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

Magic in Light

Magic in Light 

Burst in air's light 

a thousand displays 

arranged to top my day 

sunlight fades on green

but beauty still holds 

in each magic flare

of my delight. 

Dandelions 

are my garden 

tonight.

Why Do I Love You?

THINK & feel -- How can I voice it? Poetry is an attempt at recording or relaying truth by sound in speech or writing. But words are really so inadequate. An attempt. Perhaps in two different voices.

THIS FEELING: PERCEPTION--A KNOWING light of eyes DIVINE NATURE IN ALL curl caught ray ABOUT LOVE AND ITS MANIFESTATION IN YOU. scent and smile WHY  DO I LOVE YOU? one syllable on your voice HOW TO EXPRESS IT--YOUR BEING a sigh IN PERSON . IN LOVE. even a tear IN RELATION TO OTHERS held on cheek HUMANNESS. HUMAN BEING then descending DOING. REALIZING. the side of your chin MAKING MISTAKES AND LEARNING to touch OVER TIME OR BEYOND your shoulder IN A FLASH -- ENLIGHTENMENT a hand INSPIRATION IS A VISITOR TO ALL uncovered CREATIVE EXPRESSION by cuff BY MATTER AND MOVEMENT every thread BY LIGHT AND SOUND and wrinkle IN HARMONY alert my being IN GRACE to love IN LOVE your love ETERNAL and mine.

ak ~ APRIL 2012
rev. addition may 11, 2011

Love This Season

some say
winter without snow cover is like life without love

for my zip code weather.com says 0 inches today, tonight and tomorrow
I miss it

snowed-in might be nice.
??
try me

but even this:

how often snow
soft and gentle? slow
before a storm's report
and nature's current need
a force to pull and push by gale
nor'eastern west and empty in its rage
then again to pace for down soft fall
to cover sins bruise bare still raw
and harsh before its start
a budding quick
to Spring

then it could be the passion of love
making snow by poetic invocation


---------------
I wrote and posted the above poem on Saturday. Tuesday morning we had 5 inches at our house. Not snowed-in, but grateful anyway. --a

Fall Leaves Smolder

Have you ever had a scent freeze the moment, yet take you by vignette to another time and place?

my photo, Eugene, Oregon













Fall Leaves Smolder

Didn't see the smoke
while passing
through its neighborhood --
the earth-locked scent
recalling an evening walk
in Ubon.
Families gather
sheltered in open air
char pot lit
returning to reclaim
this evenings peace.
The air is still heavy, but cooling
to rich brocade of character
extracted from the day's labor
in commerce and stride.
Anticipation of now
still seen in midday
bikes and taxi samlors racing
water buffalo soaks up to ears and horns and nose
in noonday sun
a whisk of smoke
and hemp fiber drying
noodles on wooden racks.
Savor kow paht gahp gai
lemongrass
cilantro
slow the time
but no less intense.
Thailand --
this evening's walk.

photo from makanaka.wordpress.com

In 1966 I was stationed in Thailand with the US Army Signal Corp. These are typical scenes of my time there. Close to the earth, rich in culture.  I remember the scent of burning vegetation.  The smoke of fall leaves burning brought me back 45 years.





photo from designeranimals.wikispaces.com
.

Patch of Sky

What color pink-gold
was that patch of sky tonight
just after sunset?
Takes me back
to a childhood Christmastime
jigsaw puzzle--500 pieces.
Chimney white smoke
and pillows of tree-bough snow
four-pane yellow-lit window for grandma's pie
stone bridge and sleigh bells
that I can almost hear
and a patch of sky
through birch.

.

Yesterdays Table

After Thanksgiving. Friends share and bless our day.
Thank you.

yesterdays table
blest by friend soul family
fine fare in feast
we share by voice
and hear each heart story song draw
patterns of love repeated
of love repeated
short and long
to polish the vessel
Soul precious
the metal in stone is gold
a choice
release or hold
fine memories rendered
thought lost
both sweet and not
can now take flight by suit
to distant lands

.

