A SUCCINCT PHILOSOPHY
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Posts Tagged ‘words’
These Maps, These Roads
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, consciousness, language, myth, Poetry, psyche, story, time, words on February 4, 2021| 2 Comments »
THESE MAPS, THESE ROADS
These maps, these roads, written and rewritten word on word.
Size and distance, though, these are not to be measured.
The roads and maps are real but travelled, somehow,
By ships that fly, by pigs that speak, by horses
That move and yet not move.
The shape of words – that is the key
To all that is and is not.
The holy lines that sum up all dimensions,
That lie so perfectly,
That birth sound out of silence and void.
Chase the edge of one thing, the infinite borders,
The central compass points.
Trace with keen fingertips the way they merge and separate.
The same pattern is in the whorls of your hand and always has been.
The world is measured by its forgetfulness.
The eternal is uncovered by those with perfected memory.
No words left orphaned, no thought muddied or misplaced.
A perfect fractal prison of a million voices,
Laying down the roads and all the maps.
Remembering, remembering, it is all remembering.
Beyond the gods and monsters
There is a perturbation of light and shadow.
Beyond light and shadow, a flickering notion of this and that.
Beyond this and that, a line of movement and a point of stillness.
A certain chain of gravity, (that is love and jealousy),
And a flow of iron-grey chains.
The roads, the winds of space, move along,
The paths of gods and worlds dreaming,
Dreaming they have time and space and something,
Something else, a name, a reason, a future, a history.
A certain trajectory, a ricochet away into story.
New words, same roads, same houses, new owners,
Same walls, same ghosts, same roads, new roads,
New names.
—
Whose Eye
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, Autumn, landscape, nature, Poetry, song, Taliesin, Wales, words on October 27, 2020| Leave a Comment »
WHOSE EYE
Whose eye now rests unblinking?
These sorrowful scattered things.
Whose perfect recollection
Recites names and causes?
Who knows and can name
The wide, free roads to destruction?
Is it that there is only ever one timeless voice,
Bright-browed and sharply bitter,
A wormwood for awakening?
Slew the game and shift the form,
It can never break from the following cloud.
The storm crow cries,
Carrion falls to feed new flocks.
Day and night is his mouth.
Dawn and sunset, dusk and midnight.
They are dreaming
Who listen to that song
Dreaming it is their dream alone.
There is peace beneath
The storm of words.
One world anchoring
The roaring others.
Gather back your souls, lost and scattered.
From this forest undergrowth.
From the peeling skies.
From the long dust roads.
Gather them in the heart of a song
That will not brook nor break.
One season returning with bright fruit.
One prayer reaching the throne of the Creator.
All this is the debris of glory.
The gold that feeds the gods-
These autumn grasses are brighter,
These few days, more precious.
—
Raag Megh
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, Autumn, dhrupad, Indian Classical music, landscape, landscape photography, morning, music, Mynyddoedd Cambrian Mountains, pentatonic, Poetry, raag megh, rain, rain melody, seasons, silence, time, words on September 3, 2020| Leave a Comment »
RAAG MEGH
find the
slow rituals
that absorb time and space.
.
there is
no hurry,
words vanish, yet
last forever, somehow.
.
the green, warm rains
as soothing as music, fill
the breathing valley.
.
one step
is all it takes
to start a dance
no-one has seen before.
.
we will, for sure,
be swept up in
sadness and joy.
.
we will, for sure,
be persuaded that beauty
is just not enough.
.
slow air pushes
the thin rope of smoke
to and fro by the window.
veils of rain hide the hills.
.
it is green and cool and lovely,
the trees say.
look at our slow dance,
they say.
.
and let go
their tired leaves.
–
Raag megh is a pentatonic raag (raga) played during the rainy season, but because of its cooling, calming influence is also played at any time and circumstance. i used it as the name of this poem as it seemed to fit its atmosphere and mood. Check out raag megh on youtube, especially those by ustad rashid khan, pandit jasraj and kushal dass.
In the Blood
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, consciousness, inspiration, night, Poetry, words on June 3, 2020| Leave a Comment »
N THE BLOOD
How long does it need to be in the blood
Before it becomes poetry?
How long must it seethe ‘til it yields
A single drop reflecting new truth the old way?
How long mirroring, remembering, discarding,
Disregarding its own and other fashions
Until it forgets the watchers and turns in
To be just itself alone?
