There lives a touch of the Divine inside my soul tonight
and as I surrender to its peaceful ways I begin to awaken gently
I am a wayward soul in need of Godlike essence,
a Seraphic beauty that unties with every silent prayer.
My heart allows the inner flow of the Divine to intervene,
as scented thoughts penetrate and perfuse, I meet my Divine
muse;
In this quiet paradise for one I am connected to all beings
and all beings are connected to me, through love.
Tonight the incense shall burn inside this ancient kiln
"Yarim Tepe"... softening the edges of my emotions,
like a Divine emollient, and turning me to softer shadows;
The sound of inner peace shawling, I breathe
and as the soul meets the night, my dreams take flight
In this Divine journey of discovery, I am content
to co-exist, aside its beautiful liquid golden light.
Canons of Maternal Love
Whirled pestle like a dervish,
a meter long wooden rod,
in a mortar of clay.
Body swayed in rhythmic moves
as her feet anchored mortar.
Jingle of bangles added harmony.
Lunge of pestle into mortar
pressed condiments to exude
and perfuse sauce with fragrance.
Oh! The aromatic bouquet,
redolent of mother’s kitchen.
Fingers measured blend of spices–
cloves, cumin, pepper, coriander,
cinnamon and a glint of turmeric gold.
Her dawns began with cock’s crow.
She milked buffalo, churned yogurt
and skimmed the spume of butter.
Coaxed us into eating breakfast of Paratha,
suffused with love, enough to last our
two–mile walk and a day at school.
When we returned the house was clean,
floor was scrubbed and clothes hung on the line.
She heard our stories with love and attention.
Our selfish wants never acknowledged,
years were taking toll. But she remained
a center pole, holding the tent–
built of canons of motherhood.
Does the Sea
Suffuse...
Does the Sea
Perfuse...
the sponge?
Slipping, sidling
in:
the Great Outbreath
of the far forgot shore;
so small now as to be
Unimaginable,
upwells in swells the
Entirety of this sea -
and heaves these easy seas
from shore to shore
as
sure as the moon’s dim
light is gasped over
when its wax is over -
when full; when only moonlight
lights the matte blacknight.
Does the Sea,
enter, entirely,
the sponge
and, in doing
so
forget itself?
Does the Sea,
in its Perfusion
forget itself?
Does the Sea believe itself to be
a sponge?
Or does the see,
take up a demonym?
Or does the Sea remain the Sea
no matter no matter
no matter how
fully
it inhabits, it saturates, it permeates
the Sponge?
For that matter,
does the sponge,
in being infilled wholly by
the Sea, believe itself to be
The Sea?
Two joined elements swirl around
Into its lungs with wisp of sound
Turning its blood from blue to red
Preserving life as cells are sped
And though not regnant is the right
Concentration to give it flight
From inertness so its mind
Can pursue and happiness find
If not enough then judgments slow
And other gasses overflow
Causing bones and muscles to shout
Till its progress quickly flames out
But if too much its lungs grow weak
Slowing its independence streak
Making the tissues distended
Weight that was never intended
Breathe just enough of life’s tonic
To perfuse a fit republic
Ever poor so it can’t ruin us
Ever meek so it won’t rule us
Colours Perfuse
Bluebell tinkers in soft mellow waters
splashing in her fantasy and dreams
Tolling oceans flicker chakra’s paths
ring truths and wondrous melodies
Crowned indigo with chanted violet
Peace in her gypsy’s carriage’s heart
She hears the colours smells shades
of pastels tastes aquamarine touches
All lapis lazuli synaesthesia molten
cores when she sees her crystal vision
Comes flows cascades crescendos
compiles her senses on life’s tapestry
A seeker finder clairsentient spirit medium
Bluebell slashes blues and brushes muse
27th January 2017
There is a whirling dervish of-
cries,
screams,
and misery.
This swirling cauldron is filled with-
sorrow,
hopelessness,
and perfuse bleeding.
These ingredients blend into a virulent brew-
of perfect despair.
It is a true carnival of souls.
Souls trapped in a pit of unending suffering.
They churn and turn in endless loops,
never to escape this.
The sound fills ones being with fear and dread,
of the dead.
It penetrates and resonates within me,
haunting me.
It is all just a bad dream,
a midnight terror.
I can not seem to wake up from this.
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