Rock Stars

No music teacher taught the bird to sing,
Nor gave the myna royal dignity,
The awesome beauty of a loving heart
And mystic eyes to see beyond the world.

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who perceives them as such?

@~)

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Nebuchadnezzar.

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oh r!! steady on the medication!

that was a serious line of enquiry by the way..

@~)

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Mystic eyes to see beyond the world — siafu asks “who” perceives them as such? … I believe you have answered the question, Ramsses, and siafu may need to ponder the question longer until the answer appears (for some it comes quickly, for others, not as quickly, kind of like staring at those mathematical images where the three-dimensional image shows up amidst the multiple miniatured images ;-)

Remember Two Things

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I never know quite what to say when
I read your words, but they stir something inside of me.
So usually I say nothing.

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Don't underestimate Nebuchadnezzar, Antony. He knows things.
Thank you, Nishtha.
I love you, Jenni.

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I have a tendency to fall in love,
So forgive me my attachment to you,
Which no longer can be called attachment,
Since I no longer have the tendency.

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Monet's waterlilies, bright galaxies,
Blooming in deep blue universes,
Roman's emerging from living waters, 
Flowers from the heart of eternity.

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(the official version)

Monet's waterlilies, bright galaxies,
Blooming anew on a river of light,
Flowers from the heart of eternity, 
Fiery offerings on living waters.

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For Roman's “Golden Poppies” (we're on a roll):

Golden poppies in a stained glass window,
The dusky gleams of multicolored gems,
Deep purple, green and red of royalty,
One fleeting moment frozen hard in time.

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You can be in pain without suffering,
I am dimly starting to understand,
And this could be a great revelation,
If only I could fully accept it.

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Yes. Love it.

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I love the warmth, richness, permanence of the stained glass image and colours against “One fleeting moment frozen hard in time.”

(Hmm, how did this comment end up here? I'm referring of course to the quatrain on Roman's “Golden Poppies.”)

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I'm amazed. Thank you, Ruth. I felt like such a hack writing those verses.

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I'm amazed you're amazed. :)

I'm in awe of your *hack writing*, big R, wish it would rub off on me a bit.

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Dear Ruth,

I am sending you a special powder composed of Nile mud and Tut's penis. Rub it all over your body and don't wash for a week. Every word from your mouth, your pen, or the fingertips on your keyboard will be scripture.

Love,
Ramsses

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Ah Chris, thank you. You are a true friend!

I can see I'm going to have to arrange a forest camp-out for the duration; the kind of animals I'm likely to meet there won't mind so much if I smell like the great unwashed for a week.

So between your powder and my already existing *gospelwriter* designation (referring to my address on gaia), this should do the trick? Or do you think the (self-)designation may actually be a hindrance to my betterment?

Sincerely (and with much love),
Ruth

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Put comlete faith in the powder. I'll send you my photo. You can meditate on that. The animals won't bother you.

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Roman's “Trail to Romance”

Over the hills to a happy ocean,
Flowery fields falling down to the coast,
Winding away to a misty distance,
Where the sun lights the clouds on the water.

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In a twilight thicket I searched for You,
When I saw You briefly and in disguise,
Leaving me in the deepening darkness
Until I found You again by my side.

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A freight train rumbling over the mountains
Into the sweltering air of the field,
Colossal in invisibility,
Evanescent and irresistible.

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They gave Him vinegar to quench His thirst,
And I also have done something like that
To a Saint who blessed me in India,
When I gave Her nothing for Her hunger.

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Now it's me happy to be free from you,
However long it's taken to get here,
So many desperate dives in the well,
Until I found where the water came from.

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There's no question the devils rigged the towers,
Waiting like a spider in her web,
So arrogant and greedy for the prize,
They had to give surprise an extra power.

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A restless wind wanders through the poppies,
Where nature blooms in careless profusion,
Petals ruffling to an unheard music,
The scattered blooms of an unseen order.

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Medicines made of colloidal metals,
Uprecedented pain from the cleansing,
A healing so far beyond acceptance,
All systems at all levels go beserk.