Thanksgiving

What is there but divine expression?
Comes any day. To any Soul.

Is Love.

And is in

The Turning


Treadmill cycles of rest and run
fits and starts, hope and exasperation
exhilaration -- trial in turning
till its weakness and strength
emerges opposed.
Exposed -- this Soul
longing to know
to grow
to learn the mystery
of its own being
in peace, in strife
in chaos and understanding
the unlimited possibility of truth
on both sides till the anointing
awareness of the Giver
is within each.
Divine expression of Love.

.

Tale of a Tear

It started with the first words of a song at the memorial service for a friend's mother last night. The song was Highland Journey Home.

tale of a tear

this tear
released by the words of a song
and its journey across my face to my heart
on the path of love
remembered
slowly
high on the cheekbone of a child
nurtured in the age of joy
soft on the place of my own mother's kiss
sweet tickle
the corner of memory's smile
time collected and shared and held
more freely now to linger
little longer
on the chin of recognition
soul's loving light

.

With You

See. I close my eyes and you are there.
Touch. I hold your hand.
Hear. Your voice.
Speak your name.
We go. Aloft.
Soul flight.
The past. The future. Is now.
What love is this?
With you.
The journey of lives still calling.
These bodies in their biology.
Birthing and dying. Mating.
Surviving.
And mind in evolution of thought.
Was first the heart.
So many layers.
Waves on an ocean.
Lapping the sand.
Emotion.
And knowing your love.
See it. Hear it. Touch it. Feel it.
What is this love?
With you.
.

. a perspective on love .

Arbor Song in Light

September was lost in a wild ride of life's current state.  Hectic. Exciting. Challenge and reward. Ups and downs.  I realized today I didn't even post a single entry last month.  This morning, thinking of this beautiful season, some thoughts and feelings started to form.  First a title comes.

Arbor Song in Light

Days of change. Days of light and rain.
Movement and color.
And texture.
Thoughts rearranged.
Feeling of a new presence of being.
.   Well-being.
Predominant in the air, the light,
.   yet undefined by structures of mind.
Missed by most.
Yet, the simple,
.    the silent
. the slow  .  can hear it.
Hear it from the window
.   in the wind.
.  from the garden and pillow bed
. from the place of peace . and stress beyond belief.
Hear it from the heart and soul of toil's release.
The path, the way of walking
.   through the woods
. the way of calling to the trees.
As they stand through seasons.
of mankind's passion
living and dying
laughing and lying
love and war.
Moving only with the wind
and their last fall of returning.
Not death, but giving back
and keeping abundance collected
bestowed in blessing.
seed of kernel
meat of crossing
sap, the nectar
nursing soul.
And leaves.  In every color, but blue.
For sky is why and where the earth has ended
its grip severe.
Gravity is there, not here.
And the reason for trees to be
the bridge of crossing.
Both ways the wisdom flows.
Spring's rising of sap
October wisdom
Autumn's fall in color
and blessings only known
by the silent, the simple . and those who know to slow this pace of progress.
Hear it in the winter
in the summer.
Hear it in the night.
The song of calling
the arbor song of light.

Arbor Song in Light

First the title comes. Then I take the moment and the ambiance. And write.

photo by Ardi

Arbor Song in Light

A day of change
a day of light and rain
movement and color and texture
thoughts rearranged
to touch a new presence of being
predominant in the air
the light
yet undefined by
structures of mind
and missed by most
yet we can hear it
we of the simple
the silent
and slow
hear it from the window
the garden and pillow bed
from the place of peace
and stress beyond belief
hear it from the heart and soul
of release
from the path and way of walking
the way of calling to the trees
as they stand through seasons
of mankind's passions
living and dying
of love and war
moving only with the wind
and their last fall of giving
not death, but giving back
and keeping
abundance collected
by love
bestowed as blessing
seed of kernel
meat of crossing
sap--the nectar
nursing soul
and leaves in every color
but blue
for sky is why and where
the earth has ended its grip severe
gravity is there not here
and the reason
be trees the bridge of crossing
both ways the wisdom flows
Spring's rising
Summer abundant
Autumn's fall in color blessing
Winter wisdom
only known by the silent
the simple and those who slow
the pace of racing
hear it in seasons night
and the psalm of calling
hear it in the
arbor song of light
.

