Cultivating Grace

intellectual
understanding leads to true
discrimination

cultivating grace;
soul is tempered by hardship
and self sacrifice

divine love reaches
through you in a way that’s
unique to you alone

our degree of
acceptance reflects our degree
of understanding

through inner silence
soul discovers
the Voice of God

God’s love is not
for the fainthearted but for
the bold and the strong!

This poem is a reply to the post above from AHH;

Winter’s Here

With thy treasury emptied of burnished gold,
And dreams of glory all but fled;
Draw near, my love, against the cold,
And like the mountain quail, to bed!

Give me, give me thy faded crown,
And accept this snow white veil, so rare;
Life is nought but a stepping down,
And relinquishing all things bright and fair!

He who seeks to escape must seek,
The shadow of a man both wise and strong;
He who believes himself to be weak,
Must bite his lip and play along!

Draw near, draw near, my love so dear,
For that which must be will surely be;
Draw near my love, for winter’s here…
Close thy eyes and surrender to me!

01 12 2024

‘Poet, Lover, Birdwatcher’:

To force the pace and never to be still

Is not the way of those who study birds

Or women. The best poets wait for words.

— Nissim Ezekiel

I’m Gonna Shoot That Old Horse

I’m gonna shoot that old horse,
She’s gone in the knees;
Don’t know how she made it
Through the last freeze.
She used to be strong,
Back in the day,
But she’s old and she’s blind,
And she’s wasted away.

I’m gonna shoot that old horse,
She’s acting so strange;
She trembles and shakes,
On fire with the mange.
All through the night,
You’d hear her neigh;
Now there’s nary a nicker,
For a week and a day.

I’m gonna shoot that old horse,
She’s been a good friend;
I’ve tried everything,
But she just won’t mend.
God bless that old nag,
She gave all she could;
Now the time has come
To end it for good!

I’m gonna shoot that old horse,
Gonna hold back the tears.
I’ll bury her then,
And drink a few beers.
I’ll go down to the barn,
And lie in the hay,
Eat chowder and apples
And remember my bay!

God is the sole hope of the hopeless,
the curer of the sick and the solace of the lonely.

He does not abandon those who seek refuge in Him,
He rewards those who show patience.

Those who advance steadily shall win.
Those who advance steadily shall find peace.
Those who advance steadily shall find love!

Where Do Old Warriors Go When They Die?

Where do old warriors
go when they die?
When their worn out bodies
are finally interred?                                                                                                                                                 When the lament has sounded
and the soul has stirred;
Where do old warriors
go when they die?

Does one more battle
await in the sky?
Will they be needing their bows,
will they be needing their swords?
Will they continue to fight
for kings and for lords?                                                                                                                                             
Does one more battle
await in the sky?

Will they forgive their enemies,
will they forgive their friends?
Will they forgive themselves
for mistakes that were made?
For chances lost
and the price that was paid?
Will they forgive their enemies,
will they forgive their friends?

Will they be seeing their comrades
that fell on the field,
Alive and well
and standing tall?
Will there be no death
to speak of at all?                                                                                                                                                        
Will they be seeing their comrades
that fell on the field?

What will the day
and the morning bring?
Will they be freed from
the bitter sting of the wound?
Will they be tended by angels
and lovingly groomed?
What will the day
and the morning bring?

Where do old warriors
go when they die?
When their worn out bodies
are finally interred?
                                                                                                                                                 When the soul takes on
the wings of a bird…
Where will old warriors go
when they die?

50 million views

Mercy

Mercy marks thy way with ease,
When all else tried but failed the test.
Soiled pride bends the knee
And disappears to take its rest.

Mercy marks thy way with poise,
When angry face, no longer red –
Has tired of its endless ploys,
And temper tried, is put to bed.

Mercy marks thy way with grace,
With all resistance fading fast;
That foiled fear take its place,
And new winged life be born at last.

Mercy marks thy way with peace,
When all forbearance comes undone.
And all love’s ways that are Thy Ways
Reveal their shining face as one!

