Allspirit

Tag: poet

  • Selected Poems from Rafael Stoneman

    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

    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

     

    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