Thursday, August 23, 2012


The following poem, Finding Rumi’s Field, alludes to this poem by Rumi:

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense.
~Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi - 13th century

Finding Rumi’s Field

Tell me O Wise One,
Who dwells in the watery depths
Of inky-blue fog,
Where is now?
When is here?

Take my hand,
Lead me there,
That I may dwell in the
Wisdom of eternity.

I have strayed into the future,
I have collapsed into the past,
I have lived in the land of nowhere,
Show me the way home.

O Wise One,
Who is always now,
Who is always here,
I created a future where you were not.
I wandered into a past without Wisdom.

Rumi told me of Your dwelling place
In the imagination of my dreams,
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
Take my hand,
Lead me home.

Then the Wise One
Took my hand.
The clasp of the hand
Itself is home,
Is here
Is now.

For in the clasp of the hand
We met in Rumi’s field.
We entered a space that, indeed, we never left
Except in the straying search of future and past.
We entered that space once lost in the watery depths
Of inky-blue fog.
And there,
Is a green pasture flooded with Light.
A pasture, a field, from which I strayed,
And the fog was no more.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

New Poems: "Piety's Curse Dissolved" and "Words, Words, Words"

I hope to post soon about a recent trip to India. In the meantime, I'm simply posting two poems that I composed yesterday. I'm tempted to write brief explanations of each poem, but that would defeat the purpose of poetry. The poems need to speak for themselves.

Piety’s Curse Dissolved

The moon lit the sky
With a mysterious hue
As I walked among the
Dreams of my life.

The hue brought mystic clarity,
Allowing me to see
Beyond the heart clinching night
Of piety’s curse.

Piety’s curse,
Heavy dogma,
The millstone noose
Around the neck of the soul.

They claim to know God’s “word,”
yet “abomination”
Oozes from their pious attitude
Cloaked in syrup-feigning-love.

Oozing syrup,

I wanted to die with Christ and live,
But his pious followers murdered me
Before the denouement
of sacrificial love.

Now, this night, the moon’s hue
On an otherwise dark evening
Reminds me that love can
Live and sacrifice still, free of piety.

Wordless books on
Heartless shelves,
The bible-dogma of ancient days,
Dissolved in the moon’s light. Freedom.

Words, Words, Words

Too many words,
Public prayers
Overwhelm me with flighty activity
That bypass, ignore, the still small Voice.

The first mark of genuine prayer
Is Silence
Before Mystery.
But words get in the way.

Too many words,
God, word word word, God // God, word word word, God // God, word word word, God.
Father-God… // Father-God… // Father-God.
Uhm we just…Father-God…// Uhm we just… Father-God… //Uhm we just… Father-God.
Shut up! God doesn’t have to keep hearing Her name!

Shut up, Shut up, Shut up!!!
Too many words.
Shut up!
And leave room for God.