Smoothie just posted this … enjoy… broke his cuto-meter

More joy …

The One That Makes My Heart Sing

the one that makes my heart sing,
has a way about him I can’t
quite put my finger on –
he sets my mind at ease and
lays my fears to rest

the one that makes my heart sing
knows the secret of the stars,
the radiant sun and moon –
and yet is humbled by small
acts of kindness

the one that makes my heart sing
awakens the love within –
knowing that only love
is capable of bursting the
fetters of ignorance

the one that makes my heart sing
sings a song beneath his breath –
a song older than mountains,
and the song the soul sang before the
beginning or end of time

when I steal a glance
at the one who makes my heart sing,
I forget everything I was doing, and want
to follow to the ends of the earth,
to the end of my days!

Merry Christmas !

In order to live, man must die a little each day.

Man cannot fully live, without becoming adept at the art of death.

Conditions change, the centre cannot hold; he who clings to the ship will go down with the ship…

When The Time Comes

When the time comes to blow this candle out,
I’ll be ready and willing to surrender with grace.
To snuff out the flame and to leave no trace,
When the time comes to blow this candle out.

When the time comes to lay my burden down
Ill slough off the weight and ill give up the ghost
Ill dive through the depths toward the inmost
When the time comes to lay my burden down.

When the time comes to be held to account
My heart will be emptied and my soul will be bared
Of all that I thought I knew Ill be spared
When the time comes to be held to account

When the time comes to face the void
Ill be strong and steady and sturdy and stout
I will not fear nothing and nor will I doubt
When the time comes to face the void.

When the time comes to pull on my wings
To the place that ive earned I surely will fly
To that far-flung assembly of lovers on high
When the time comes to pull on my wings.

When the time comes to blow this candle out
Ill be ready and willing to surrender with grace
I know you’ll be there with a smile on your face…
When the time comes to blow this candle out!

forgiveness;
the balm that enables one
resurrection after another

creativity;
the secret is to not take
anything for granted

define and cleave
unto your need; without need
God gives nothing!

The Inner Child

He moves in silence through inner space,
Just beyond the mind’s embrace.

Swift on his feet and shy as the deer;
Don’t even try to get too near!

Subtle and smart and wise as the owl,
He patiently waits beneath his cowl.

And if you’re tender or hurt or sad,
He’ll appear out of nowhere and make you glad.

When skies are dark and you’ve lost your way,
He’ll invent some game and start to play.

Before you know it you’ll be playing along;
You’ll be laughing out loud and singing his song.

What is his secret, where does he live?
                                                                                                                          All that he has, he’s ready to give!

Where does he come from, where does he go?
Only the heart and the soul may know!

He who commanded
the sun to give light, also
created darkness…

This Meeting

we escaped the storm,
our house is gone

it should matter
but it doesn’t

this meeting again with you
was worth all that!

We carry a primordial image of a golden age within us. Oddly, as long as we’re “trying to decide what it is”, its true face eludes us…

The Ways of Silence

the body that springs
from your imaginings, is an ocean
of human sorrow

your fervour does not come from
grief or joy, nor is your mind
on fancies and conjectures

you are the unique pearl
at the bottom of that ocean;
enduring all, patiently growing…

you may not find it
until your final breath, even then;
you may have yet to learn the
ways of silence!

31 12 2024

TRUE LOVE
by
Hafez e Shirazi

True love has vanished from every heart;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
When did the bonds of friendship part?-
What has befallen the friends that were?
Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?-
The waters of life are no longer clear,
The purple rose has turned pale with fear,
And what has befallen the wind of Spring?
None now sayeth: ‘A love was mine,
Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.’
None remembers love’s right divine;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,
The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,
But none has leapt forth to renew the game-
What has befallen the horsemen fleet?
Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,
No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;
What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?
What has befallen the nightingale?
Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets roll
In silence; has Zohra broken her lute?
There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,
And what has befallen the foaming bowl?

