The Search; a poem
Agape 1
THE SEARCH
I’ve seen death daily in expected and wonder-full ways
and tasted its sweet coolness on fevered tongue
dipped of earthen flow streaming through granite cups
my image caught there returned to me
slaking heart more than thirst.
Oh! Yes! Father Sky!
I have fed at our Mother’s bosom
fed of her thrill of thrills
LIFE GIFTED BY DEATH
make of me such fodder.
CLOAKED IN THE MANTLE OF INITIATION
CLOAKED IN THE MANTLE OF INITIATION
Babies and children
Little babies and young children make the best mentors!
Seasons change. Sons mentor fathers, grandfathers learn amazing things from
Their grandsons! Uncles learn from their nephews and nieces
The whole world of living is turned upside down
Babies and young children — these are the heart changers. They wash the hearts
Of their parents and grandparents. Babies and children make the best mentors
They cleanse our hearts with the purity of their Love
ROBED IN SILENCE
ROBED IN SILENCE, STAND IN STILLNESS
REST WITHIN YOUR QUEST
GROW IN THE RICH SOIL OF SACRED EMPTINESS
BE HOLLOW BONE FOR SOUL TO FLOW
EMPTIED OF SELF – SURRENDER TO GRACE
A LIVING ALTAR OF THE HOLY ONE
ALLOW CREATOR TO REST ON YOUR SOUL FLESH
YOUR HEART ABLAZE – FIRED BY YOUR HARD WON CERTAINTY
REST – KNOWING YOU ARE BLESSED!
STEP NOW THROUGH THAT OPEN THRESHOLD DOOR
CROSS OVER, FIND UNION EVER MORE
Pray Tell Me – a poem of remembrance
Where have all the children gone? And The Great Oaks and Mighty Sycamores too?
The Seven Nation Iroquois told our early settler, white ancestors that before the whites
Came to their land with their honed axes and four man chain saws
That a squirrel could jump from tree to tree from the coast of the great Atlantic Ocean
To the majestic Mississippi
Without touching down on the ground!
Rumi’s roots grow deep down!
Rumi’s roots grow deep down
to the fiergy orange magma at
the core of the Earth
That light and heat, bright as the Sun Dance
Sunrise on the Great Plains!
Rumi endures and grows deeper roots still
reaching further down and up to the moon!
He is everywhere in the human heart
738 years after “he died”
Go East or West, North or South
Jew, Gentile, Arab, Hindu, Buddhist
All the rainbow nations bow to this One!
Remembrance: a poem
Philos 18
REMEMBRANCE
by Qutbuddin Loren Ruh
Veteran’s Day Prayers
At the suggestion of my friend Rabbi Ruth Abusch-Magder, Ph.D., editor of HUC-JIR continuing ed blog Tzeh U’limad, I’ve written three prayers for Veterans Day. “Veterans Day Prayer” is classical in structure and language. “To the Soldier, To the Veteran” is a three-stanza prayer/poem with a parallel structure. “The Last Soldier” is a prayer for peace that honors the soldier’s journey. I haven’t yet recorded audio for them, which I’ll post later. Click here to read them on Tzeh U’limad. The photo is my grandfather, David Solovy z”l. He served in The Great War, World War I.
tired of being a bullet; a poem
After Shiva
by Alden Solovy
After shiva, now what? I remember that feeling when my father Jack z”l died. It reappeared when Ami z”l died. Her shiva ended abruptly with the start of Passover. After the hubbub, that empty silence settled in. I wrote this prayer of loss and healing for my extended family as the shiva for my uncle Jerry z”l ended in January. The rhythms of mourning are on my mind again as our family prepares to place the headstone on his grave this week.
What am I waiting for?
by Chris Gilwee
Perhaps a gift. Something given, not earned.
Maybe an option that is less scary. Easy.
Someone who can magically take me back in time and change the way that I was treated; and a blessing from God Himself, so that I may decipher the hidden meaning in my Mother’s words. “I love you so much that I can’t bare to see you fail; so I verbally abuse you to make you tough for this world”.
Little Iron Man; a poem
little iron man
angry eyes burn behind cold metal mask
muscles tensed for fight in flight
repulsor rays boot jets armor
he is iron man.
all-powerful controller master of his fate
vengeful righteous realist almighty godlike hero
protector judge destroyer martyr
invincible impervious inhuman.
mechanical masculinity lover of the machine
better safe than sorry greedy me-first hoarder
dark doomy death dealer
self-satisfying soul stealer
childhood’s chosen champion.
I’ll hold up a mirror; a poem
by Poet Warrior
I’ll hold up a mirror
So you can see,
The love in your eyes
And the hope in your heart.
I’ll hold up a mirror
So you can see,
The wisdom of your experiences
And the knowledge in your years.
I’ll hold up a mirror
So you can see,
The song in your soul
And the music in your life.
I’ll hold up a mirror
Dancing in the Breath; a poem
Philos 100
Dancing in their Breath
( that youth we knew…)
by Loren Ruh Smith
He was dancing upon the precipice
Glib of tongue with laughing metaphors
Blessed of health and being hazard’s child
Seeing danger not as paradox but as prayer
Someone called after him, saying “Take care!”
His laughter echoing in the dark abyss
His humor seeming contagious, awing
Sweeping all their fears, all alarms away
Present Time, a poem
by Rick Belden
present time
for the first time in my life
the past is beginning to feel like
the past.
the many ghosts of used-to-be
my loyal long-time companions
have drifted off and faded away
dissipated like a morning mist
leaving me here alone
in the blinding light of present time
weighing the merits of truth versus mercy
as I watch the pages of the calendar fly past me
like fallen autumn leaves
blowing down a dead-end street.
A Father’s Love; a poem
by Shaky Shergill
Not always shown but ever present
A father’s love.
Wrestled to the ground by a growing son
A father’s love
Tickling and laughing
A father’s love
Smiling and encouraging
A father’s love
Orders to do homework
A father’s love
Shouting to clear your room
A father’s love
Thinking about your future
A father’s love
Holding you close and kissing your forehead
A father’s love
Letting Go; a poem
by Richard Wiener
What fathers bear when sons leave
Beggars description. Empty rooms
Still echo with the voices of the past.
The vacant chair at table, silences
That take the place of sharings
With sons we loved so well, still love,
But now in pain at their departing.
Suddenly we’re old, or older at the least.
Suddenly it’s only we, without illusions
Of being young with them, playing that game.
Sons’ leaving seems like a betrayal,
Their chips now on another number, not ours.
And that embrace which we receive at parting,
A consolation prize, a bittersweet conclusion
To all we shared for,oh,so many years,
Now past.
MKP for Me; a poem
by Robert Jacober
Remembrance; a poem
Philos 18
REMEMBRANCE
by Loren Ruh Smith
I was reading the Italian poet
Pier Paolo Pasolini
his writings of the `tradition’
revolutionary poetic tradition
that it’s unknown, misunderstood, or forgotten
by the revolutionary currents that are
just noises in the streets, repetitiously.
LEARNING TO WEEP; a poem
By Eric Diamond
Because so much depends on a walk around the lake,
I take the long trail that circles the green and muddy water.
Brown bees settle on tall field daisies.
Lush moss blankets a fallen elm.
Two deer startle in the brush and clamber up the hillside.
Distant voices muffle through the forest.
The air smells like bluegrass and butterflies.
To each and all, I say this:
You are not my son.
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