Unhurriedly Poems

The 5am Call of Nature

The birth of each new morning
like magic before my eyes
unveiling for a first time
over and over again
a sun unhurriedly rising,
patient in the flow
of everlasting time.

In that one early morning hour
when nature yawns and stretches
coming to life ever so slowly,
we get swept up in the twilight zone
when time seems to stand still
and for at least a moment
we're standing at the edge of timelessness 
where everything seems possible.



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

AP: Honorable Mention 2025

In the inner garden where silence lays its mantle of blue dust

In the inner garden where silence lays its mantle of blue dust,
The butterflies in my stomach have slept so long they seemed like stones,
Or perhaps they died in a winter of forgetting and cold shadows,
But now, suddenly, I feel them awaken as if they were memories,
They begin to move slowly, unhurriedly, like children in the morning of life,
Trying to remember how to live again under the sun of memories.
Wait, I tell myself, they've forgotten they have wings, wings cannot walk on the ground,
But when the thought of you floods my mind, everything becomes a sea of tranquility,
And with a single thought carrying you to me, the butterflies take flight,
Fluttering as if they had never left, as if they had been waiting,
Waiting for your name to bring them back to life like petals unfolding,
After the storm, after winter, in an endless spring of dreams that do not die.
Thus, under the sky of my heart, the butterflies dance in a symphony of colors,
In an eternity of the moment when everything is possible and nothing is lost,
When a simple thought of you becomes the key that opens the gates of light.

My Kind of Silence

My secret love is silence;
to be alone in the loud clash and tumult
yet to be silent
and not have to speak, or acknowledge
the presence of anyone.

I need at least 3 hours of aloneness
not including nocturnal time.
I need to think unhurriedly, spaciously,
even as the TV reports a train wreck
I stay in my silence, no need to turn off a thing,
nor block out the bird song
my kind of silence is the roaring kind.

It is louder than a runaway tractor
it is the silence in the engine
between the noise.
That kind of silence requires no answer
or repost, no agreement or disagreement.

Imagine a vast hollow tree
and a small mouse living in that hollow,
the mighty tree shakes and groans, creaks
and rattles
yet the mouse has found it own inner tree
and that tree loves to be alone
in all that cacophony
for the louder its world gets
the deeper is its silence.

If you were to ask that mouse a question
it would not answer,
because silence already knows,
and never hears
what we think we know.

Reve Parisienne

Walking in the back streets of Paris
On a warm balmy evening
Talking with a friend enjoying 
The night and watching 
As the people went on their way
Unhurriedly ,also enjoying the day.

The pace was slow
Sun a fading glow
Shadows growing long
Nearby a busker sang a love song
While a nightingale 
Gave a melodius refrain

We imagined a little ball
Which we played keepie-up
Flicking it with hands
Feet, shoulders and head
Daring the other to let it fall
People smiled as we went by.

Some would stop to join in
Smiling and laughing
Creating a joyous din
All twitching and almost dancing 
Keeping the ball in the air
Young and old ,female and male.

Young ladies also joined
Carefree without any cares
Café types on the pavement bars
Leaped to their feet
When the finally saw
What we  were about.

My friend and I nodded
The one to the other
And smiled at the revelation
Revealed and displayed
That imagination caught
And spread throughout.

For as I will reveal here
You see no ball existed here
Just imagination that lit
Peoples life to bring a smile
To faces of all hues
On a balmy summers Parisian night.
Andrew mcintyre 12/07/2022.

March

The calendar hanging on the wall says,
"Beware! It is yet winter,"
Though the night air whispers,
"Listen not to this."

The lashing rains, deafening and onerous, pass.
Frogs rejoice in loud, riotous chirping.
Newly sprung rivulets rush down abruptly greened slopes
Gurgling and gushing like freed children escaping school.
Fragmented clouds waft leisurely eastward, so unhurriedly that the
Stars appear to stroll southward.
On the moon's rising, a feathered chorus begins the 
"Litany of Spring."

Nature mocks its own ominous tones of winter's requiem.

Upside Down, Inside Out

Hummingbird hardly heard,
airily, merrily
extraordinarily
effortless floating, near
weightless transparency,
seemingly without the
slightest of care.

Urgent persistency,
terribly panicky,
frenzied and frantic, she's
burning through energy
rapidly, hungrily;
precise machinery
executes there.

Mallard so lazily,
buoyantly floating on
glassy flat waters, he
glides on the surface, and
wanders unhurriedly,
conveying contentment,
trivial feat.

Feet like a bicycle
furious pedaling,
splendidly, swimmingly, 
chasing and fishing, he's
hungrily hunting and
ready to eat.

The Hearse

A foul breath of misty, cold, damp air
brushed across my cheek, caressing hair;
then, unhurriedly, around neckline
while slinking languidly down my spine,
which shivered at that, and eerie sound;
of a four-beat rhythm; shod hooves on ground.
Unearthly screams from deep dark shadows;
the murderous caws of old black crows
disturbed by a corpse in passing hearse.
I held a button and voiced a verse
as it passed me by; alas, in vain,
I spied my face in its windowpane.
Deathly wind drafts in the hearse's wake
ravaged through my flesh - and soul did take.

Something Spooky 8 to 16 lines Poetry Contest, placed 1st.
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Date wrote: 05-October-2021

I Am Stone

I am stone kicked about on a grassy path,
boots stomping unhurriedly find their mark in me,
the owner seems lost in thought -
but the boots keep kicking me accurately,
I drift as in a dream, if stones can dream.

