What I want... maybe.

This is what I am constantly thinking (and saying) I want - and yet when push comes to shove, I'm one of those who at the end, packs up their stuff and heads for the hills. And even while I'm heading for those hills, I'm still thinking about how I should stay and how good it might feel in the end...

Those Sufi poets - did they really live what they wrote about? or did they just write it? I wonder....



Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,

Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear
He is in such a 'playful drunken mood'

Most anyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

~ HAFIZ, The Great Sufi Master

Something For Beltane

First days of spring -- the sky
is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything's turning green.

Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging my arms till I stop.

I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.

Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
"Why are you acting like such a fool?"
I nod my head and don't answer.
I could say something, but why?

Do you want to know what's in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!


- Ryokan, Zen Master (1758 - 1831)

Dangerous

Out
Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.

Not loving is a letting go.

Listen,
The terrain around here
Is
Far too
Dangerous
For
That.

~Hafiz

I shall go back again

I shall go back again to the bleak shore
And build a little shanty on the sand
In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed will escape my door
But by a yard or two, and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the hand;
I shall be gone to what I understand
And happier than I ever was before.

The love that stood a moment in your eyes,
The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung;
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was young.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Abandon All Hope

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here."

~Dante Alighieri

The birds' favorite songs

The birds' favorite songs
You do not hear,

For their most flamboyant music takes place
When their wings are stretched
Above the trees

And they are smoking the opium
Of pure freedom....

... I'm so sorry, but this post has been moved to my new personal blog Hey It's Me, hosted at shirleytwofeathers.com, and can be found in its entirety here: The Bird's Favorite Songs

Metaphysical Poem

When do you want to go
I'm not sure I want to go there
where do you want to go
any place
I think I'd fall apart any place else...

... so sorry, but I've moved this poem to my new personal blog, Hey It's Me, hosted at shirleytwofeathers.com, you can read it in its entirety here: Metaphysical Poem

Having A Coke With You

Frank O´Hara reading his poem "Having a coke with you" in his flat in New York in 1966, shortly before his accidental death. Taken from - "USA: Poetry: Frank O'Hara" produced and directed by Richar...

This poem is about Vincent Warren, a dancer with the New York City Ballet that Frank O'Hara was in love with. It makrs the moment when O'Hara realized he was in love with him. John Ashbury had invited O'Hara along with him on a european arts jaunt (which is where the itinerary lsited in the poem comes from) and O'Hara accepted. At that very moment he realized he was in love with Vincent Warren -- and sat down and wrote this poem.

Sylvia Plath reads November Graveyard

In this poem, Sylvia talks about the cemetery in Heptonstall. She was buried there in 1963. November Graveyard The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees Hoard last year's leaves, won't mourn...



Another cool video that no longer exists... geez... that's a bummer!!!!!

The Truth The Dead Know

A great poem read by the poet herself, Anne Sexton...



oops... looks like that video no longer exists... very disappointing!!!!