Sometimes poetry speaks in words of Truth. Even if you think you are not a poet or can't write, try it. You might be surprised! Maybe you will contact something deep within your heart and soul. Maybe the angels will speak through you. Maybe your writing will release you from another prison of lack, loss, fear, and limitation. You just never know! Here is what came when I sat down one day and wrote spontaneously. I started with a title and the rest followed:
Scratching in the good earth
Cows leave piles of warm manure
Steaming in the noonday sun
Poets leave words
Scratching across the heart
Steaming in the soul
Nothing is hidden
All is revealed
For those with eyes enough to see
And hearts enough to hear
Poetry makes the soul visible
Indians walk a silent path
Just now they came slipping by
I could see them
In the deep of the forest
Smell the scent of their babies
Carried by stoic mothers
Running from the future
Of white men
Who would destroy their buffalo
And take away their way of life
I saw above those Native Americans
A cascade of angels
Robed in white light
Guarding Watching Holding
The souls of the Indians
As they walked the Trail of Tears
Into the new years
That would shape their futures
Liquor consumes the beautiful destiny
of a copper-colored life and turns it
into something sad and lonely
White men can steal the buffalo
Claim the forests and the canyons
They cannot force a drink into your hands
It is time now to break free
Time for The copper-colored People
To choose to consume only light
And so be a beacon for others
Struggling to be free
The White, the Black, the Yellow, the Blue
Hued with shadows
Be a beacon of light whoever you are
Wherever you are
Whatever you have become
Whatever holds you in chains
Unbecome
Unbecome everything you are not
Unbecome every fear of lack, loss, and
Hopeless limitation
It is not too late
It is always now in God's timelessness
In the timelessness of the Great Spirit
It is time to come into trueness
Leave all falseness
Cease now to blame anyone
For your own sins
Resolve to cast off all blame
And recrimination
Resolve to absolve everyone
You think ever hurt you
Resolve to solve into love
Every painful moment
This very moment
Resolve to let God dissolve
Everything that is not you
When all that is not you dissolves
Only love remains
As clear and simple
As pure and beautiful
As the snow or the rains
Or a small dog grateful
To be sheltered in your love
comments (1)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HX7Cbdglihw
Dear Judy
ReplyDeleteThanks for this beautiful poem,it touches me deeply in my heart and in my soul : )
Lots of love
Ruth
I agree with Ruth. Reading this poem brought images to my eyes. I love the way it wound itself to this perfect ending. Often your poetry speaks worlds of Truth to me. But I am a major fan of your poetry. One reason I dig your lessons so much is because they are also poetry. Nothing boring about the way you write, Indira dear. Perhaps I'll try my hand (literally) at writing too.
ReplyDeleteIt took me long time to read it. (so mucch english)
ReplyDeleteI love it.
Monika
Thank you for liking my poetry dear classmates!
ReplyDeleteHello all of you!
ReplyDeleteWhat is poetry?
Is it finding words which touch our souls -
is it using words to open our hearts -
is it being one?
I love your poem too and I love Kevins comment -
it is also a poem for me -
love to all,
I'm really so happy you all exist, and all poems!
Antje
I saw above those Indians,
ReplyDeletea cascade of angels
robed in white light
guarding, watching, holding
the souls of the Indians
as they walked the tale of tears
I was deeply touched about this part of the poem
thank you Indira
ursula
Hi Ursula, you might not have heard (being from Switzerland) about the "trail of tears"
ReplyDeleteIn 1838 and 1839, as part of Andrew Jackson's Indian removal policy, the Cherokee nation was forced to give up its lands east of the Mississippi River and to migrate to an area in present-day Oklahoma. The Cherokee people called this journey the "Trail of Tears," because of its devastating effects. The migrants faced hunger, disease, and exhaustion on the forced march. Over 4,000 out of 15,000 of the Cherokees died.
And, yes, I actually saw the Indians come walking into my poem as I wrote it, with the angels watching over them. It was very moving for me. You never know what will happen when you open your heart and let the writing come.
Antje, you are also a poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Monika, for taking time to make your way through the English. Surely great exercise for your brain! My poem loves being loved by you. Everything on earth responds happily to the vibration of love. And the more we love, the higher our own vibration.
ReplyDeleteI love the conversation that this poem inspired. The conversations here in our Open Classroom are healing to my soul. These are the best conversations I have ever heard. The heart of each of you comes shining through when you write. I feel safe and nurtured and made whole again. I feel like this is the way the world is meant to be (and isn't!) - filled with words of truth and support and honesty. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteI just stopped by to read this poem again, since now it is listed on the sidebar. I remember now, how good it felt when students were talking to each other. I miss this connection here in our open classroom, but since I am growing closer to Truth, then that is what counts.
ReplyDelete