an action begins, which we midway see
and then our ego claims it as its own
deludedly affirming it is free
which is ignorance we need to dethrone
that as pure light we come into our own
so reflecting thus quietening mind
bliss drenched presence becomes divine aligned
The death of the Ego brings a quietening
When you outgrow the emotional dance
When the drama is no longer enticing
When you pass by old flames with no glance
Do you miss how your heart would start racing?
Even though you believed your world crushed?
Is it only that your time has passed by fleeting?
Or that your inner thoughts have all been hushed?
The death of the Ego is no solemn occasion,
It is vital for the journey of the soul.
If you're stuck dancing; stop, be still, listen,
Your true self is soon to be whole.
underneath
the rare
glimmer
of a
pink moon
a quietening
zephyr
caresses
silken skin
calming
the chaos
in my heart
the noise
of
modern
life feels
increasingly
distant
while
freshly
budding
leaves
sway
to the rhythm
of
nature’s
pirouette
a
lone
fawn
approaches
a
babbling
brook
whilst
I
lay
amongst
emerald-green moss
watching
the Milky Way
glide by
t i m e
seems
to slow
to
the flap
of a
woodcock's
wings
paradise
found
in my remote
verdant cul-de-sac
From here
I can see the morning ferry
pull out from the wharf
trailing its long tail
of noisy seagulls, a churning
wake catching the sunlight
before healing to a calm.
I too would like to be healed,
to feel that quietening
when resistance is laid down
and repair comes with a still.
It would be good to be
at ease with what is,
to be transparent and not impede
the course of light, to trust
and be at one with a drift
towards the unknown.
Not to push against
the turbid swell of an incoming
tide but to remain motionless
within it and ride its lift.
From here
I can see the trees along
the foreshore quiver in the slight
breath of a breeze.
Things happen.
From here I sense
an incomprehensible still
across which the morning moves
in a vast pantomime.
To be still is to let go
of all that is passing.
Note.
This poem is a counterpoint to
the previous poem “Yesterday”
which treats stillness in largely
negative terms. Here the idea
of stillness is seen as a means
to transcendence and a central
attribute of Being.
At day's end, I take in the last light
seeping into the dark waters
across the bay and keep it here.
I gather the sound of departing gulls
smudged on the sky, the quietening
settle of birds in the cypress trees
along the foreshore, the giggle
of a child high on a swing
being pushed by a mothers hand.
I hold here the gentle sweep
of waves soaking into wet sand,
the slow roll of seaweed, bubbles
bursting around shells, wings
low over the water.
I draw in the evening and keep
it close with its lights
sprinkled around the edges
of the headland,
emerging stars hung soundless
in the heavens, the blinking
passage of a southbound airplane
heading into a long night.
From somewhere, the smell
of honeysuckle spilling
into the waiting air.
I make my way home, filled
with all that I have taken in,
having little space left over
to fit myself.
The world around so quick to judge
They look but they don't see
No inkling what goes on inside
a mind in utter turmoil
If only you could find that switch
And turn it off for just a while
And for a time your mind be still
Quietening demons who never sleep
Inside your head they do not cease
With vivid dreams and nightmares
Playing deep inside your mind
For not until the day you die
Such peace and calm you'll reap
And as your soul begins to soar
As slowly
As gently
you open up your eyes
No one there to judge you now
Demons gone forever
Love surrounds like a comforting shawl
In a beautiful place where
I pray you are now
So calm
So serene
Suffering no more
from an illness unseen~~~
Written 16th October 2021
so little understood about mental illness ~ an illness unseen...
Contest A STRAND (1047)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
As deep stillness fills the evening air
Whispering leaves stirred by wind’s caress
The lowering sun gilds your auburn hair
The garden quietening now before night’s rest
Whispering leaves stirred by wind’s caress
The blackbird showers mellifluous his trill
The garden quietening now before night’s rest
You’re with me now and now my heart is still.
The blackbird showers mellifluous his trill
Joy rises in me like a quiet tide
You’re with me now and now my heart is still.
Could now be forever, this evening by your side.
Joy rises in me like a quiet tide
The lowering sun gilds your auburn hair
Could now be forever, this evening by your side.
As deep stillness fills the evening air.
Gentle rain shower looking beautiful
until the roof starts leaking
Egoic indulgence hardly seem harmful
until we feel ourselves contracting
We first build up the momentum
and then upon realising seek undoing
The sway of the pendulum
takes time in again quietening
23-August-2020
Gentle rain shower looking beautiful
until the roof starts leaking
Egoic indulgence hardly seem harmful
until we feel ourselves contracting
We first build up the momentum
and then upon realising seek undoing
The sway of the pendulum
takes time in again quietening
18-August-2020
P puerile in thoughts, embrace of adulthood,
A a growing up, where months are hurried to years.
T time frustrated delays, fast forwarded in pace..
I in steady steps of tortoise, there is need to forbear.
E enduring hard times, quietening all desires,
N new moon will marinate full, in slow, not rapid gears.
C climb mountains, grow forests, and swim through oceans.
E ends all in triumph, ..winner waits ..it's named as "Patience".
14th March 2019
Acrostic poetry contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
PLACED, 4th IN CONTEST
There is a calm, a quiet calm, it follows
a storm, a war, a quarrel;
for example see, when the chimney-smoke
flattens, and lies above the red bricks and
hunting cats but scatters at the gull's urgent
zoom:
then there is a gentle calm, or perhaps it's grey?
yes then, a greying-gentle calm,which having arrived,
is butted by traffic sounds, and childrens' ice-cream
shouts of glee
and above all that, the cries and laughs of debutantes,
in taffeta and chiffon skirts, looking for mister "right",
or a duke or count
then of course, quizzically, there's the gray-white calm
upon your chair,(spilt sherbet), which works its way into
your trouser seat; but let's not dwell on that
and not least there is that peaceful calm, that dances,
resolute, upon the bouncing bed of love; so settled now,
its promises rarely kept
thus then, the dipping, scattered chimney-plume, trips its
last gay gavott, from stage to stage, alighting on the poet's
page;
then with addiction, and literary affliction, mounted broad on
sword and pen; will skip the mordant wind, of gray and calm,
quietening the alarm; for the grey, and the peaceful, lie hand
in hand; to rest.
Those are the stars
That is the moon
Quietening the city lights
Like a silent boon.
Barrage ceases
Smoke disperses
What sight awaits
Of this human curse
New craters formed
On top of old
The soil in turn
Wars ploughed fold
Cries echo
Across bloodied fields
Single bullets zip
As bodies yield
Where once were men
Of families and friends
Wanton carnage
Conflict rend
Patterns of dead
Adorn the land
Icons of death
In dark demand
Silence so serene
As the trenches fill
Naive and young
For tomorrows spill
The greatest reward
For a war that's started
Is for the war to end
And remember the departed
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war3.php
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