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Darkness #Naani

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Your spirit
Restrained to a mere particle
A fleck in my eyes
I blink and you’re gone

A Naani is one of India’s most popular Telugu poems. Naani means an expression of one and all. It consists of 4 lines, the total lines consists of 20 to 25 syllables.  Check out a collection of them by Elaine at watermelonseeds.

A Silent Flower ~ Cinquain

A little bit of hope was kept alive in Aleppo where a man tended a garden to give people hope of a future with his plants.  I read an article about him and his son who worked with him.  People would buy plants to plant on roundabouts etc to inspire rebuilding and regeneration. A short time later he was killed near the gardens and his son is alone now.

I have quoted his father’s words and embellished a little.  I urge once more, if ever you can help in these ongoing situations, please do.  The world is our family and we need to help each other more.

I don’t need to go far these days without meeting tragedy head on.  Today we suffered a blow here in the UK, but will carry on as the rest of the world is doing.  Sometimes, we have only to look to someone’s generosity and spirit, despite their tragic existence, to realise we are still very, very lucky.

A Silent Flower

Nourish
the heart and soul
keep peace within all life –
the essence of the world lies in
flowers

 

Lessons for My Daughter

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Italics are quotes from George Ivanovich Gurdjieff who was an influential early 20th century Russian mystic, philosopher, spiritual teacher.

do not wonder where we
have been –
all footsteps are obliterated,
all teaching is gone
and knowledge dissipated
by the curse of war;

harness wisdom
as if it were the sun’s energy,
learn belief and hope
outside of bricks and mortar
and scholastic endeavours.

Knowledge is a gift
but wisdom must be earned,

use it wisely as new seed
to enrich dry soil,
fuel the mind and healing
compasses turned by the wind’s
desire to grow stronger –
while lands toil

turn greed into respect
for the beauty of all things
and all people,
let humanity enter this uncertain
phase together so that we can
feed each other

with “wisdom” of the Orient
and the “energy” of the West

and let us stop, as a world,
destroying all life with impunity

 

Suspension

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The shallow draught
of a flat bottomed
open skiff drifts alone,
moving with its shadow
cross hatched
onto the vitreous water;
vying with the spirits that pour
across the bay.
As moonlight dresses them
they are reanimated –
proclaiming –
they would provoke our eyes
and enliven our dreams.
From square behind to pointed bow
the small vessel becomes full
with the company of twilight and
of water flecked salty winds
that cause the well turned
knotted oars to creak –
bangled cuffs take the strain
of their lifeless posturing
as they languish half hidden
in the hyaline polish of the water –
a jailer to its hostages:
strong subaqueous
roots anchored securely,
the shaded petiole
that bend too easily with the shining
movement –
plant’s shafts straddle the muted
cries of a multitude of birds
percolating through and the insects
dancing with the yellow
veils of lamplight
fastened to posted arms.
Bawling from the tirade
of flocking travellers,
setting sights on home
permeates the eerie echoes
they create – agitated wings
cause a draught to wrestle
with the duckweed
also festooning the flower
ornamented pathways
of this spectre’s lawn.
The small vessel steers unaided
towards the Cattails and reeds
growing along the shoreline’s
covered stones; back to back,
beautiful in their lacustrine
tranquillity – moss
like chartreuse
pouring over
each of them -nature’s embankment
an overcrowded edge soaks it up
and the cloying,
sprawling mist
until
the small boat passes
and comes serenely to a stop
at the figure
arising from the lake.
Faint sounds from startled peachicks
escaping, amid shifts of hazel,
make way.
Vaporous air wraps her feet;
tiny water droplets suspended
make the ceiling to her underwater home –
greater reasons beckoned her awake
from the sands and sediments
of her grief –
awake from the night’s silence
and to set sail.
Moonlight and all else vacates
the small space – she takes
their place
and steers gently through
the ghosted night.