by Mary Oliver Logos
Why wonder about the loaves and the fishes?
If you say the right words, the wine expands.
If you say them with love
and the felt ferocity of that love,
the fish explode into many.
Imagine him speaking,
and don't worry about what is reality,
or what is plain, or what is mysterious.
If you were there, it was all those things.
If you can imagine it, it is all those things.
Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle.
Accept, too, each spoken word
spoken with love.
At the end of the day; of the
week and the month, we
can look back with regret
or we can remember to
rejoice. soultalker
Bells
When you ring the bells for me
remember the time I wasn't
like this, forget the breaks and
aches
I threw in your lap I wasn't
punishing you, you or you.
It was me, me, and me that
had thrown fits and clumps
of dirt in the air. If I hit you
it's because I throw like a girl
I made a stand and then let
myself swing at anything that
moved at the corner of my eye
which no longer had sight.
How could I possibly ever get
it right. I pushed this pen, the
red one too. Hit, clicked and
typed as one ought to with
electronically messages from
me to you, you, and you.
It's all in my head but I wish I
was preoccupied with baking
bread, stirring soup and the
phone rang putting silly ideas
in my head about poems and
even typing them correctly.
When I was disconnected, my
life went on cheerily.
my soul talker gisele poems
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Turning The Page
I have just returned from a quiet journey to the coast of my country, Canada. The atmosphere was serene, the air was crisp albeit on chilly side. But my family was warm and giving. I wondered how empty I was or am, because words didn't come spilling over sheets of paper. Now that I'm back, I'm not sure what nonsense I'll be spinning.
I pinned this quotation to the fridge by William Staff
What can anyone give you greater
than now, starting here, right in
this room, when you turn around?
Thinking
There is nothing
to say today.
No words come
bubbling to my
brain. More of
this and less of
that.
I need a thinking
hat where
words can spin.
Be true and cast
out tales of all
that has been.
And a passageway
to let memories in.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Humility
There is no respect for others without humility in one's self.
Henri-Frédéric Amiel
When I was young,
I thought all these places were at
my fingertips.
Greece, Italy, Mesapotamia, France,
he pyramids, the ocean
and the gods.
Flowing white sheer curtains open to
the air, not a smoky smelly screen
with squished flies. I got as far as
Grand Forks, didn't find the suitcase
and did Target. As for Egypt, I thought
it was a make-believe history class story.
Why did I wind down sitting still as a rock
on a piece of flat cold land where the only
water and wave you get is when the snow
melts and it's nice but hardly majestic.
Nothing glittery here.
Was it the children? No imagination?
No determination? No real guts. What
stopped me in my tracks...I did nothing.
It was done to me.
At least when I smile about it, people
think I'm great to be satisfied as a stone
staying back to hold down the fort. STOP.
Saying it so I don't believe in my thoughts
anymore. They won't change my world,
my mind, my stomach ache or my pain.
Now we can live with twenty to thirty
years of shame instead of just one or two.
Henri-Frédéric Amiel
When I was young,
I thought all these places were at
my fingertips.
Greece, Italy, Mesapotamia, France,
he pyramids, the ocean
and the gods.
Flowing white sheer curtains open to
the air, not a smoky smelly screen
with squished flies. I got as far as
Grand Forks, didn't find the suitcase
and did Target. As for Egypt, I thought
it was a make-believe history class story.
Why did I wind down sitting still as a rock
on a piece of flat cold land where the only
water and wave you get is when the snow
melts and it's nice but hardly majestic.
Nothing glittery here.
Was it the children? No imagination?
No determination? No real guts. What
stopped me in my tracks...I did nothing.
It was done to me.
At least when I smile about it, people
think I'm great to be satisfied as a stone
staying back to hold down the fort. STOP.
Saying it so I don't believe in my thoughts
anymore. They won't change my world,
my mind, my stomach ache or my pain.
Now we can live with twenty to thirty
years of shame instead of just one or two.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
SunRise
The sun has risen again today. Be the best you can be.
News has come to me recently about an organization: womenforwomen.org
This group works in helping women survivors of war change their world. They work by donations, sponsorships and a host of ways to provide support and to let women suffering the after effects of war that they are not alone. Check out the site and see how you can help.
Bells
If the bells toll for me
I've hardly been saintly.
But if they should; think of times
when I did all I could to hold our
heads up
when being an ostrich would have
been more profound and true.
Remember my head in the ground?
I still do.
Think of times when there was no
one but you. My heart held many
things; memories and desires; but
it's with my hands that I created you
and me; it's with my hands that I
brushed that beautiful soft brown
hair. With these hands I rubbed your
back, and with these hands I tied your
shoelaces back.
These hands made lunches, signed
permission slips, put your supper in
a dish. With these hands I held your
new body amidst new bodies. These
hands forever hold your new soul.
Remember this when the bells toll.
News has come to me recently about an organization: womenforwomen.org
This group works in helping women survivors of war change their world. They work by donations, sponsorships and a host of ways to provide support and to let women suffering the after effects of war that they are not alone. Check out the site and see how you can help.
Bells
If the bells toll for me
I've hardly been saintly.
But if they should; think of times
when I did all I could to hold our
heads up
when being an ostrich would have
been more profound and true.
Remember my head in the ground?
I still do.
Think of times when there was no
one but you. My heart held many
things; memories and desires; but
it's with my hands that I created you
and me; it's with my hands that I
brushed that beautiful soft brown
hair. With these hands I rubbed your
back, and with these hands I tied your
shoelaces back.
These hands made lunches, signed
permission slips, put your supper in
a dish. With these hands I held your
new body amidst new bodies. These
hands forever hold your new soul.
