Subud Life
Poetry Corner - we walk down the main street of Northampton with friends
sjaharih - Oct 23, 2006 - 07:48 PM
Post subject: we walk down the main street of Northampton with friends
her hand in my hand
gloved and wool
and
my hand in her
gloved wool hand
what was inside conforms
to what is outside.
earlier
at dance class,
she is sitting beside me
cross legged on the floor
and i am overcome
in awe.
as if
God needs me to say it.
as if
God needs me to acknowledge
The perfection of his work.
.
the sun inside the sky of scarlet
the planets and stars and the shooting asteroids of space.
the peaked golden ears mountains
that i see across the Fraser River behind my house
the fields of alder in autumn full of all the colours
the glaciers white and serene at the top of the mountain range
I see all this and more within
her face
and in her eyes
and in her body.
And it as if God needs me,
Wants me. Asks me
to acknowledge this work.
The culmination of billions of years of continuous work as an artist
He too.
Needs acknowledgement
He too.
And I do.
God. I do.
That all these acts of his creation
As wonderful as they are
Have finally come together in this one
Before which
I sigh and breathe and
walk
her hand in my hand
gloved and wool
and
my hand in her
gloved wool hand. .
with this woman i love
walking down this road in the town
of Northampton.
Yafiah - Oct 23, 2006 - 09:18 PM
Post subject:
This is beautiful Sjaharih. God and dance and love, love, love. It moves the soul to intimate communion with the Beloved in all of creation.
Shariban - Oct 24, 2006 - 09:57 PM
Post subject:
Dance of Spring.
I ramble through a sylvan glen
amid mossy oak that forms a ring
around flesh coloured Ash in bud,
fingering the sunlit air of spring.
The willow mocks spent winter wind
wagging tails in the cool March breeze
that wafts wild garlics pungent smell
and flaps the polished ivy leaves.
I scramble over wooded floor
among hurdles of broken branch,
conducted by a singing bird
partaker in Dionysus’ dance.
Yafiah - Oct 25, 2006 - 08:34 AM
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I see visions of Isadora Duncan here, and oh how I love that scent of wild garlic flowers, always close to rivers.
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