A city where kings are but lovers crowned,
A land from the dust of which friendship springs-
Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?
What has befallen the city of kings?
Years have passed since a ruby was won
From the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,
The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,
And what has befallen the light of the sun?
Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread task
No man knoweth, in youth or prime
Or in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:
What has befallen the wheels of Time?

washing the mountain,
a colourless drizzling rain,
summer haze

awake yet asleep,
a sequence of guttural croaks and caws;
crows talking

whitish clouds,
brushed away by an infusion
of stormy purples and greens

black cormorant,
alighting on spindly windswept trees,
azure sea

within my despair,
a strange ebullience;
capricious sky

resplendent;
a sea eagle circles high up above
me and my concerns!

What Will It Be?

what will it be;
fear or love?
it’s up to you!

there are those who build
and those who destroy;
be a builder and not a destroyer!

the golden heart;
dispelling darkness as it
lights the way for all

the key to understanding
the Spirit of Life; letting go
and letting God!

dreaming your dream;
building the bridge to your outer world
one day at a time

an invisible summit
on an invisible mountain,
only you can see!

healing depends
upon the individual;
how conscious is Soul?

one with the one
within the one; your atoms
teach my atoms!

The Angel of Love Comes With a Sword

O’ seeker,
first the foothills
and then the lofty heights!

purge thy thoughts,
and thy heart will follow
and show you the way

make love thy master,
and unburden the soul
of unwanted effects

the truth within
must be found and activated
before miracles can occur

create and live by
thy own law, then live
wholeheartedly!

be sincere,
for the Angel of Love
comes with a sword!

The Contemplative

the light of reason
dispels the darkness of night
enveloping soul

mountains of passion;
the heart must become as
firm as a diamond!

lopping off the branches
and cutting through the roots
of the tree of evil;
the sword of wisdom!

the contemplative;
scattering the clouds that veil
the celestial light of the moon

neither gold nor jewels
sway the man who is master
of his destiny

Come to Me, Love

Come to me, love, I’ve hungered for you;
All through the night and the morning, too.
Through the afternoon haze and the call to prayer,
My heart it is broken, my soul laid bare.

Down in the compound, the mission bells ring.
The angels they gather as the choir it sings.
Remember Beloved, Thy guiding light;
My eyes have been wounded, I’ve no longer sight.

Come to me, love, wherever you roam,
Come gather me up and carry me home;
My knees have been hobbled, my body rent –
I understand now all that you meant!

Down in the town they’re weaving a thread;
“Some faerie or demon ran off with his head!”
Still others are saying, “He turned and he fled –
He got cold feet on his way to be wed!”

Come to me, love, I’ve hungered for you,
All through the night and the daytime too.
Remember Beloved, Thy loving care;
My heart it is broken, my soul laid bare!

“The Bells”
by Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)
I.

Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling.
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Oh mother! What is with the wind?
Oh mother! what does it want from me?
I’d rather be hit by daggers
than be ruled by a scoundrel (chorus **)

and i walked under the rain
and the rain quenched my desire
and when the summer came
it ignited a flame inside me
for as long as my life remains
it will be a fight for freedom
**
As the sun sparks my spirit
So the rain dampens my desire
As a house is formed in the heat of the day
So the rain washes the bricks away
But in spite of these warring feelings
My love stays in my heart
**

This re-post is in reply to the images of samurai posted above by AHH;

A meditation on the “Way of the Warrior”. Events described are derived from the
Genpei War – circa late 12th Century in Japan, and specifically, the fierce “Naval
Battle of Dan-no-una” where the warring clans, the Minamato, aka the Genji, and
the Taira (t-EH-ee-i-ra), aka the Heike, fought their final battle. With the Minamato
triumph, the Shogun era (essentially military dictatorship) was ushered in to last for 700 years.

https://www.artelino.com/articles/naval_battle_dannoura.asp

The Way of the Warrior

They fought like lions, paying their dues,
With no place to flee and nothing to lose.
Expecting no quarter, giving none in return –
The way of the warrior, of fire interned!

