Love the earth and the sun and animals…

“Love the earth and the sun and animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for stupid and crazy… hate tyrants… re-examine everything you have been told in school and church or any book, dismiss whatever insults your soul, and your veryflesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.” – Walt Whitman



A quick poem of mine from three minutes of freewriting

I took the sun from the sky in my
Mind so that I could enlighten my being
I thought of all the things in life
That keep me going and sane

There was that song which rang so true
The one that flowed and spun a ryme
Then another that gave me clue
To what I may focus upon

The heat of that sun was now within me
As I felt it energise from within
It flowed and glowed with such energy
That I felt lifted up to a place I could begin

The Calendar

{Note to self, change this theme as I dislike large font and having to scroll as freuqnetly as I have to here!}

Here is a poem I recently wrote which I ended up being OKAY with, after dreading the idea of having to write about something that is not something I would ever write about.

The Calendar

I carry the weight of a calendar
Which reminds me of the passage of time
Each month I must turn each page over
Its current image colored in lime

The white wall behind it hosts its position
The curtain next to it remains firmly closed
A pin holds its alignment level
While this calendar is slowly exposed

Many gardens are portrayed within
From intense flowers to towering trees
The beauty of nature is pleasantly depicted
As each photo does its best to appease

This calendar of time is a record
A reminder of getting things done
The turn of a page portrays time passing
As life becomes weighed down by the tonne

Celebrating Childhood – A poem by Adunis, translated by Khaled Mattawa

Here is a poem I very much enjoyed, shared by Cliff in the Poetry course.

Adunis - Syrian poet, essayist, and translator

Adunis – Syrian poet, essayist, and translator

Even the wind wants
to become a cart
pulled by butterflies.

I remember madness
leaning for the first time
on the mind’s pillow.
I was talking to my body then
and my body was an idea
I wrote in red.

Red is the sun’s most beautiful throne
and all the other colors
worship on red rugs.

Night is another candle.
In every branch, an arm,
a message carried in space
echoed by the body of the wind.

The sun insists on dressing itself in fog
when it meets me:
Am I being scolded by the light?

Oh, my past days—
they used to walk in their sleep
and I used to lean on them.

Love and dreams are two parentheses.
Between them I place my body
and discover the world.

Many times
I saw the air fly with two grass feet
and the road dance with feet made of air.

My wishes are flowers
staining my days.

I was wounded early,
and early I learned
that wounds made me.

I still follow the child
who still walks inside me.

Now he stands at a staircase made of light
searching for a corner to rest in
and to read the face of night again.

If the moon were a house,
my feet would refuse to touch its doorstep.

They are taken by dust
carrying me to the air of seasons.

I walk,
one hand in the air,
the other caressing tresses
that I imagine.

A star is also
a pebble in the field of space.

He alone
who is joined to the horizon
can build new roads.

A moon, an old man,
his seat is night
and light is his walking stick.

What shall I say to the body I abandoned
in the rubble of the house
in which I was born?
No one can narrate my childhood
except those stars that flicker above it
and that leave footprints
on the evening’s path.

My childhood is still
being born in the palms of a light
whose name I do not know
and who names me.

Out of that river he made a mirror
and asked it about his sorrow.
He made rain out of his grief
and imitated the clouds.

Your childhood is a village.
You will never cross its boundaries
no matter how far you go.

His days are lakes,
his memories floating bodies.

You who are descending
from the mountains of the past,
how can you climb them again,
and why?

Time is a door
I cannot open.
My magic is worn,
my chants asleep.

I was born in a village,
small and secretive like a womb.
I never left it.
I love the ocean not the shores.

– Adunis

Dreams that can transpire

Many would say that it is important to set goals and aim as high as you can. This can provide a person with something to head towards. It’s a purpose for them. It’s a target that they can shoot at and try and hit as accurately as possible, as they keep taking shots and finding the center mass.

Sometimes one may not feel the need to reach so high, the need to plan for the future. They may want to go with the flow. They may want to see where life takes them. Perhaps they are able to do this without being impeded, as some may say that one could become a drifter without a purpose.

What it comes down to is the individual. It can of course be very helpful to have a plan laid out that can guide one to another shore. But what if that person is stuck between shores and they are no longer certain that they want to sail over to their original destination? They may have put a lot of effort in and dedicated a great deal of their time and energy to reach and aspire to something they no longer care for.

So I say that one should be mindful of setting goals, and to really think about what they are capable of. Perhaps one is at a stage in their life where they are comfortable with who they are, and that being in the now is more important than being in a future that could easily change and is yet to exist.