The last kick has sent me flying
right into some dried-out patch of grass,
purple and gloomy in the pale growing dusk.
The boots have stopped walking,
I feel safe now, assured I won't be kicked again.

Journey's end for the boots is a house
sitting alone in a corner, like me it must feel
anxious that the boots may kick its door,
but house and me, stone, are inanimate -
we don't feel, and life is mere kicking of boots. 


@jjote 070121

Slow Boat

aspect allowing imbibes divine bliss
filling our form by gentle osmosis
felt within as a teasing love caress
rapture renewal with nothing amiss

ecstasy unbound within thus present
oft lets out a roar peaking joy current
to which by reflex ego resistant
self blocking bliss our native element 

to connect with the divine a deep thirst 
yet our fearful desires blockages of dirt
ego doubting that feeble form will burst
lowers magnetic heat fearing the worst

see saw battle within thus continues
even as rapture of bliss throb renews
viewing resolutely bliss waves anew
thus strengthening spiritual sinews

unhurriedly happening this blossoming
lower mind vaporised we cease sizing
moment to moment in joy thus flowing
essence of presence keeps meditating 

in timeless time we cease oscillating

29-November-2020

(syllabic rhyme)

Desire

I choose to sit on the fence.
                                       saddling raging passion.
                                       taming the unruly mane
                                       threatening to sway out of control
                                       promising to imprison reason.

I choose to make my bed on the fence.
                                      Here in the open I can hug away huddles
                                      that intimidates a union of souls
                                      and stand in the way of your warm caresses
                                      speeding unhurriedly down my spine.
 
I love to settle on the fence.
                                       This is where I can watch the sunset
                                       and think of all the passions You ignite in me.

I won’t change anything about You--- 
Like the soft yellowing edges of the sunset,
I will let you be
Original. Authentic. True. Unusual

The Pathless Path

How to navigate the path leading to liberation?

Loosening mind-body identification
Recognising that our attention is held in packets of time
Silence and stillness our orientation 
Unhurriedly shifting fulcrum nearer to conscience chime

What happens in meditation is this: we exit hypnotic trance
Tumbler within falls noiselessly; revealing self-luminescence 

06-August-2020

In This Forest of Majestic Beauty

In this forest of majestic beauty
immersed in idyllic serenity,
one can find that total freedom
away from noisy crowds 
and rumbling streets.

In this forest of majestic beauty
when sun rays filter through branches
to warm them from the frost of a chilly morning,
the grey sparrows and the yellow warbles
are a delight to hear in spring, in summer and fall
as a venture on this path little known.

In this forest of majestic beauty,
one can hear the flapping of butterflies
and see their sumptuous colors that attract
the unhurriedly, middle-aged horse-rider.

In this forest of majestic beauty
no wind is rough, but gentle and soothing;
come here and spend a pleasant afternoon
sitting by a small pond where fragile frogs
leap out and run, too afraid of the raucous ravens.

Written on 7/14/2020

Lava

Your scorn and judgment grind deep inside my chest
Evoking a feeling I didn’t then recognize as terror 
Which unhurriedly transforms into cold calcified rage
Lava forming the shape of a life

It is a stone in my shoe to feel our souls touch through bubble-film 
Flustered, I try again and again to resolve it
Unsuccessful, I can only conclude “this is just good” 
Because there truly is beauty in the void
We are still here and are one

This anger is a splinter in my skin, too deep now to remove
Agitated, I try over and over to make peace with you
I have to conclude with a breath of relaxation, knowing it will pass
That you were the vessel of original terror was not your fault

My earliest instincts were to ask what made us separate
To set my mind against the cold
Remembering now to be steady against the unpredictable waves
Of terror, love, betrayal, anger, longing
Waiting for compassion and peace to take us home

May 22, 2020

Sweet

I awaken to beautiful music as birds sing sweetly outside my window.
I rise and dress unhurriedly.
I go into the kitchen to prepare my morning tea,
The first of many for it sits easily on my stomach,
and energizes me for the day ahead.
                    Sweet

Cup in hand I emerge into the garden.
It is early morning and the dew is heavy on the grass and shrubs.
The air is perfumed with the fragrance of flowers.
Bees hum busily among them as the birds continue to serenade me.
I am soothed as my senses awaken to the sights and sounds about me.
                   Sweet

My garden, my Sanctum Sanctorum  where I commune with my God.
I praise Him for His goodness, His mercy and His tender care.
I thank Him for His providence and put before Him my petitions;
And as I pray my spirit surges with new hope and reassurance.
I feel stronger, more confident and reborn.
                       Sweet

I know that whatever this day may bring,
There is nothing I cannot face
Nothing I cannot conquer,
As long as I remain standing beside my God.
                       Sweet

Leisure

We sit back and gaze transfixed at the red blushing sky,                                          The Sun spraying her with colors as he says ‘good-bye,’        
We watch the molten gold drenching the floating cloud                                 As the sleepy earth is slowly covered with a grey shroud.

 We can listen intently to the breeze as it softly rustles by,
 We may watch unhurriedly the vultures circling in the sky
 We take out a book just to flip through its worn out pages,
 We may wonder languidly, why the sleeping ocean rages.

 There is no tension, no hassles, or any reason to hurry,
  No problems to be solved, with not a cause to worry.                                                                                           
  One can do what one wants, freely relax and meditate,    
  There’s no urgent call to duty, no assignment to update.                                   

   It’s good for one’s body; it is also excellent for the mind,
   It is relaxing and enervating, best tonic you could find.                                
   Leisure means freedom, it is valuable beyond measure, 
   It has no restraining shackles, Leisure is sheer pleasure.

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