John of Forde, His Exculpation
What I say and what I write
may seem to you – may seem to me –
as foolishness and folly; for
I talk of boundless things, and of infinity;
which by their nature, are beyond
the human mind, the human pen;
should I then not and never speak of such?
Or are these boundless things
just what mankind should talk about –
seeking the laws of atoms, or of space, only
to find the boundlessness yet further off
than men of yesteryear believed?
and if I talk and write – beside those things
invisible as once the surface of the Moon –
then, of the boundlessness of love - which is yet bound
into Creation’s very substance – and
those other boundless things which seem to us
to be Creation's - even the Creator’s - very nature…
then my exculpation is but simply this:
the motive force for what I write,
the theme of what I write, which is
my boundless love for you, for all,
demands, must win, forgiveness
from Boundlessness itself…
there is no more, there is no less
than love, which is true boundlessness.
[adapted from Sermon 43 of John of Forde,1145-1214]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0031 Beyond the Bounds
Oh it’s there, alright
and very much all right
although ‘there’ is not at all the word
for where it is – or isn’t –
all I can say is,
it’s ‘beyond’ –
beyond all the knowledge I’ve acquired,
beyond the life I love to live,
beyond the happiest of happiness..
I used to fear ‘beyond’, to fear
the boundlessness –
and yet, between
(and somehow, the between
and the beyond seem real good friends) –
between the thoughts –
the thoughts of what I want, or don’t,
the things I want, the things I don’t, then
in the stillness and the silence
which I used to shout ‘boring! ’ at
and run away and play –
it calls, it yearns; the boundlessness
speaks as familiar as myself
oh it’s 'there' all right –
how could I know, unless
they were together linked in inner sight –
the bounded and the boundlessness?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Mind that mind!
Boundless… yet, it can formulate
these things called words…
to help itself and us; to call
to our imagination, bounds,
and boundlessness, in thought…
out of sleep and dream, leaps
to our assistance as a faithful hound
eager for the hunt; in a puckish moment
offers us the world.. all that is
and all that's not (and it’s
particularly strong on what is not…)
is it greater, then,
than its Creator? No, that can not be;
but greater than our image of
the Creator – ah! now there's the rub…
what is its shape, this shapeless thing?
as regular as a sphere – but of a geometry
beyond all spheres; its co-ordinates
beyond whatever is beyond…
yet almost as if it had (its centre
everywhere, its circumference just nowhere…)
imagined poles, joined yet held apart
by imaginary axis – so that it can hold
all opposites, all paradoxes;
so as you speak one thing, its opposite
like shadow, like uninvited echo,
haunts it as familiar ghost…
see it, hear it, and
you’ll win a reputation for broad-mindedness
or scholarly indecisiveness…you will walk
with blissful universality..
this glorious facility, new-born to us every moment,
to be ecstatic in our boundlessness…
and all this, before
we’ve even rolled and staggered out of bed…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0014 A Hindu Temple Speaks
How can I, a temple, persuade you
that the boundless,
the limitless,
the eternal,
the One,
exist?
I could tell you that
only those who are bound
recognise the boundless,
only those who are limited
recognise the limitless,
only those who are mortal
recognise the eternal
only those who feel themselves many
recognise the One
or I could tell you that
only boundlessness tells you you are bound;
only limitlessness shows you your limits,
only the eternal shows you your mortality;
only the One shows you multiplicity
or, if you're still not convinced,
see my sculptured couples;
kiss, and find
what love tells us
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The necessity of luxury
and what at some other time
I’d call a luxury – or others would –
it’s not, it’s – oh – rightness -
used rightly...
like now, aslant in the reclining chair,
the patio door open just enough
to bring air into the room,
March air which feels like the most
precious commodity, substance, gift, grace,
where, how, could I say;
and the book of poetry held loosely,
glanced at occasionally;
some phrases, some words, of Tom’s
growing timelessly, flowering,
seeding a generosity of new poems
too formless to call mine
but the warmth of his heart
makes mine to expand, and
boundless now; the mind too, boundless;
a boundlessness of poetry;
then, now, always; so that
in this moment, heart, mind, poetry, boundless,
there’s complete liberation;
beyond luxury, beyond necessity
and poems may or may not be,
for being’s all…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The unity of all things
The unity of all things
is a belief which some
would consider pointless;
others might regard,
as insidious; suspect a lurking
hidden agenda; some
might says it’s useless and unproveable,
declare pathetic fallacy, and hurry on
to life’s more pressing details and specifics;
I can only say that there are things
so useful to the mind, although
they cannot be proved;
I’ll say that holding this concept,
this glorious possibility, in the mind
makes one more inquisitive, be it
journalist or writer, or simply
human being: seeking always
the causes of all things beyond
what they profess to be;
so too for poets, swimming in a sea
of metaphor – of all things joined
in one more radiant meaning which lights up
the life of every thing; as when
a housewife dusts and polishes
a room into a home; bestows
her being on our space;
the unity of all things
makes space for all things;
Creation promises some order;
behind the smaller things, the greater;
a place for grace, for ordered life,
for hope, and charity, and love;
a boundless place; a grace;
a graceful space.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Love To
I love to talk to myself
And when I talk I love to write it down.
