Guest Poet: Rumi

Photo credit: Ironpaw1

Be a lamp, or a light post, or a ladder.

Help someone's soul heal.

Walk out of your house like a shepherd.

~~ Rumi

Guest Poet: Jack Gilbert

We look up at the stars and they are

not there. We see memory

of when they were, once upon a time.

And that too is more than enough. 

~ Jack Gilbert 

Guest Poet: George Carlin

“I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It’s so fuckin’ heroic.”~~ George Carlin

Guest Poet: Rajeev

The way to love someone is to lightly run your finger over that person’s soul until you find a crack, and then gently pour your love into that crack. ~♥ Rajeev ♥~

April is Poetry Month

Powerful poem by North Carolina's Poet Laureate Joseph Bathanti, "The City Jail," about Pittsburgh and a schoolboy and Catholicism, and faith, and fear, feelings of inadequacy and guilt, and working in a prison, and being trapped within -- well, read it for yourself in the Dead Mule. It begins below.~~GH

The City Jail spiked out of Fifth Avenue
in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh.
When we drove by it, my father would pause
and signify in its direction,
never uttering a word. Riding shotgun,
my mother on cue blurted she'd glimpsed
our imaginary condemned prisoner
in the jail's uppermost barred window.
[Click to finish reading]

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, and more popularly in the English-speaking world simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic. [Wikipedia]

Out beyond ideas of wrong and right, there is a field.
I will meet you there.

The heart is the secret inside the secret.

The moment you accept what troubles you've been given,
the door will open.

Love is the water of life,
jump into this water.

I worship the moon.
Tell me of the soft glow of a candle light
and the sweetness of my moon.

Don’t talk about sorrow,
tell me of that treasure,
hidden if it is to you,
then just remain silent.

Last night
I lost my grip on reality
and welcomed insanity.
Love saw me and said,
I showed up.
Wipe your tears
and be silent.

I said, O Love I am frightened, but it’s not you.
Love said to me, there is nothing that is not me.
be silent.

I will whisper secrets in your ear
just nod yes
and be silent.

A soul moon
appeared in the path of my heart.
How precious is this journey.

I said, O Love
what kind of moon is this?
Love said to me,
this is not for you to question.
be silent.

I said, O Love
what kind of face is this,
angelic, or human?
Love said to me,
this is beyond anything that you know.
Be silent.

I said, please reveal this to me
I am dying in anticipation.
Love said to me,
that is where I want you:
Always on the edge,
be silent.
You dwell in this hall of
images and illusions,
leave this house now
and be silent.

I said, O Love, tell me this:
Does the Lord know you are
treating me this way?
Love said to me,
yes He does,
just be totally…
totally… silent

Guest Poet: Selah Michelle Townsend

Fat Cat's Saturday Night

     ~~Selah Michelle Townsend

The cat prowls oddly
Low yowls and heavy rumbles coming
From deep inside--something is happening.
The kittens push for birth, impatient to arrive.

Bedroom curtains become towels
As we lay her on the floor--
She will soon be lighter,
Her burdens becoming our joy.

Bundles of fur, sticky from the womb
Emerge tiny and perfect
With sealed-shut eyes and weak little mouths
And paws that stretch with shaking muscles.

Soon they roam alone,
Through domestic terrain and into us
And we are born again with them,
Landing gracefully on our feet.

Guest Poet: Lori Desrosiers

Lori Desrosiers is a fine poet I "met" on Facebook last year through mutual acquaintances. She delighted me throughout the fall and winter with her marvelous lyrical bedtime status updates.

Here is an excerpt from her recently published book of poetry entitled "The Philosopher's Daughter": ~~GH

Looking at Bees
Among the rushes on the shore
the only bright thing
was a bee’s black and yellow abdomen

Three trials
one of bees, one of bicycle, one of whirlpool
the year I turned six

At the sight of bees
I tried to hold myself
as still as the moon

I don’t usually enjoy
the sound of buzzing
but today the mower
sounds like home
although the bees
seem annoyed

It was the bees’ fault
hiding in deep woods brush
I almost died

Running up the hill
covered with welts
ladies offering jars
of various bright hues
Daddy would have
something that
wouldn’t hurt

He rode up the drive
in his magic coach
with a doctor’s bag
and a hug for me
his baby girl.

The night
when we counted
the bee stings
there were
fifty-two

From The Philosopher's Daughter Salmon Poetry, 2013. Also in Tygerburning 2012.

