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The eyes of impressionism

Saints.
Like swans, gliding untroubled so it seems
to us, lazing on the river bank
of a Seurat summer Sunday afternoon,
gliding over the surface of the waters
as love perhaps, on that first day;
they as floating symbols
of the beauty beyond beauty;
their work, invisible to us who watch

Painters.
Like waterlilies, resting in perfection
on the surface of the waters
as love rests, sure of their own beauty;
painting just the sunlight
falling on things, moving on
more slowly than we see;
the depth of the waters
in the painter’s mind and heart;
his work invisible to us who watch
his dabbing at the canvas
as a dabchick bobs in the water, his mind
moving as time moves;
for him, sitting at the canvas,
always time present,
in the water-garden already on his palette

Cataracts.
How far a word from
the stillness around him as he sits,
his beard a little yellow from the nicotine,
seeing the waterlilies as if for the first time,
but each year the water seems to tell
more about time itself… like Proust;
where is time going in this painting?

Eyes.
Cataracts, yes; but perhaps over time
they too have sought to serve him,
become themselves, impressionists,
presenting him with images
prepared like canvasses are prepared;
gently watering inner gardens
between the eyes and mind

yes, that’s Monsieur Monet over there;
don’t disturb him; but if you stand
a little way behind him, you just may
enter the stillness around him,
enter the stillness of his mind,
see with his eyes, that work
invisible to those of us who watch
which swans and saints and artists know.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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0021 Under the bridge of time

Oui, c'est beaux, le jardin... at this time of year;
mais... for myself,
a little too overgrown – but Monsieur
prefers it that way… you see him down there
by the lily pond, the nymphées?

He’s nearly blind now, yet he’s out all day
and nearly every day. He draws life from the garden,
je crois; and though there are some who laugh
and say, his paintings are now
mere daubs, when I see them
and then go out into the garden,
there’s a truth there, beyond what we see…
what passes, what floats serene and unaffected...
what floats on time itself...

You may find this fanciful, but I’ve watched Monsieur
over the years: first he had the garden made,
when he could afford it, and the bridge and then the pool
that slows the river… then he painted the lilies which we planted,
floating on the water, all the colours
of sunshine as you see it through a prism…then he painted
the sunlight on the water… then
he seemed to paint the flow of the water
as it passed… and then he seemed to be painting
time itself, passing under the bridge
where we’re standing here, as if
outside time… and now,
qu’est-ce qu’on dit? I think
he’s painting the philosophy of time –
Monsieur Bergson le philosophe
agrees with me – in paint; perhaps
one might say, painting
the future of painting…

yet, the flow of time and death came first, they say:
Monsieur began to paint his water-lilies
after he had seen the photos of the solemn river
of corpses in the trenches
in that terrible war; even, it's said,
the same colours of the unburied dead who putrify
are the same colours that he sees
in the water-lilies...c'est étrange, n'est-ce-pas?
a sort of redemption in the painter's palette...
this, I feel, gives these pretty paintings
the vision that drives Monsieur
to find beauty in its opposite...

but it’s cooling now; Monsieur
likes to enjoy that glowing light of early evening,
the precious departing of the light…
the light of life itself...
I’ll fetch his rug…these artists seem to
lose themselves in what they see…
they don’t seem to notice passing time,
it’s as if they think they live where time is space;
or perhaps, time’s so precious for Monsieur
that he paints it running out…

but I mustn’t keep you, M’sieur Proust –
it was so kind of you to find the time
to visit, and you too, M’sieur Debussy –
it has been quite a day to remember, n’est-ce pas? …
and now for Monsieur’s rug…

poem by Michael Shepherd
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November 28,2007 is the International Day of Stillness: A Poem for the day

'Stillness is my beloved teacher.
From her, I learn new things every day.'
I said to Stillness,
How can you teach me so well?

Stillness said,
By being with you always.
I said to Stillness,
How can you teach me so much?

Stillness said,
Because you have much within you;
I, but a mirror for your mind;
I, but a mirror for your heart.

I said to Stillness,
O my beloved teacher, will you
promise me you will never leave me?