Remember this when the bells toll.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Heaven's Gate
Search the darkness...surge like an ocean
don't scatter yourself like a storm. by Ghazels
There I was, thinking to shut
the gate to Heaven's door. Instead
another opened in front of me...a new page...a new fury?
Quest for the beloved...retrieving the lost...looking for what I left
behind; it's a foolish thing to do, you will never find life the way it used to be. Not to worry, I'll live what I must live now...with gratitude and vengeance.
The flavor of time living in a sea of questions.
I've drowned in a sea of sorrow.
Now I am fuming in flames of fury.
How do I say what needs to be said?
How much living is there left to do?
Each day rings beauty, heavenly is
my day to day breath.
With sunshine in my eyes;
I go to bed and sleep with
the angels who have flown
over me in feathery graces.
I made my living, I loved my God.
Played with my anger, nearly lost
my mind
and now with what we thought
was true has come to a head
the crossroads to a future that
wouldn't happen for me they
said; obliges me to conjure up
a life with no energy left to spend.
Maxing out time and again.
But I still like it here God.
No debate, just hanging at
the gate. It's hard to be
useful when people forget
one day - this will be their lot
too.
Don't feel bad for anyone.
The circle turns and you get
what's on your plate. Truly
no more complicated than that
whether you open or close the
gate.
Dedicated to all the 50+HIVers who are living this new era of AIDS.
don't scatter yourself like a storm. by Ghazels
There I was, thinking to shut
the gate to Heaven's door. Instead
another opened in front of me...a new page...a new fury?
Quest for the beloved...retrieving the lost...looking for what I left
behind; it's a foolish thing to do, you will never find life the way it used to be. Not to worry, I'll live what I must live now...with gratitude and vengeance.
The flavor of time living in a sea of questions.
I've drowned in a sea of sorrow.
Now I am fuming in flames of fury.
How do I say what needs to be said?
How much living is there left to do?
Each day rings beauty, heavenly is
my day to day breath.
With sunshine in my eyes;
I go to bed and sleep with
the angels who have flown
over me in feathery graces.
I made my living, I loved my God.
Played with my anger, nearly lost
my mind
and now with what we thought
was true has come to a head
the crossroads to a future that
wouldn't happen for me they
said; obliges me to conjure up
a life with no energy left to spend.
Maxing out time and again.
But I still like it here God.
No debate, just hanging at
the gate. It's hard to be
useful when people forget
one day - this will be their lot
too.
Don't feel bad for anyone.
The circle turns and you get
what's on your plate. Truly
no more complicated than that
whether you open or close the
gate.
Dedicated to all the 50+HIVers who are living this new era of AIDS.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Tears
Water can freeze, embryos grow in the womb of fluids, water melts,
water is in everything and when we are in pain water pours from our eyes and we call them tears.
Tears in the hallway
tears in the bedroom
tears in the kitchen
tears in the common room.
Tears in my throat
great sobbing heaves
of pain and sorrow.
There is no tomorrow.
Who lets this be?
This place of grief;
what does it matter.
Cry, cry till you become
hollow.
Tears come from the Beloved.
She knows your sorrow
crying lets hearts bleed,
letting out the sorrow.
water is in everything and when we are in pain water pours from our eyes and we call them tears.
Tears in the hallway
tears in the bedroom
tears in the kitchen
tears in the common room.
Tears in my throat
great sobbing heaves
of pain and sorrow.
There is no tomorrow.
Who lets this be?
This place of grief;
what does it matter.
Cry, cry till you become
hollow.
Tears come from the Beloved.
She knows your sorrow
crying lets hearts bleed,
letting out the sorrow.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Be Mindful of Death
Who, would make plans which do not reckon with death, when he sees the world so unsubstantial and frail, like a water bubble?
from Buddhist scriptures
The Other Shore
At sometime, on a simple day,
the gift of wind will fill you
with fullness of freedom.
Your words will bathe in the
rain, inhale the divine mood,
during the baby eclipse.
Souls will stroll for their last
visit, inhale the gifts stitched
by oil lamps, while you stir
your feet in the mud. Your
knees will tremble, elbows
will give way.
Fingers super small, can't stop the
sprawl nor ears reach the call.
Turn off the phones. Life is quieter
that way. Birds' wings don't make
up all the falls we have been through
since
the box returned; useless now,
freedom lives within. Drive those
cars around, burn up the ozone.
It doesn't matter to dying me. I
jumped off the wrong bed, into
the cold wintry snow.
Rainbows and angels blend in
the sky, flapping their wings,
saying good-bye. Parchment
paper unrolls; speaks to the
untold of unrest and unease
which unfolds words inside
bosoms to tell new stories,
bring new life, spread pollen.
Rise, walk the river to the other shore.
from Buddhist scriptures
The Other Shore
At sometime, on a simple day,
the gift of wind will fill you
with fullness of freedom.
Your words will bathe in the
rain, inhale the divine mood,
during the baby eclipse.
Souls will stroll for their last
visit, inhale the gifts stitched
by oil lamps, while you stir
your feet in the mud. Your
knees will tremble, elbows
will give way.
Fingers super small, can't stop the
sprawl nor ears reach the call.
Turn off the phones. Life is quieter
that way. Birds' wings don't make
up all the falls we have been through
since
the box returned; useless now,
freedom lives within. Drive those
cars around, burn up the ozone.
It doesn't matter to dying me. I
jumped off the wrong bed, into
the cold wintry snow.
Rainbows and angels blend in
the sky, flapping their wings,
saying good-bye. Parchment
paper unrolls; speaks to the
untold of unrest and unease
which unfolds words inside
bosoms to tell new stories,
bring new life, spread pollen.
Rise, walk the river to the other shore.
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