When I write it down you say wonderful
You say a fine poem and a milestone.
I write my thought I write my talk
I enjoy it and
Thank God You always with me
Day and night.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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0259 Who am I not?
I started to write about how
I love you
but then the mind couldn't distinguish
which was I, or you, or love...
I started to write that our love was like
diamonds falling like raindrops in the sunlight
or raindrops falling like diamonds in the sunlight
but then the mind couldn't distinguish
which was rain, or diamonds, or sunlight, or love...
I started to write about
a star as bright as love itself,
watched as it appeared
in a boundless universe
but then the mind couldn't distinguish
which was the brilliant star, or boundless universe,
or I the watcher.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Sonnet-Poetry Is Magical
Why like me little Lamb and my sweetheart?
Why choose me of all persons that you saw?
Why love me for my versifying art?
Why follow me with mind and soul in awe?
The things I do, I know not why I do;
The things I write are not wholly from me;
'This world's unfair'-a truth, I say to you;
And Maker's love keeps all alive truly.
Why talk to me when just a Bard I am?
Why honour me when world has not known me?
Why take to me when horse I'm not, just Ram?
I write because God gave me Poetry.
‘Tis sad the world cares not for Poets much;
And yet, their words are wise with magic-touch.
poem by John Celes
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Songbird
Talking to the songbird yesterday
Flew me to a place not far away
She's a little pilot in my mind
Singing songs of love to pass the time
Gonna write a song so she can see
Give her all the love she gives to me
Talk of better days that have yet to come
I never felt this love from anyone
She's not anyone
She's not anyone
She's not anyone
A man can never dream these kind of things
Especially when she came and spread her wings
Whispered in my ear the things I'd like
Then she flew away into the night
Gonna write a song so she can see
Give her all the love she gives to me
Talk of better days that have yet to come
Never felt this love from anyone
She's not anyone
She's not anyone
She's not anyone
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Bird
Talking to the songbird yesterday
Flew me to a past not far away
She's a little pirate in my mind
Singing songs of love to pass the time
Gonna write a song so she can see
Give her all the love she gives to me
Talk of better days that have yet to come
Never felt this love from anyone
She's not anyone
A man can never dream these kinds of things
Especially when she came and spread her wings
Whispered in my ear the things I'd like
Then she flew away into the night
Gonna write a song so she can see
Give her all the love she gives to me
Talk of better days that have yet to come
Never felt this love from anyone
She's not anyone
song performed by by Oasis from Heathen Chemistry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Id Love To Write Another Song
Id love to write another song
But nothing seems to come
Id love to write another song
To carry me along
Make some money, pay the bills
Keep me busy too
Id love to write another love song
Id love to write another song
Im searching everywhere
Though I look for inspiration sometimes
Its just not there
I have to work, I have to play
I have to get in step
If I could write another love song
I know it sure would help
Id love to write another song
Baby especially for you
Id love to write another song
And feel things bright and new
In poetry Id carve it well
Id even make it rhyme
Id love to write another song
Just to get some peace of mind
Id love to write another song
To get some peace of mind
Id love to write another song
Baby for some peace of mind.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature
Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.
Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.
Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.
Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.
Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.
Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My friends never talk to me about my poetry because they're embarrassed that I write it or they're embarrassed by what I write about which are not such extraordinarily terrifying things, but they are the state of human existence.
quote by Peter Davison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Conversation
You know, since you've played that game too:
Sometimes, consumed by glowing, burning love
of treasured child, or husband, wife,
it is one further bound of love
to speak of them with a detachment;
casually; offhand; as if it were
of no great current consequence;
you look into their eyes; see there what you see:
love's incoherent boundlessness;
are lost to love yourself;
smile; and play their game.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The solicitude, tensionless
When in track bound race,
You are in tension.
When in time bound work,
You are in tension.
In code bound life also
You are in tension.
In fenceless terrace too
You are in tension.
Boundless is not ocean.
Boundless is not earth.
Boundless is not air.
Your solitude has no tracks.
Unto it if you merge,
You are not in tension.
07.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)
I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Did Your Love For Him Last?
i am just wondering why you do not
write poetry anymore. I am asking myself
if your having jumped over the fence
yielded the bliss on the other side of things.
Are you too happy to forget the sad refrains
of poetry?
or Are you too sad
mourning over another
love lost
that your hands are too weary
to write another love poem for this
valentine's day?
whatever happened, please write me a love poem
sad or happy, please do write me one
i just want to know what a love poem should be all about
after all those years
when we think we really found the true one.
write me, please a love poem, show me the color
and scent of each word, show me the texture of each line,
show me whether the heart is bleeding
or leaping with joy like the one we used to write before together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Great Miracle!
Natural beauty of all kinds gives hope
And kindles love to live with strength!
Inspiration of Nature is boundless ever
Making man transcend limits to divinity!
Limitations of man are no barrier ever
When man is inspired by love of Nature!
Love is a force of Nature and great power
Mankind cannot defeat in this world sure!
Nature, love and their manifestations ever
Absorb all minds, hearts and soul till end!
Nothing can replace their place so far and
Nothing can be greater than that forever...!
Love born of beauties of Nature is real ever
That activates all to create great miracles...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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