Monday, February 12, 2018

Waking Meditation



The eerie morning restless came gently to my bed
And pressed upon my heart three things
Remember love and honor, and the shape of time
Its ebb and flow, its worn remonstrance
To be unencumbered
And with this sinuous flower growing in my
Heart-mind
Dropping peopled scenes like petals
I rose to wander through my rooms in silent greeting
Foggy morning waiting with its cold gray arms
To still my inner turmoil
While the trees danced from side to side
And the occasional car sailed by with eye-lamps open
Life, this fragile paradise
Softly nestled in this mute body
Who am I to question the journey's right or wrong
A vertical mind and thoughtful music
Coaxes random pieces into sense
My kindly angel resting her hand on my shoulder
As I write

4 comments:

John Walter said...

So rich in its 'eerie' inscape unfolding into the speaker's surround as she witnesses her trance channel's sharing dharmic truths & heartsight through her embodied awareness,growing a "sinuous flower" out of love, honor & the shape of time beyond memory's encumbrance, judgement of the journey. Magistral, Stirling. The frame of agencies of consciousness, from heard inner voice to heart to heartmind to 'vertical mind' to "my kindly angel" works keenly & cleanly in this poem that reveals itself as a sort of divine inspiration after several absorbing reads of its long breath Ginsburg-like lavish cadences that devolve into plainsong of the simplest bright beauty, simply inevitable in its raw radiant mindfulness from start to finish.

Stirling Davenport said...

Ah, John, your thoughtful comments always a joy to read. Somehow you make even my most prosaic wanderings sleep-drunken poem seem like a carefully crafted thing of wonder. And isn't this what poetry should be? An honest wander through the forest of feeling-thought? "Magistral." Great word! I haven't heard, seen or read that word in so long it defies remembrance. Thank you, bowing deeply.

Liz Rice-Sosne said...

Thank you - restful, peaceful, I haven't written in an age. Hugs to you.

Stirling Davenport said...

Liz, it's so great to see you! Hugs back. Glad you found the poem restful. I hope you will be writing again. It's such a joy.