Tag Archives: poetry

To grieve and celebrate

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I grieve and celebrate I grieve the soulful woman who once stood and walked tall, graceful and strong And now celebrate the soulful eyes that sees what was never seen before I grieve the loss of those afraid to journey with me when I was well And celebrate now with those not afraid to share my difficult path I grieve for those who strive for material things and ego fantasies And celebrate those who strive for good character and a soulful heart I grieve for all the adventures that took me round this incredible earth And now celebrate the shining sun, blue sky and butterflies in my yard I grieve the freedom I felt to be totally spontaneous and gypsy like And now celebrate the sacredness and presence of every moment I grieve and celebrate

Njari

04.12.14

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Falling Leaves Time

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In the southern hemisphere, Autumn has arrived, and I love the energy very much…

Song for Autumn by Mary Oliver

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

aumco

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pumpkins

ana

Addicted to Mornings

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“Every morning the world is created.

Under the orange…

If it is your nature to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails  for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.  And if your spirit

carries within it …” Mary Oliver

heartstorms

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Tell me how you feel she asked

her heart skipped beats

Write me something she hoped

her heart felt weighed down

Waiting patiently always for him

her heart barely beat

Silence was all she heard

her heart ached again

By RejiK

By Neal

By Abdulmajeed Al.mutawee

by Pink Sherbet Photography

Whiskers

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Twitching whiskers

a package neatly wrapped with tail

paws over nose

content.

Sleeping always

curled in a ball

as if the bed is hers

cocooned in blanket

and furs

the life of a loved cat

in this hearth

pampered, well fed and

caressed

this little  Tabby princess

My Heartdrive

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My Heartdrive

Shielding a fragile heart

Through lyrical words

Revealing nothing to you

Or for you to know its depth

Nor to know your  impact

Graceful feign acceptance

This is my first Acrostic poem, where the first letter of each line spells a word, and usually using the same words as in the title, however I have chosen not to on this occasion.

I Am

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I am the soulful and blue eyed girl next door
I wonder what I, and the world will be like in 10 years time
I hear silence in the pulsing velvety nights
I see flickers of spirit lights from time to time
I want you to hold my hand, let’s be adventurers of life
I am the soulful and mysterious girl next door

I pretend that everything is okay when I’ve been hurt
I feel people’s energy, their motives, their soul
I touch the stars, the planets, the universe
I worry when people don’t see the beauty of their soul
I cry when you hurt, or when  you open your heart
I am the soulful and blue eyed girl next door

I understand frustration, and battling on one’s own
I say that Love is everything in life
I dream of my soul mate, and feeling the energy of life
I try to inspire you, and open your mind
I hope that you will awaken to your own Power
I am the soulful and blue eyed girl next door

Wings of Gold

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Graceful gold wings floating in the sky
alighting near me, before your sudden goodbye
fly, fly, fly butterfly
Teach me too how to be as free can be
to embrace every moment so carefree
fly, fly, fly butterfly
Show me things I am yet to know
by reaching as high as one can go
fly, fly, fly butterfly
My heart fills with joy and ponder
as you kiss a honeyed flower a yonder
fly, fly, fly butterfly
Let me follow you, and show me the way
show me the beauty that greets each day
fly, fly, fly butterfly
You flitter your wings of gold as you go
reminding me of  the courage to just let things go

A lovely piece inspired by the beauty of butterflies and their sacred messages and symbol. A big thank you to my dear friend Pat for encouraging and inspiring me to write this very spontaneous piece! hugs

Close Watch on your Heart?

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This is a beautiful soul stirring song about Love. If you are nursing a fragile heart or you are scared to open your heart this is for you…

Beautiful song by AGNES OBEL – ‘Close Watch’

Our individual journeys in life take us to situations which we encounter a variety of people, some like us, some different. We cannot anticipate our meetings with these souls, or how they impact our lives, but we make the most of their presence in our lives. Every person we meet can affect us profoundly, just like every situation teaches us something new.

When these relationships pass, we feel that the pain that wounds us deeply the most leaves a mark upon our hearts. But this shock, this ache eventually leads us to other blessings and depth in our lives, if we choose.

Acknowledge your heart, and allow the healing to begin. You need to feel that pain to pay attention to yourself emotionally, be with your feelings, and fully be in them, so you can then release them and begin to heal. It is fully feeling pain and acknowledging it that we truly heal.

Be gentle with yourself. And be open again to the  possibility of loving, trusting and believing again.

When people truly love, their love awakens our love for ourselves.

We are love.

You are love.

Places I’d rather be (Peru, Machu Picchu)

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Here is another bucket list mention, and I really want to get my feet moving so I can get up here and yell…”I finally did it, I beat the odds, I proved anything is possible”. I would love to be sharing the moment with loved ones.

The name Machu Picchu is really just an educated guess because so little is known about this ancient city, possibly created around 1450 in the height of the Inca Empire. This lost city of the Incas, is nestled 7,500 feet above sea level in the Andean mountain range above the Urubamba valley and became one of the new 7 wonders of the world in 2007. No one really knows the true purpose of this city. A self sustaining city based on archelogical evidence, and the architecture, like Egyptian pyramids, involved hauling massive stones over great distances, and they were cut to precision! no mortar was used. Speculation abounds about how the Incas could have made such cut stone to such precise dimensions without the help of modern technology. Some have even suggested that the Inca had extraterrestrial help!

What a magical experience it would be to embark on the path, and to imagine what it would be like to have lived here…every stone would have stories to tell…

A Poem to Machu Picchu by Pablo Neruda

 Poem to Machu Picchu – Poem VI

And then up the ladder of the earth I climbed
through the horrible thicket of the lost jungles
to you, Machu Picchu .
Tall city of stones stacked up in steps,
at last a dwelling where what is earthly
was not hidden under slumbering clothes.
In you, like two parallel lines,
the cradle of lightning and humanity
rocking together in a thorny wind.
Mother of stone, spume of the condors.
Highest reef of the human dawn.
Shovel buried in the first sand.

This is the spot, the place where they lived:
here the fat kernels of corn were carried up
and fell again to earth like red hail.
Here the gold wool came off the vicuña
to dress the loves, the burial mounds, the mothers,
the king, the prayers, the warriors.
Here men’s feet took their rest at night
next to the feet of eagles, in the lofty lairs
of the meat-eaters, and at dawn
they trod with thunderous steps over the rarefied fog,
and touched the ground and the rocks
until they knew them in the dark or in death.

I look at their clothes and their hands,
the traces of water in the echoing hollows,
the wall worn smooth by the touch of a face
that looked with my eyes a the earthly lamps,
that oiled with my hands the vanished
timbers: because everything –the clothes, the hides, the vessels,
the words, the wine, the bread-
was gone, fallen into the earth.
And the air came in with orange-blossom fingers
over all the sleepers:
a thousand years of air, months, weeks of air,
of blue wind and iron mountains,
as if soft hurricanes of running feet
were polishing the solitary enclosure of the stone.