Stillness said,
I cannot leave you;
though you can leave me..
but what is stillness without a companion?
I said to Stillness,
Is your work hard?

Stillness said,
I have the most wonderful task that I could wish for:
I sit with babies while they smile;
I sit with children in the classroom
as they delight to learn;

I sit with the angry and disturbed,
and watch them grow to peace;
I sit with the sad and lonely and bereaved
and watch them rediscover happiness and joy;
I sit with kings and queens and rulers
while they find wisdom and mercy;

I sit with governments and committees
while they find reason and justice;
I sit with artists and scientists,
and watch them find new things outside themselves,
and find new things within themselves;

I sit with those who pray or meditate,
as they find God in themselves;
I sit at the feet of saints
while they become perfection;

I walk in the gardens of the dawn,
I walk in the gardens of the dusk;
in the deep of the night, I watch;
I fly with birds, in the silence of the air;
I watch the animals as they explore the earth;
I listen to the growing of the trees and plants;
I listen to the opening of the flowers;

Said Stillness,
I am the friend and the companion of all;
who would not love to share my life with me?
I said to Stillness,
May I never leave you.
And Stillness looked me in the eye,
and Stillness smiled at me:
‘I am born with every creature born
to be their friend for life.’

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Stillness: a Poem for the International Day of Stillness, November 28

'Stillness is my beloved teacher.
From her, I learn new things every day.'

I said to Stillness,
how can you teach me so well?

Stillness said,
By being with you always.

I said to Stillness,
How can you teach me so much?

Stillness said,
Because you have much within you;
I, but a mirror for your mind;
I, but a mirror for your heart.

I said to Stillness,
O my beloved teacher, will you
promise me you will never leave me?

Stillness said,
I cannot leave you;
though you can leave me..
but what is stillness without a companion?

I said to Stillness,
Is your work hard?

Stillness said,
I have the most wonderful task that I could wish for:

I sit with babies while they smile;

I sit with children in the classroom
as they delight to learn;

I sit with the angry and disturbed,
And watch them grow to peace;

I sit with the sad and lonely and bereaved
and watch them rediscover happiness and joy;

I sit with kings and queens and rulers
while they find wisdom and mercy;

I sit with governments and committees
while they find reason and justice;

I sit with artists and scientists,
and watch them find new things outside themselves,
and find new things within themselves;

I sit with those who pray or meditate,
and watch them find God in themselves;

I sit at the feet of saints
while they become perfection;

I fly with birds, in the silence of the air;
I watch the animals as they explore the earth;
I hear the growing of the trees and plants;
I listen to the opening of the flowers;

I walk in the gardens of the dawn;
I walk in the gardens of the dusk;
in the deep of the night, I watch.

Said Stillness,
I am the friend and the companion of all;
who would not love to share my life with me?

I said to Stillness,
may I never leave you.

And Stillness looked me in the eye,
and Stillness smiled at me:

‘I am born with every creature born
to be their friend for life.’

*
(With acknowledgements to Iain Trousdell of New Zealand, whose poem quoted from in the first two lines inspired this extension..)

poem by Michael Shepherd
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In the Spirit of Rumi,31-The Swan

How beautiful the white swan,
gliding effortlessly, it seems,
the sunlight shining on those feathers
protecting its skin and body better
than do clothes protect a man!

White as if to proclaim God’s beauty mov ing
on the waters, like the first day of Creation,
it dips its carefully constructed neck so elegantly
to find its invisible food…

while invisibly too, under the surface,
its legs paddle hard and fast…
Who would dare to call the swan
a hypocrite because of this!

