Tag: poetry

The Cusp of Things

they meet us here,

and there in our trips around the sun.

Here we start again.

Bride of Christ, temples of God. Grains of wheat representing people. Oil, RN

Alchemy!

The Alchemists Studio hosts this Beauty in blue –

blue, the colour of our global roof, the essence of emotion, a Jar of heaven that turns tears to the Dew it returns, every morning. I’d call it ‘Tears of heaven…?’

The Alchemist :”From our tears spring the life giving dew that nourishes life!I hope you have a beautiful week ahead!

https://rakupottery.ca/ The Alchemists Studio
The meaning of Alchemy: chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of cure for disease, and discovery of a means of prolonging life

Yesterday on our way to another part of Bangalore city, we got stuck in a crowd of 1 lakh protesters with banners, national flag, slogans being quietly yelled, all in simmering polite refusal to accept a recent political statement regarding Citizenship in our country. There were armed cops lining the entire route, khaki and guns at rest but ready. Section 144 is not a pretty section to be found in a march of that number, however accidentally. My husband would be calm in the Red Sea. Not me. An hour of that, and a detour home, I was thinking, dearest God, it is that time to pray for each other, I mean real prayers. For wisdom, peace, love, respect, safety, protection,harmony.

https://www.thenewsminute.com/article/call-civil-disobedience-massive-protest-bengaluru-demanding-rollback-caa-nrc-114640

Dont ask me how we got detoured somewhere along this surge. It’s a miracle when you can safely get safe, though it’s also a beautiful thing to watch hundreds come together with love for each other, in a time of need.

Where are we headed this 2020, I’m scared to ask, think,imagine. What’s it going to be like for all our children? Will the world they inherit be kind to them; will they have space and time and support to pursue their dreams, will they be able to live, forgive, love? All our pretty poetry and wishes can sound like beautiful broken things. Yeah, it’s not an appropriate post for a season of cheer, but this is also a season of comfort. I choose to believe in that Comfort.

The Psalmist talks of tears collected in a bottle, poetic imagery/ real

all of which and more is graphically depicted in a must-see Movie THE SHACK.

Do not watch this one if you’re in the mood for sweet-nothings under mistletoe and fests in joyful carol. The Shack is 2 hours of one man’s acquired mistrust of God, having lost his little girl to a murder that leaves no closure; his own past a mesh of abuse/ disaster parenting. It is constructed in a way that can be controversial (depictions of God as ‘Comfort’ took me 2 viewings to understand. Wonder & awe at what divine reality is really like!)

Thankyou Alchemist Studio for your beautiful expressions of alchemy.

Every Vase Has A Story

https://rakupottery.ca/

Every one of us a Story:

Recently I did a few paintings for a book on humans in bondage to abuse. In the process of that, one of the editors asked if I could work the Cover painting on the famous Japanese art Kintsugi, (also known as Kintsukuroi- the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique. Wikipedia)

What I finally did for that Book cover ofcourse was not a human face melded together with gold, though I would have loved to, (haven’t worked with gold leaf paintings yet).

Yet, fascinating that the very things we discard, as the breaking points in our day, could be our turning points.

Is this post flowing all over the place… perhaps yes. It’s a busy morning, we slept late last night(3 am?), theres a fair amount of action today, there are people who will be in tomorrow, cooking, serving, laughter and joy. Woven in the weave of all that theres the quiet of answers waiting, questions unasked, healing, scars, memories of loved one lost, a photograph on the wall, a melody that lingers from childhood, a recipe from Ma’s kitchen, a hug I wish I could receive all over again. This time around there’s the sense of new beginnings, a letting go, a new holding on. Even a new respect for the wounds that got us here. Healed by a wound. Sigh, but happily.

Hey, let the Alchemy of heaven seal us with new beginnings. For me it’s the story of that first Christmas that is an awakening. It’s a prayer in the stars. “Dearest Lord Jesus, let the blood that flowed from the Cross kiss my scars, let the breath of God breathe into me, I cant do this on my own, hold me with life anew, I’m hurting alone, I’m leaning on You. You. You. ”

I love that everyone has a Story. What’s yours…

Much love this season & always

That’s us.

Waiting to dance

Published in Indian Anthology contemporary poets, Poesy 09, post Taj bombings Mumbai. A decade gone and we fight new wars of different kinds. 

Sometimes I am too shy to pray but not today, no!

Not after our faces tore and skies brewed black,

and stars were smoked and we stared like that,

we were so many million poets among carefree corpses;

sometimes I am too still to dance again,

but not today, not here like this,

this Night is young, Its song is pure:

Truant words find their cure,

broken feet cross their street,

unafraid.

@innerdialects.

I collected Gifts for us

From gardens across the earth I got us some yellow berry holly I’ve not personally seen but it’s as real as the one that grew these :

I believe every leaf is a prayer for peace, she gives off fragrance you know in the belly of your bones, aye

a light in the core of your soul these are the original Gifts of christmas, Heartprints from a Place we’ve yet to be.

From Yomargey’s garden, Herefordshire

@raylarn

Wordfall

Ever seen clouds moving like waterfall?: https://youtu.be/Yk5fDgJLfCw

I went to Your mountain this morning and watched my Sky like words speechless fall from depths of endless peace,

watched You reach in my valley of silence, as if You prayed for me eternally

and every wish and motley thought fell in the mist of Your eyes like tears, needing release

needing me, needing my broken earth – reminding me of You in a way I never knew You exist

present tense continuum, You never cease, You never leave

the very place I thought was dead, resurrected You again- You fell tears in my eyes this morning at my altar of disbelief.

Go,glow

Go,glow

Look closer look close, we are more than 206 bones, we are more than hands and feet of clay or stone in gardens of love and hate and war for peace; we are breathers of each others carbon and makers of tears, we are not insignificant to the rituals of history, the passing of time; we are not lesser than kings and priests of angel or dragon kingdoms- deep within or in the surface of our nailskintones we are not common, we are rare and more than the sum of the law of everything, we are not nothing, we are more than we dreamed or hoped..


Starlands

Mountains of change, attached valley cliffhanging honeysuckle, dew, dawn whispers, mist – to these I owe my

gratitude:

nothing competes with these things that change me,

these times of sweet surrender,

these times of blessed assurance

You are here,

foretaste of Your life, me an heir of salvation,

Me here not mere existence but weeping starlands… weeping meteors of Joy

Blessed assurance Father God You are mine, ours mine.

Must stop You and say

..thankyou for every drop of sun and rain that grew us like bouquets on tables of grace,

Gratitude

for the colors of my life among colors of an earth on fire,

Gratitude

for leaf that went away and those that grew,or birthed

for stars that fell and those that lit dark night with light not e’en of sun

the longer my day the shorter my reason to not stay silent,

..to dance again as if I were worth all the trouble You take my Father

I give thanks.