Lori Desrosiers’ first full-length book of poems, The Philosopher's Daughter is from Salmon Poetry (2013). Her chapbook, Three Vanities, was published in 2009 by Pudding House. Her poems have appeared in New Millenium Review, Contemporary American Voices, BigCityLit, Concise Delights, Blue Fifth Review, Pirene's Fountain, The New Verse News, Common Ground Review, and many more, including a prompt in Wingbeats, a book of writing exercises from Dos Gatos Press. Her MFA in Poetry is from New England College. She is editor and publisher of Naugatuck River Review, a journal of narrative poetry.

The Philosopher's Daughter is available from Salmon Poetry

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
   ~~Langston Hughes

Guest Poet: Alfred Tennyson

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...
I could walk through my garden forever.” 

~~Alfred Tennyson

Guest Poet: Oscar Wilde

Who, being loved, is poor?

            ~~Oscar Wilde

Guest Poet: Masahide

Barn's burnt down --
Now
I can see the moon.
       ~~Masahide (1657-1723)
         (English translation by Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoto)

Love Unconditionally

Even 

After

All this time

The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look what happens

With a love like that,

It lights the whole sky.

        ~~Hafiz

We never chide the Sun and whisper behind its back that it has no self-respect. We never urge the Sun to require a response from Earth. 

And yet, all Life emanates from that love. 

Just shows how little "we" understand about Love.~~GH

Guest Poet: Rumi

You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. 

~~ Rumi

Guest Poet: Bruce Guernsey

I stumbled across Bruce Guernsey's poem "Moss" when a Facebook friend posted a link to "American Life in Poetry" page, Column 78 by United States Poet Laureate Ted Kooser. 

I shall never think of moss the same again. It is now and will forevermore be a sentient being. ~~GH

Moss

How must it be
to be moss,
that slipcover of rocks? —
imagine,

greening in the dark,
longing for north,
the silence
of birds gone south.

How does moss do it,
all day
in a dank place
and never a cough? —

a wet dust
where light fails,
where the chisel
cut the name.

Guest Poet: Amber Decker

I am fortunate enough to personally know some amazing (and I do not use that word lightly) poets. Amber Decker not only suits that description, but is a dear friend and fellow West Virginia Writers, Inc. member as well. 

Please join me and become a symbolic member of her imaginary fan club by reading this powerful poem at her blog: Amber Decker's Rough Verse blog ~~GH

Bonus Post: Poet Yvette Wielhouwer Weds

Today, my dear dear soul-friend, pen pal, one of this generation's truly most magnificent writers, keeper of Hope's flame, beacon of Light in the Darkness of Divorce, fellow traveler down these long winding roads of life and strife, Yvette Wielhouwer joined her fortunes with her Frank and is married. 

Shine on, Lovely Light. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Step in joy and peace from hereon.~~Ginger

To read some of Yvette's amazing writing, click here. New window will open.

Kindness

Your kindness cannot be said.

You open doors in the sky.

You ease the heart and make

God's qualities visible.

~~ Rumi

Each act initiates ripples in a never-ending ever-increasing circle. Do not underestimate the impact of the smallest kindness.~~GHC

 

Guest Poet: John Tiong Chunghoo

My friend John Tiong Chunghoo is a professional writer who lives in Malaysia. He makes his living as a writer and also is a wonderful poet. 

Although it is impossible to narrow down the thousands of his haiku and poetry and decide which are "best," this poem plucked at a chord in my soul. So I share it with you.

by John Tiong Chunghoo

i have seen poverty sweat

from dawn till dusk

under the tropical sun

smoothening highways, 

coating multi-storey buildings

"I have seen poverty sweat." Dayum. Rocks me to my core.~~GHC

Guest Poet: Irene McKinney

Irene McKinney was West Virginia's Poet Laureate from January 1994 until her death in February 2012. I am only discovering her work. 

You have Irene McKinney (and my stubbornness) largely to thank for the absence of more of my personal poetry. My intentions were to write poetry, not prose. I wrote to her once, years ago, in the manner of a new writer seeking validation from an experienced one. 

I shall seek my answers within her poetry.

DARKNESS POEM Have you had enough darkness yet? No, I haven't had enough darkness. Have you had enough fire? Maybe. Enough wind and rain? Enough black ink? Ask me again, later. Have you had enough sugar? Definitely. Enough salt? No. I haven't had enough salt. Are you finished with wringing your hands? Definitely. Finished with spiders and silks And creatures of glamour? Probably not. Winsome looks? Completely. Pity? Never. I feel pity right now For everyone who got broken, Including me. Pity feels Like a sore and swollen heart Leaking blood and tears So hot they sting. Imagine that. Stay there. Have you had enough wind? No. Enough earth? No. Enough water? No, not nearly enough. Enough dirt to walk on? No. Never, never.