By noon that riptide had begun to relent,
The fury of the Heike was all but spent;
The drunken tiger lay on the seabed –
His fleet in disarray, the Emperor dead!

“A fortress I’ll build, a sturdy redoubt!”
The Empress mother swore at her army’s pullout;
“Where the mountain meets the waters that churn –
At far Kobe we shall adjourn!”

As night closed in on that battered old quay,
A company of horsemen had gathered at the scree;
Nestled in that bluff and surrounded by sea –
That demon lay hobbled for all to see!

When fire began to rain from above,
The fates foreswore that labour of love;
Neither rain, sleet nor hail could begin to quell,
The flames that engulfed the citadel!

The Taira elite once again stayed fate,
Scooped up by their armada anchored in the strait;
But the Genji and the Heike would once again meet,
In the waters off Shikoku in dawn’s red heat!

They fought like lions paying their dues,
With nowhere to run and nothing to lose.
Expecting no quarter, giving none in return –
The way of the warrior, of fire interned!

Holding him close in her watery descent,
Through the bodies and the blood and the excrement;
That jiji maddened and the boy foredoomed –
His breath expelled, his life consumed!

By noon that riptide had begun to relent,
The fury of the Heike was all but spent;
The drunken tiger lay on the seabed –
His fleet in disarray, the young Emperor dead!

As night closes in on those forced to flee,
Ill omened or cited by destiny;
A samurai true, when called to the task,
Does not hesitate, nor does he ask…

Drunken Tiger: samurais were referred to as drunken tigers, ie; drunk with righteousness (here referring to General Tomomori, who, mortally wounded, tied an anchor to his waist and lept overboard.

jiji: an affectionate term for grandmother, referring to the Emporer, a boy of six, and the moment his grandmother committed them both to a watery grave, death being preferrable to shame.

scree: a rubble of stones at the bottom of a cliff

“That demon lay hobbled”:  this is a reference to the great fortress built by the Taira, “furrowed into a mountain and surrounded by sea”, which, in spite of a violent storm, lit up like a bonfire after the young general Yoshitsuné rained flaming arrows onto the fine woodwork of its rooves, ramparts etc.

The final stanza refers to the great Minamato general, Yoshitsune, who, having bee the brilliant strategist behind the Minamato victory, was then condemned to death by his elder brother, Yoshitomo, to death. Yoshitomo would go on to become Shogun.

Yoshitsune fled with his family, (he had taken a Taira noble as a wife, hence the decree from the Shogun), and, seeing no chance of escape, murdered his entire family, before committing hara-kiri himself. And all this before the age of thirty!

I couldn’t resist adding this reply from ioan, not to aggrandize myself, but to hear his voice again;

ioan; What a history poem, Dimitar… And your explanations as a crown to it…beautiful! Dimitar as I told you, you have a great talent, your poetry will be better and better.

“A thousand half-loves must be forsaken to take one whole heart home.”

Rumi

Love that piece of music. Thanks Sudhi

The EU proposed to ban the song “Sigma Boy” for “introducing Russian views”
https://m.vz.ru/news/2025/1/26/1310903.html
“Sigma Boy” is a Russian-language track by bloggers Betsy and Maria Yankovskaya, which appeared in early October 2024 and became known worldwide due to its viral popularity on TikTok.

… the song “Sigma Boy” performed by 11-year-old Svetlana Chertishcheva and 12-year-old Maria Yankovskaya entered the Billboard international music chart, taking the seventh place.”

Haiku Sequence;

Morning Parley

fierce thunderclap –
a dream scurrying away,
never to return!

living in mist;
a pair of swallows huddling,
not ready to fly away

lovers embracing;
last night’s tears forgotten
(till next time)

morning parley;
my mantle of dewdrops for
a sliver of golden light?