A single gnat swims unevenly
Through a still midnight room.
That is what life is, usually.
The wind outside, a faint electric hum,
The tick of clock and cooling fire.
The words sink down
A mulch of debris.
Nothing can be returned now.
It must move on and feed others,
Seek new flesh, bend new tongues.
It will pulse,
A thin capillary pull
To go on its way.
—
A Mantra of Healing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ambience, consciousness, healing, memory, mind, Poetry, reality, transformation, words on January 21, 2020| Leave a Comment »
A MANTRA OF HEALING
in flowering mist
the vague precisions of light.
amongst the deep sounds
of singing silence
a spinning word
casts out tentative meaning
what are we, if not
remembered stories?
paths not yet faded
into oblivion.
stumbled upon brilliance,
gracefully falling
into new forms.
—
DHRUPAD 17 (November greys)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art photograph, dhrupad, grey day, Poetry, quiet room, rain, weather, words on November 8, 2018| Leave a Comment »
DHRUPAD 17 (November greys)
I would
should like to
for it wells up to paint with words
of rain discrete and with purpose they drop
sound and dissipate they spell grey in all colours
like the wind does as it moves through in ripples and time
too ripples in and out the focus of each of us each of us here and there
discrete and dissipating to grey reflection a scattering in consonants
and the vowels of the wind they are our ghosts and our
conscience there are words words and advice
and warning and weeping and dreaming
in the simmering of small sounds
as the fire ticks and there
is a tune there is a tune
in the fire or or
between the fire and the ears
in the spaces of a quiet room with this view
out to greys all greys of all colours in the peaceful day
of it and the silver leaf and the golden leaf rattling and letting go
leaving the picture leaving on each move rippling silence anchor deep
anchor deep in the high waves of grey cloud painted in words of wind and lacking edge
blurring light and tumbled mind lost in near distance adrift in rain sound
and the kiss of wind to bring you back a kiss of wind and the fire’s crack.
To bring you back, wrapped all colours of grey rain words wind
words fire words cloud words breath breath grey
and tumbling mind rain thoughts
falling shaped then mirroring
mirror greys there not there
clear not clear
wind then
not wind.
To paint with words
and watch the rain words
fall and fall apart.
Mirrors, we watch
neither there nor between.
Amongst the rain
mind wind
fire greys
waves
of day.
Song River
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Cwm Graig Ddu, landscape, language, mind, Mynnyddoidd .Cambrian Mountains, Otherworld.art landscape photography, Poetry, rivers of Annwfn, song, Taliesin, words on March 5, 2018| 1 Comment »
Some words make rivers to ride down seawards
Some words make rivers to cross over to another side
Some words make rivers wild and roaring falling from heaven
Some words make rivers thst are strange songs, strange and lovely
Some words make rivers that rend the earth, thst rend worlds, thst carve out new names
Some words make rivers thst are tears and memories and sorrows endless
All words flow from the same source to the same oceans in many worlds
All words live in the flow of breath and the woven web of minds
Some words and all words are born of landscapes and their passion
Born of need and born of beauty
Born of silence and born of reaching out
We are washed in words, their cool slip and drip
Drop by drop lost in words, drowned dreaming
Turned by words, stretched out and shattered by words
Made by words and cast adrift on words
Hollowed and hallowed and shriven by words
Healed and made whole by words.
Swept clean swept away swept up,
Found and lost in words
—
The Corners of Space
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ancient bards, bardic traditions, Cambrian Mountains, dream states, landscape photography, light, meaning, memory, mind, mynyddoid cambrians, night, Poetry, space, time, Wales, words on February 20, 2018| Leave a Comment »
THE CORNERS OF SPACE
Follow the sun beyond the horizon
And there will never be a sunset,
Never a horizon.
The old poets knew this – that their voice
(River and root of it) runs through distance
And no ends are there to those meanings.
Each sound, a door to deeper dimensions.
(No owls tonight, though a slivered, smiling moon.
Between the song of the pines and the river:
Restless tumbling dreams.)
Here is the vertiginous well of the sky
And its steps, and its chambers.
The view of horizons and their echoes.
(Confusion arises with questions:
Clouds billow and change shape;
Gravity has little hold in dream states
Except by habit.)
Circumference, the vastness of mind,
The corners of space, encompassed
By a single breath,
Dissolves on exhalation.
A rainbow disease brought to a stunning collapse –
Endless blue.
simonhlilly 