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Verena Watson



Joined: 25 Mar 2008
Posts: 29
Location: Twickenham, Uk

PostPosted: Thu Aug 20, 2009 2:17 pm    Post subject: the wall Reply with quote

David Taylor wrote:
Thank you Michael. Any comments, positive, negative or sitting on the wall welcome.


A Wall That Is Not There!

It was a strange wall
so high and firm
with graffiti'd thoughts
as far as I could see
with such a range of
materials
smooth lava still hot
and wrinkled granite
soft soap
and dripping wax
and I'm told;

I built it.

But I do not
remember
although each part
is so familiar
and most strangely
one time I found;

a door.

I'm sure it is there
somewhere
but I cannot find it now
and when I found it;

or perhaps it found me.

I fell through
and on the other side
of that wall;

it was not there.


Nice David. It reminds me of the woodcutting on our kitchen wall which shows a beginningless and endless crowd of people divided by something invisible. It is called The Wall.

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Verena
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Michael Shepherd



Joined: 07 Dec 2007
Posts: 1395
Location: London, UK

PostPosted: Tue Aug 25, 2009 1:19 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Writer


In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.


*

Richard Wilbur
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Michael Shepherd



Joined: 07 Dec 2007
Posts: 1395
Location: London, UK

PostPosted: Wed Aug 26, 2009 12:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here is a poetic 'meditation', or vision, rather like Thomas Traherne's 'Centuries of Meditations'; which he later set into poetic format.

It was written by a Part One Philosophy student (as yet, name withheld) as a personal response to the term's material.

I don't normally ask for comments on individual poems, though I welcome them. But on this occasion, I would encoourage and welcome comments, since young writers need all the encouragement -- and satsanga -- that we can offer..


A lesson from the darkness

I met him in the darkness, but his light was so bright it illuminated the room with a stillness which engulfed me in peace and allowed me to rest. Our energies met and began to dance playfully as if two children who had become friends in a park of rajas. We walked together happily along the river of sattva, seeing beauty which only the blind could understand and hearing magic in the wind which belonged to the deaf. We came to rest at the house of tamas, where I fell asleep for a while but when I awoke I could feel his light securely cradling me like a parent holding their newborn child. He whispered promises that he knew of a land of true beauty and if I woke up he would take me there. So I followed him out of the house quickly and continued the walk along the river of sattva. As our energies walked they blended as if one and fell still, creating the most beautiful combination of colours that only the darkness could see. When we arrived at the promised land of beauty he opened my eyes and relieved me from the bounds of darkness. I was shocked to see my local neighbourhood. I closed my eyes quickly from the betrayal and ran in search of the stillness which I had become so fond of. He caught up to me and blocked my path. We stood together in the darkness which now was not such a magical place but cold and deceitful. His presence guided me back to the river and allowed me to fall still once again. He asked me to listen. As I did I heard the most glorious sounds of birds singing, children laughing and the river flowing. I smiled as the promise of a land of true beauty became closer. He told me that the stillness exists in the light also, and once I am in that stillness I will be delivered to the land of true beauty. I hesitantly opened my eyes, this time blinded by the brightness of the light before me. And I realised that the glorious sounds which I believed to belong to the land of true beauty was actually in my local neighbourhood. I saw the beauty of the trees renewed, felt the breeze against my face, and rejoiced in the clarity of the flowing water. Liberated from his embrace I felt strong and fell still…
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Michael Shepherd



Joined: 07 Dec 2007
Posts: 1395
Location: London, UK

PostPosted: Fri Sep 04, 2009 2:19 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Time for another timeless sonnet by Mary Spain of this parish ?

No Badges

You wear your badges with such pride and I
Admire you unreservedly. I share
Your consternation and concern. I care
About the principles you're standing by,
The causes you uphold so well. So why
This caution, this reluctance to declare
Myself as one committed, and to wear
Those badges that the dedicated buy?
Am I a coward, skulking down the way
Of non-alignment, weak when you are strong?
Perhaps; but in my heart I'd rather stay
Where questions lie unanswered. I belong
Where I must argue with myself each day
This possibility: I might be wrong.


*

Mary Spain
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