Crow Glimpses

.
Thought. Images. Glimpses.
Ebony in green.
What is worth the effort?
And always
a heart song lingers
this gray morning.
Crow calls to nowhere I know,
Yet hope is always
this love.
.

Studio of Dreams

It was one of those dreams in which the reality shifts between what we know out here and a higher knowing.  Then there is the awakening process and its shifting awareness.  Often so much more than what we recognize as truth in our daily lives. Trying to retain it is a challenge.

Studio of Dreams

The setting is Love --
the forest, the temple.
The prairie knoll.  Quiet valley.
Is love.  In all its forms.
Ethereal and real.
Substance and color.
New now matures.
Still it is you.
So much to go -- this love
of Art and the Artist of Dreams
my Love.

As the medium.  The paint.  Clay.
A stroke.  I mold visions
of yours.  Dreams
are mine.
Memories
almost surreal.
Hands and cheek.
The back of your neck.
Strand of hair waves the light
to Eternity.

Morning Window

First it was the music. Not rock or pop or rap, but piano with orchestra backup.  The window is open. A neighbor appreciates a finer reality of life.  I write.

Morning window
birdsong light breeze
on orchestral melody
these memories undefined
surreal and fleeting
yet never ignoring our past
elated recalling
your smile
warming and cooling
this love
intense and receding
the phases completed
the touch
of your hand
and always this feeling
of more
that is needed
your name is my song
now reconnecting with you
was the music
the window
the day of this morning
with you.

Where did it come from?  What window is this?  And Who?
Sometimes things come through--I know not from where.  Others, I hold close.

Happenstance

To all who see the higher cause of art and creativity...

.
by word in verse
with borrowed pen
on paper towel
the sound
the truth
so few could hear
till sung aloud
by one of love, delight
and happenstance
.

All events and circumstance give chance of service and advancement.

.

Why We Celebrate

Individual rights are of a higher law than that of the will of a monarchy or majority. Revolution is not by out-of-control passion, but rather by advanced creativity and thought toward allowing others that which we want for ourselves:

Freedom to choose our own happiness in all things.

See further thoughts of mine on this: Why Celebrate

Refine and Expand

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture
every day of his life. --Goethe

Rather:

Every day I hear the music and poetry and secrets whispered by all creation, because it is by listening that I recognize the subtle color, finer detail and broader picture of this life. The Sound emanates from every atom in the universe. And between atoms there is nothing but The Sound, because all matter is but a crystallization of It.

When you hear It, you know.

--Ardi       .

.

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.

.

Fish Answers

Life has its ups and downs.  We strive for the best.

But there is always turmoil in the world. Strife. Upheaval. Threats to survival. 

Could be economic. Weather. Geological. Political. Relationships.

Always disruptive. But sometimes -- after the storm...

Reprieve. Or new beginning.

A place of peace.

~~

Alone

in darkness

quiet . peace . a dream

then

almost imperceptible

a whisper . or . distant wind

approaching . quickening

rushes in upon me

a flood envelops my room

my life

inundates my being

wrecking the reality 

of this moment

this world.

.

I am 

completely overtaken

by the undoing

the flood . the rush 

o sound

.

Retreat or succumb

run in panic

or swim in death

Peace.

Lifted outside myself.

Who am I?

Where?

.

I am this Sound!

This flood.

Tsunami.

The ocean moved in

and I moved within it

Is this death?

Or life?

.

Fish says,

What you call your death 

is my breath.

I say, 

I'll have to grow gills 

to make this mine.

But my new buoyancy 

prevents such utterance.

Just the Sound.

The Word.

The roar.

.

I am one with the fish.

The Ocean.

The Current of New Light.

Of Sound.

I see. I hear.

I ask you,

Is this real?

.

Fish answers.

.

I listen.

.