poet

Selected Poems from Rafael Stoneman

Gill Washington Poems, Rafael Stoneman, Spirituality , , , , 0 Comment

If not for the poet

If not for the poet, who would be the voice of love?
If not for the artist, who would be the brush of sight?
If not for the mother, who would walk the earth?
If not for the Beloved, who would truly live?

 

Like ripened figs

Like ripened figs plucked for the mouths of babes,
or honey suckled by the working servant bee,
our innermost heart layer subsides when Self
shines as Sun in the sky of our mind’s eye.

 

With one tiny twist

With one tiny twist of an unknowable knob,
the inner color shifts from red to pink,
and a flower about to wilt, perks up in full vigor.
Enthusiasm, I call you friend!
Heart, I call you home!

 

I meet you in the void

I meet you in the void beyond time.
I shall remain here with you forever.
I have no life left to live, my Beloved.
Yet it feels so good to feel You living in me.
Do you feel that goodness Yourself,
since there is in truth no me?
I cannot touch this in words.
For I have no mind left to grasp.
I explode in the heart. I am Your I.

 

There is a whisper

There is a whisper, but it’s louder than the wind.
It calls to us, “Come Home. The story is over, the pages are worn thin. Come
home.” It’s like a chant,
a sacred OM underlying all else. It requires no doing anything, or going
anywhere or becoming anything.
If only we see that we are this whispering sound,
all else will dissolve into peace.

 

singing tears

The dam has been bursting all along,
singing tears of the mountain’s song.

The puppet breaks free from its strings,
the caterpillar soars with new wings.

Dreamers shall awaken beyond time,
in love with a human heart so divine.

The actor surrenders the final mask,
in Your light all life comes to bask.

A fruit suddenly drops from its tree,
such sweetness like honey is to be.

All poetry by Rafael Stoneman

Index of poets on Allspirit

 

A POET! He hath put his heart to school

Gill Washington Nature, Poems, William Wordsworth , , , , , 0 Comment

By William Wordsworth

Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842

I

‘A POET’!–He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which Art hath lodged within his hand–must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its ‘own’ divine vitality.

Read more poems from William Wordsworth

Index of poets on Allspirit

 

the flute

Gill Washington Poems, Yosy Flug , , 0 Comment

 

Yosy Flug

the poet is
like a flute
shaping the breath
into a melody
true poet
shapes his life
into a breath
of the divine. . .
hollow from self
touched by intuition
life breath becomes a tune
in the symphony of being

when you read/hear a poem
and it touches your heart
it is because
you yourself
are the endless
poem
of life

and
the flute
inert in the flutist hands
cooled by the passing breath
caressed by the loving fingers
cares not
for the sound
produced

_()_
yosy