This Peaceful Nightby Stacy Montaigne AuCoin
This peaceful night
My heart content So many years Out of synch Out of breath Out of step In me you re-awaken The knowledge I am One The chirruping birds The kissing wind, The swaying trees, My lover’s song, One Memories of Barefoot Summersby Stacy Montaigne AuCoin
Calloused feet compress
Sun-baked ashy soil, Slapping merrily along a path Walked a long time ago Scattered baby partridges Among the cheat-grass tufts Tumble weed, its curving arms, Go round in wayward thrusts Stoney, flattened lizards Heads curled in upward arc Soak in sun-drenched goodness Against rugged, lichened rock Sweet scents of sage and juniper Wafting on the breeze Thirsty lungs inhale them Content, not hard to please Hardened lava structures, Formed in ancient day Gave abundant room, in childhood, For creative minds to play The paths of barefoot summers So many to recall, flood back as does the landscape As if a Spirit called It’s an earthy, soulful summons With deep and throaty tones, Like a coyote’s aching bellows It affects my tired bones Look to nature’s beauty. See spirit imbued within! Find your creative rhythm; Your own song upon the wind. Trust what does inspire you, Manifest its truth on earth. Howl and speak it's sorrow, its joy within your heart. And so memory’s truth, it fills me Barefoot summers taken in, again I feel my new self ‘wakening Feel it burn warm within. |
The Guest House
by Jelaluddin Balkhi Rumi
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness Some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, Still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, Meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. Quietnessby Jelaluddin Balkhi Rumi
Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side. Become the sky. Take an axe to the prison wall. Escape. Walk out like someone suddenly born into color. Do it now. You're covered with thick cloud. Slide out the side. Die, and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you've died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence The speechless full moon comes out now. (Dying, in this poem does NOT refer to physical death, but to transformation and metamorphosis, a kind of "dying" to the old way of being that makes room for the birth of a more Whole Self). |
Awake at 2amby Stacy Montaigne AuCoin
Awake at 2 am
Feeling the edge Between two worlds. One, razor like and crumbling Like steep, rocky shale Where footsteps falter. The other, radiant, calm. Atop a sunny mountain meadow. Bare feet, teetering On the edge Gripping… The edge. Eyes strain, jaw tightens, Toes, hard, cold Trying to control. Flicker, flicker little flame Eyes close Toes soften I fall The worlds streaking up to meet me! I am Plummeting through them all Plummeting through them all Plummeting through them all No crash, except in my brain I plummet through them all No crash, except in my brain I plummet through them all No precipice, no razor’s edge, no shale, no mountain meadow I plummet through them all Flicker flame, flare! Burst and dance! Inside me you roar! I soar! Mahogany ribbons streaming from my head. Current, coursing through me Mountains, land and water, re-constellating below I am flying I am flying I am flying. My mind stretches out It follows undulations Of red rock Flowing like water I glide Tracing the veins With my mind Aligning red dots Of knowing Of flowing landscapes A symphonic blend I am motion I am wave I am rock I sense the emotions You’re sending. See the ripples, Across the land. I send them on To feed the roots and leaves Of the noble thrusting trees Consciously upward Reformulating up To be tall, Of soil and sky Resplendent in color And sound! I am AWAKE At 2 am. |