A moon caught in your throat
Little bells ringing out
Solus sanctus
Enthralled to stillness.
There are many ways you pretend
To be still, and still you move
Shivers chasing my tongue
Fingers breaking the secret
Supplicating eternal upon my skin
New legs brushing the voice of history into prayer.
What wholeness!
Tongue wrapped around your man poem
Recital that understands perfection.
I steal those tones.
In my hand – our lives
Those moments of natures expansive intimacy –
Those moments never last.
Tag Archives for spirituality
Those Divine Lips
On public display,
A beauty veiled,
The paradise vale,
Cusps, cups and ridge,
A black galaxy hanging over,
The white springs of life,
Mount desert Sinai,
Those divine lips,
Oh Moses, O’ Joseph, O you,
Kiss, caress and drink,
Seek, see and listen,
The eternal words,
Truth, beauty and god!
by @JosepEgypt
This beautiful poem, inspired by the image above, was written by a Twitter friend, who was kind enough to share it with me and to allow me to share it with you all.
Note To Self IX
Love affects and refines the creative, social and spiritual of the human experience.
Sensately
I touched the scent of dawn
Watching people fall away
From each other.
Note To Self VII
We dream of freedom and an escape from our pedestrian existence yet, we cling so hopelessly to the shackles that hold us.
Note To Self V
That which we need, is already written. Poetry in motion…
All (be)comes from Ash
Atoms vibrate and glimmer
through rainbow breath, while
upon gossamer wings of brilliant hues
and the melody of predestination
my Beloved whispered
of me
and beads of moisture mix with clay
exhale dreams unreeling
upon skies of ageless song
as stories yet scribed
on stone (they) sit firmly,
washed pure by robes of the River Kawthar,
each fibered drop cleansing
me.
(c) A Hannan
Past Dues
There are walls inside walls (here)
housing gardens strewn with plucked blossom
of dying faith, littered memories
rest like forgotten ever-mores,
Lilies dipping fingers in murky ponds of stagnate water
long past flowing, forward…
.. ..
Fathers never kissed by little smiles
clutter stone benches, experiences blowing
across fields of lost promises softly swaying
in water ripples. On sunlight,
whispers echo feather gentle fingers
and gentlemen stand in rows,
facing desert sands and azure skies
invoking hope upon the Hand of God
while the moon splays itself over disappointments
buried beneath ego’s primed with pride
… eggshells crumble.
.. ..
Silently, as dreamscapes roll along the street
so too the wheel turns
sending pilgrims to supplications before gardens of
Forget-me-nots.
(c) A Hannan
Acquiesce
Note To Self II
Enraptured, a lily opens; frozen in this frame, a jewel of sorrows forgetfulness. Life, breaking dawn; promises only death.
Note To Self I
Don’t live life like we come into this world.
Instead, remember, we come out of this world an expression of the whole.
Poetry Challenge – A Letter To Myself
22 February 2012
Dear A,
The years pass by like landscapes painted and pinned to the walls of consciousness, moments caught like musical notes strung into a sprawling jazz piece where spontaneous brass and ivory court the senses with teachings of grandeur.
We hear only the sounds we permit ourselves to hear. Of them, take only a few, and of those few, experience them like you are made of sand. We are but travelers with a silent yearning. When the heart gestures at the bird in flight, follow it.
Abide generously when the mind searches for silence. It is your music it longs to hear. The mad man and the poet know the way. Wipe their tears with your palm and water the garden. Watch what blooms, illuminated and awakened, when you let go of false certainties.
The artist transfers the shades of their vulnerability onto canvas. Listen as the shadows fall away. Tomorrow the sun will set as always and man’s growth, will rise with the moon…
The dead bird, to dust births flowers. There is consequence, and consistency. The seasons, a great journey forward. This is harmonies dependance.
Cradle your melody upon your heart and corner the breast like vanishing dew. In your grasp, faith, for next season. The wound is where the music flows from. Everything has life.
And A, don’t let the piano play your song without you…
Sincerely,
Yours
NOTE: With thanks to ClownRhymes Poetry Challenge found at http://clownponders.wordpress.com/2012/02/21/348/#comment-1595