Song of Predawn Space

Mornings I come back. Choose my place and my day starting in sound before solid. Permeates my being, my space when the window is still open. You know? Like the life spirit of a new shore. When awakening is still silent. Listen.

 

 

Song of Predawn Space

Slow the pull from speed in peace

Retake and slip, and rake the sleep

From bright to fog returning faint.

I muscle forth 'gainst limbs still bound

From pallet down to love seat choose

The peel, the toll of other rules.

 

Open book, yet half unwritten.

Write a seed of peace decipher

Between the lines then voice, a master

Clear till mind choose chapter pages

Lines to x and white-out writing

What is the matter gray not wasted?

 

Stop in halted thought and listen

Sound the room and sing the inner

Spring from deep and dream the race

Now heard the essence of this rest

The song we sing in predawn space.

To bless this day as we awaken.

 

 

© 2015 Ardi Keim

Stone Soup

When almost awake it is so clear. But without some kind of hook or ladle, it's gone in a flash. Barely a hint of its nourishing savor.






Stone Soup

I live in both worlds now

and my allegiance is fleeting.

Dream Master, help me. I am spent.

Truth shines like the sun

till it sets without a snapshot.

Misplaced in mental obligation,

habit and memory.

 

I must write it down,

or get enough rest and nourishment.

The morning is fresh, but the canary is free.

No concept of one till another flies through –

like migrating birds to the mechanics

of earth revolving.

 

Truth I know is the anticipation

of stone soup.

Then, after many guests

and hours of cooking,

it's back to the heart

till the words are not mine

yet precious as my lover.

 

 

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© 2013 Ardi Keim

 

 

Dreamer

In a dream I was dreaming of a hero.

Awoke, I found me asleep,

So got up to find myself here. O!

There's a dog in each heard of sheep.

So if all characters in a dream are the dreamer, Am I the hero, the dog or a sheep??

Late Summer Light

Two weeks past – a glance from car window to prairie color.

Still I see it, and took this long to write.

late summer light (1)

stripes drawn rich from west
rust tints tan and red
grass bent seed heads
curly dock scepters moderating light
silver shone white from aspens in the draw
as if quaking to would-be cumulus
but not

heads of red clover
burnt chocolate brown
and crisp with insect wings
golden rod tilted till tomorrow’s
deeper shades of gray
shadowed in yesterdays hays
of dreams now spent

rasp-rough trunk of solo ash
in prairie sentry watch
sun-jaundiced leaf on elbowed branch
sensing rest in 4:30 fever
where every morning's due
aspires to starlit skies
then it falls

© 2012 Ardi Keim 9/6/12 (rev. 9/13/12)



late summer light  (2)

Love the late summer light
color and textures rich with insight.
People and plants stressed
and easy to see both sides of good days.
And better ways to show it.

Green in the valley
where river still runs. Slower now.
And cottonwood leaves 
turn yellow to tan.
Tree cover thin as mother's lace.

But it's cooler at night
when we rest in our dreams.
Sea breeze and gulls on the mast.
And hope for tomorrow's meaning.

© 2012 Ardi Keim 9/13/12



late summer light  (3)

Evening news. Talk radio. 
NPR. Press and tube.
To hear and read
the state of things Yahoo.
And yet to be 
and see . . .

Then today. Unplugged.
The heads of shadowed hue
in morning light.
A mourning dove.
Willow--where the fawn walks. 
Red blades on dying grass.
Sumac turning.
It's real.
With true color. 
And right.

© 2012 Ardi Keim 8/20/12 (rev. 9/23/12)

The Other Garden

A recurring dream has been of a garden that extends beyond the one in my back yard. I realized its spiritual significance one morning.

The Other Garden 

Don't forget the color patch 

Green and earth, rainbows match. 

Another garden harvest soon. 

Across the road and by the moon.

I till the loam and plant and weed 

To culture seeds of daytime dreams.

-ak 6/28/12

Rain Sleep

I like to awaken in the night to possibilities of new consciousness.

.
rain sleep
dreams deeper
keeping peace till morning
comes a little later to say
this day blesses me
in summer reprieve
and relax
.

Still raining, and I'm loving it.

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Stillwater Nights

This is the title of an oil painting by a friend, Mark Daehlin of a panoramic view of the Minnesota town of Stillwater from across the river.

There is so much more to the image than the pictorial representation. I go there as Soul in words that attempt to expand and distill its reality.

stillwater nights
fluid in peace
of the light in dream’s night
on the river of deep contemplation
elation at this new-found place of love
in all its forms
and layers
beauty
reflection
and inner light
stillwater nights
in heart and home
as soul

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The Age of Awareness

I didn't do a New Years post, though there is lots to consider in the near future, and far. But I consider it with Hope. There are many possibilities, and as I accept the good ones, and reject the rest, I claim the future. Because it is good -- with the raising of consciousness. We are all a part of it. If we choose.

***

The Age of Awareness

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What's happening right now in this age of awareness?

As I age, how I age, I become aware of the process of aging.

Of the aged. Of the ages.

I begin to realize the continuity of life.

The conduit that we are. That I am.

Am becoming.

The essence of the divine continually flowing from there to here.

From the unknown. From the omniscient, all-knowing.

From the realm of spirit, through the strata of visions, of dreams.

Of nudges and intuition. And finally thought.

Till ideas, perfect and imperfect are made manifest.

Half-truths become whole.

And lies are exposed.

Illusion vanishes and recaptures us at once.

Here and now.

I am.

I age. And see the flow from God to man.

Through man. Mankind. Humankind.

Godkind. Because we are made in The Image.

Through us in potential, as we develop, as we mature in body, in mind.

I recognize the vitality, the adventure, the risk-taking of youth.

Like I knew I could never loose, just decades ago.

And now, that fear, that abhorring of the aging process,

the cycle perceived by many as death, is upon me

in a lesser sense. A better sense. It's not.

A knowing. That maturity, that wisdom is in the passage of time.

In experience. In the mistakes and trials. The failures and heartbreaks.

We age to awareness, if we accept our own power, and weakness.

And responsibility. As the conduit for the blessings divine.

I see now the flow, the images and vision.

Just out of sight.

Like old movies flashing. Or flash cards showing.

The thousands of lives we have lived.

The legions, the languages. The legends. The saints and masters.

The slaves and demons. Inventions. Advancements.

And little, by little it brightens and dims.

Gone in a flash, and back.

The human condition.

Illusion.

Reality. What is it? But understanding.

The process of progress. From conception to grave.

From inception to manifestation.

From spirit to matter.

We are one.

The wisdom of ages. The vitality of youth.

The Love of God. The care of God's children.

And gratitude for the Blessing of Life.

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