yogadelmar.com » Poems

Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke: This Press of Time

geri — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 00:33:50 +0000

We set the pace,

But this press of time –

take it as a little thing

next to what endures.

All this hurrying

soon will be over

Only when we tarry

do we touch the holy.

Young ones,

don’t waste your courage

racing so fast

flying so high.

See how all things are at rest –

darkness and morning light

blossom and book.

Poem by Stanley Kunitz “The Layers”

geri — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 19:04:34 +0000

(this poem was written by Stanley Kunitz when he was in his 70′s)
I have walked through many lives, some of them my own,
and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides,
from which I struggle not to stray.
When I look behind, as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road precious to me.
In my darkest night, when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me: “Live in the layers, not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes

Yoga by Margaret Vanasse

tamsin — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 18:00:24 +0000

Y O G A
churns inner freedom
energy from base
channels through
core heart mind
extends grace
urn of swirling
movement
sensations fill space
thankful from my toes
to my face
PEACE

Poem by Galway Kinnell: St Francis and the Sow

geri — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 11:49:21 +0000

The bud

Stands for all things,

even for those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing

though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on the brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely

until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;

as Saint Francis put his hand on the creased forehead of the sow,

and told her in words and in touch

blessings of the earth on the sow, and the sow

began remembering all down her thick length,

from the earthen snout all the way

throught the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine

down through the great broken heart . . .

the long, perfect loveliness of sow

Poem by Antonio Machado: Has My Heart Gone To Sleep?

geri — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 14:25:54 +0000

Has my heart gone to sleep?

Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel

of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty,

only shadow inside?

No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake.

Not asleep, not dreaming - its eyes are opened wide

watching distant signals, listening on the rim

of vast silence.

- Antonio Machado

The Journey

admin — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 16:51:17 +0000

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice

though the whole house begain to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

“Mend my life!” each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations, though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen branches and stones.

But little by little, as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do the only thing you could do –

determined to save the only life that you could save

- Mary Oliver

So Fragile as We Grow

admin — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 16:47:45 +0000

Someday you will hear all things applaud your wonder.

Life claps in awe of the Divine’s performance.

When your veil is removed, you, dear –

you, everyone — will see that your being is Holy.

Who would want to sand before a mirror that was shattered,

and thus distorts our beauty

that is so fragile

as we grow.

An oasis for all life the soul becomes

when it is unveiled.

—Meister Eckhart

How Did The Rose?

admin — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 16:44:12 +0000

How did the rose ever open its heart and give to the world all of its beauty?
It felt the encouragement of light against its being, otherwise we all remain too frightened.

—Hafiz