28 01 2025

Haiku Sequence

Three New Kittens

funeral march;
the otherworldly drone
of bagpipes

down in the valley,
an old sheep’s carcass –
new life taking root

late summer –
pods of green peppers,
slowly turning purple…

tonight’s nocturne –
rushing water breaks
through a barrier!

a carpenter hews wood,
a mason, stone;
I hew thin air!

fields of floating hawks;
when did I leave that world
and enter this one?

three new kittens –
children clapping hands,
way past their bedtime

01 02 2025

Playing for change

“In this enthralling ghazal by the famous Persian and Urdu poet, Mirza Ghalib, he poetically and metaphorically asks the eternal, fundamental questions of life. These couplets do not denote any inquisition, but astonishment instead, for the wonderful things existing in this world. This famous Ghazal is a fine example of Ghalib’s acumen of crafting poetic expressions of realities around…

Dil-e-nadaan tujhe hua kya hai

This was a disturbing poem, especially as a parent, to write, based on a true story as it is (the image of the first verse happened literally as told). But… I remind myself that for those of us who would “take up the plough”, obeisance to the subject matter / truth, for the poet, is all important. We are bound to follow our muse wherever it may lead, and not necessarily question or falter when difficult subject matter calls. A further reference was a family I know, who lost their daughter in her prime, and the devastation her passing wrought.

a child’s salty tears;
more precious than any
holy water!

Father, Dear Father

Father dear father,
that seed you’ve sown;
The sun, the soil
and the rain will free it!
In no time at all,
that tree will be grown,
But I won’t be
here to see it.

Son, my dear son,
in your sweet springtime,
The beat of my heart
and the black of my eye;
Who would deprive you
of your unstained prime,
And rob you of wings
yet to taste sky?

Father, dear father,
‘twould be cruel deceit,
Were silence to remain
falsely enthroned.
And to regret forthwith,
a further conceit;
I cannot see farther
than the eye has shown!

Son, my dear son,
be that as it may,
Were deception a bedfellow
I was able to bed.
As sure as the darkness
of night follows day,
I would choose over anguish,
To which I’m now wed!

Father dear father,
that seed you’ve sown,
The sun, the soil
and the rain will free it;
In no time at all,
that tree will be grown…
But I won’t be
here to see it!

Saturday 15 02 2025

Yesterday

Yesterday seems so far away,
In memories that lie deep.
Silent like the falling snow,
In a long and passionate sleep,
Slowly moving in rhythmic flight,
Into the mist and God’s surging tide,
As a wisp of gold in the velvet night
Where lies the dawn and it’s faded bride…

Paul Twitchell; “Coins of Gold”

A steadfast awareness of our blessings has the power to anchor the self in happiness and contentment and not be swayed by the trials and tribulations of the constantly changing world.
More than 700 years ago, Shams-i Tabrizi explained it thus:

“When I run after what I think I want,
my days are a furnace of stress and anxiety;
if I sit in my own place of patience,
what I need flows to me, and without pain.
From this I understand that
what I want also wants me,
is looking for me and attracting me.
There is a great secret here
for anyone who can grasp it.”

What ordinary people want:

“Killing Me Softly with His Song” was originally sung by Roberta Flack, RIP https://youtu.be/DEbi_YjpA-Y?si=YVmc7IGUzmesTrjt

https://youtu.be/VtxLXIpXYDM?si=Z8XFBxhXxCAGDxbi   This beautiful rendition of the song by Perry Como and not Frank Sinatra

Palestine shall be free

“I Want to Break Free” performed in North Korea

If the afterlife doesn’t exist, how did I get here?
If the world is rough, how come I have to cry?
If my life is uncomfortable, how did I do it?

“Jurm-e-Ulfat pe” is a gem of song penned by Sahir Ludhianvi in the movie “Taj Mahal” (1963) :

People now punish me for the crime of love
Oh, how naive they are to fan the flames of love

Those in love can never extinguish their love
Even if it costs their life, they will keep their love

You weigh hearts on the scales of wealth and treasure
When in return of  love given, I can only repay with love

What is this throne, these jewels to me
They sacrifice even their divinity, those in love

I have already given my heart
I have already taken the vow of fidelity
Go ahead and punish me, as you now fancy
Punish me for the crime of falling in love