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I love a poppy. I can see it ruffling.

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.

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Just give me the medication, doctor,
Or I'll take it myself if I have to,
And I don't mean your pharmaceuticals,
Or even certain plants, for that matter.

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I love that painting and your poetry

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xoxo

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There are such depths to this epiphany,
Beyond my conscious intentions or yours,
That now we ride the event horizon
Of all that I predicted and forgot.

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It gets fuzzy fast around the edges,
Your flaming genius or paranoid nut,
Psychic enemies in all dimensions
Attacking him because he holds the light.

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All else follows with a swipe like lightening,
Quicker than thought or the flick of its tongue,
A venomous serpent writhing in a fist,
And ages ended in a labyrinth.

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You and I through fields of poppies wander
To a distant home in a quiet wood,
Where a bell tolls in the further distance,
So quietly you may never hear it.

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that is pretty

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I grew these golden poppies in my heart
Before I planted them in my garden,
Unearthly in their strange intelligence,
So knowing in their freedom from this world.

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I don't know why but this makes me want to cry.

Feeling like something has flown over to me and said, 'it's okay, it's all okay'.  I realise that this isn't what the poem is saying specifically. I think it's about the 'voice' coming through - a kind of vibration underneath the words that speaks to me, saying something along the lines of 'I know, I've been there, I understand'.

xo

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Yes. The writing took me by surprise. Another one of Roman's wonderful paintings. What could I say about it? He told me how he grew the poppies first in his inner sanctuary. The words just unfolded. He loves this verse.

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In the darkness Your car turns the corner,
You in the back seat, strangely attentive,
Me waving calmly from the sidewalk,
So casually, Your companion jumps.

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It's when the flowers start talking to you
That the world opens up like a blossom,
All beauty infinitely possible,
Everything unfolding before your eyes.

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Boats moored at the bottom of steep stone steps,
Flowers spilling over a high sea wall,
Another island across the water,
Close like the love of your life returning.

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Where fine stems, leaves and flowers glow like gems,
And mynas are the sweetest hearts on wings,
In that garden where no sorrow visits
I remember how You first spoke my name.

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Though yet of our dear cousin Hamlet's death
The memory be green, we bid farewell
To that which nature must in due course take,
And seize upon the urgency of life.

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And if some unanticipated bell
Should summon me to Heaven or to Hell,
'Twould be no interruption to my dreams,
Where You are all and all else only seems. 

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And what if You should leave this world, Mother,
When I perchance have means to be with You,
After so much grief of separation
The final heartbreak of a hopeless life.

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Mother, I remember my first darshan,
How You disarmed me by Your innocence,
And I, so fascinated by Your love,
Resisted what was irresistible.

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It's beyond wild to stumble upon this,
That only wishes to be stumbled on,
And rebukes you for the impertinence
Of thinking you had done this on your own.

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I haven't been here in so long, drop in, find a Rock Star, am filled with so many feelings.  I laugh.  I cry.  I stick my bottom lip out because that is sad.  I sigh because that is so beautiful.  I wonder if I could have some magic powder to rub all over me and I'll go join Ruthie in the forest.

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Sorry, no more powder. There is, however, one alternative even better than Tut's. Mine. Live. Just for you, darling.

You've had to pull all the levers for me,
Even this guy from another planet
With his high age healing technology
That works but isn't like being with You.

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The scariest part of being crazy
Is that some of it you don't remember,
And all I can remember now, Mother,
Is how you appreared in a great darkness.

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Having seen what I have seen, I know things,
Mottled mountainsides the more beautiful
For a lovely girl who became Krishna
For a time, You who are also Devi.

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When a cobra rises from my forehead,
I will think that I am worthy of You,
The sun that rises over the mountains,
And the cat that watches me in the night.

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Enough impersonation for the world,
I am not at all how others see me,
Only You, whom I love with all my heart,
Know the wobbles of the silent planets.

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Only You, whom I love with all my heart,
Know the wobbles of the silent planets

exquisite, truly.

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How did I know you would like that?

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;-)