In India they call the saints
who seem to glide so effortlessly
through life, glide across our gaze
so that for a moment, we would be them…
call them Paramahansa, great swan..

who knows how hard a swan
finds its life, moving against a fierce current,
lifting its huge body into the air,
knowing direction more clearly than any man…

who knows how hard a saint
works invisibly all the time, has worked,
will work, eternally… for us,
watching on the river-bank of life
the river, itself yearning for the sea,
to lose itself in the vast harbour of the waters…

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Place Your Love

Sunday / sick o my tears / monday morning / I couldve felt much better.
Tuesday / youre in my way / I wish you would type my heart a letter.
Place your love / in my world / its for you /
Its made for you / I need time / a lot o time /
To get you off my mind / to get you off my mind.
Wednesday / nuthins ok / thursday afternoon / I wish I was sleepin.
Friday and saturday sun / gettin up early but I cant get nuthin done.
Place your love / in my world / its for you /
Its all made for you / I need time / a lot o time /
To get you off my mind / to get you off my mind.
Maybe youll come here / maybe youll disappear /
Maybe the clouds I fear will turn to flowers in the air /
These cool vibrations / theyre hitting me all the time /
Youve got me diggin and divin in the garden of my mind.
Its a high / to watch you fly / across the sky /
All the time / to watch you all the time.

song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stillness In Time (Radio Version)

There's a stillness in time
Which I cannot define
Does your heart bleed like mine (oh does your heart, yeah)
For a place we can go
Where the troubles of our time are far away (hey, they're so far away)
And I had all my life in front of me
Now my darkness days are trouble free
There are so many wonderous things for you to see (hey)
If you find that somethings going wrong
Look around at what your running from
You can wait a thousand years in line
For that stillness in time
(oh, yeah) I found love in that way
And I'm never sad, and I'm always glad
Anything you give me today
I will, will be thankful for (yeah, yeah, yeah)
People find it hard to be strong
Cos they don't know where they're coming from (oooh)
There was nothing left to do but hang on
For that stillness in time
(There's a stillness in time
Search the spaces of my mind)
If this world is turning too fast for your head
Just remember how bad times can roll instead
Yes I have to search the spaces in my mind
For that stillness in time.
(Hey) I feel love in that way
And I'm never sad, and I'm always glad
Ooo, Anything you give me today
I will, will be thankful for
People find it hard to be strong
Cause they don't know where they're coming from
Hey, there was nothing left to do but hang on
For that stillness in time.
Ooo, I know that this is the perfect for a sort of bliss
There is no me, for the love I have will stay the same
I have been wrong if I don't know where I'm coming from
If I proceed the things that are inside of me
All of me, in front of me
Oh, see it's all around me
Said I know, said I want to find that stillness in time
Stillness in time, hey
la, la, la, la, la, lo (repeat until end)

song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Works - Near The Close Of Day

The crimson sunset breezes
dawn lines across the water
as dinghies nudge their moorings
in the quiet of the evening.
We sit in stillness on a hillside
the world beneath our feet
a closing day before us
seems all within our reach.
The last forays of gulls,
across the quiet waters
way beneath our feet,
as time stand still around us.
The creatures of the daylight
find a place to sleep
we watch the beauty before us
change moment to moment.
Shadows creep across the landscape
near the closing of the day
soon night will be upon us
and the moon will send shafts of silver.
Across the stilled waters of our little bay,
we will retire to ours beds
and wait for the coming day
whose sunshine again
will warm the ground.

21 July 1995

poem by David Harris
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Be1ieve

I look up at the sun, yellow streaks of light dancing - twirling with the red and orange beams
Golden and glorious high up in the sky, but to your beauty it does not compare
So I look higher where stars and supernovas clash into colours one's mind cannot even imagine
But still to your beauty it does not compare

This time I have to look down into the clear crystal waters of the Atlantic Ocean
Thousands of colours melting into one another - combined by corrals and creatures of the water
Again to your beauty it does not compare
Now I have no choice but to look deeper - deeper into the earth's secrets
In to the heart of our planet where every molecule meet its one and only match

Only to find the most extraordinary things
- Better than the sun and all its radians
- Better than the stars and the supernova
- Better than the colours in the ocean
- Even better than the tiny crystals of the ocean waters
- And yet I have found that to your beauty it just does not compare

So alas I turn to one side and look in the mirror - the beauty compares
You are beautiful - just believe ;)

poem by Renee Maritz
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Love The Time

Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
You have for you
Love the time you spend outside
Because this nice weather won't last very long
Fall is on its way soon
Love the time
To listen for the song of the birds
This might be the last time
Love the time
You have to reflect on your life
Love the time
You are worshiping God
Love the time that you are discovering your feelings
Love the time that you are learning about yourself
Love the time
Your soul waits in silence for God only
He is your rock and your salvation
Love the time
To dream
Love the time to paint a picture in your mind
Love the time
When you have a positive attitude
Love the time
When you are in the valley of the shadow
You will fear no evil
Because you are with God now
Love the time
Because you belong together with God
Love the time
That you are being yourself
Love the time
That you are moving on
And doing better things to improve your spirit
Love the time that you are gaining your trust back
Love the time that you are gaining self respect
Love the time that you are building your self esteem up
Love the time that you are watching the gold star at night
Love the time that God carried you to solidarity
Love the time that God will bear you up
So that you will not strike your foot against a stone
Love the time that you saw the great light
Because there were people that were sitting in the dark
And you were the lucky one
Love the time that God has opened up the door for you
Love the time that God has given you a chance
Love the time to know that the past is a part of you
Love the time that God is comforting you when you are sad
Love the time when you see writings on the wall
That you can read
Love the time to enjoy your freedom
Love the time when you are flying on the airplane
And looking out through the Airplane window
The sunset in the sky
Love the time when you sing out the blues
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time that God will set you free
Love the time when the sun will rise early in the morning in the summer
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time
Love the time to know that age is no barrier to beauty

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Why Time Flies

When times are boaring (BORING]
Then put the mind to work
Or better yet, ya bet
Hands & Mind, or Hands-Feet-Mind
All together - Work
Becoming a writer - or anything -
Put the mind to work, then go to work.
When relaxing - be at ease
Allow time to breath and breath deeply.
It's like someone said
'smell the roses before you're dead! '
Enjoy the 'Now' for what it is! ! ! !
Not what it should have been
Or what could have been.
And allow others to see things
Through their own eyes.
See How Time Flies?

poem by John E Laipple
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Beneath Still Waters

(dallas frazer)
Beneath still waters
Theres a strong undertow
The surface wont tell you
What the deep water knows
Darling, Im saying
I know somethings wrong
Beneath still waters
Your love is gone
Even a fool could see
That youll soon be leaving me
But each and every heart
Must take its turn at misery
And this time its me
And Ill cry alone
Beneath still waters
Your love is gone
Even a fool could see
That youll soon be leaving me
But each and every heart
Must take its turn at misery
And this time its me
And Ill cry alone
Beneath still waters
Your love is gone
Beneath still waters
Your love is gone
Beneath still waters
Your love is gone

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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None Of Us Can Stop The Time

Five days of work and seven days of peace!
But, none of us can stop the time;
So, emancipate yourself from this mental slavery around you.

Wisdom is like a tree planted by the rivers of waters which,
Brings forth fruits of true love to satisfy all;
So, don't let them fool you when, they want to school you.

Free yourself from the mental slavery around you!
And, feed your mind always with the truth;
Then, you can sing the freedom song always! !
For, the Babylonian System is everywhere.

It is only the fool who always leans on his or her own misunderstanding!
but, my love is ll that i have to share with you;
because, none of us can stop the time.

Blood is thicker than water!
And, the fire will always burn you when, you are not ready to learn;
So, you better watch out your steps in this life;
For, none of us can stop the time.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Rembrandt's Darkness, Rembrandt's Light

Here’s a painting by Rembrandt van Rijn –
mark how he bestows the light…

the light of Rembrandt’s conscious painted scenes
falls where consciousness itself shines strongest:

here on a thinking head, deep
in contemplation of the truth invisible;

here on a melting heart; there,
on a pregnant belly full of life;

on this marriage bed, her body
dissolves into the light of love;

here, the golden helmet and the breastplate
say, heroism has descended on mere man.

But mark, too, that other miracle:
see in this corner, the area of black paint:

this is not darkness; not negation of the light;
this is what cannot comprehend the light;

this is the darkness of the unmanifest,
from which all miracles shall in time arise:

this is the black paint stroked on the canvas
by the same dazzling intelligence
which was Rembrandt; the light
yet stored in darkness; what would that light
of things seen, be, without the mind
that understood and marked the not yet lit?

The secret of that darkness fills
with a brightness that's more beautiful than beauty,
the mind that knows to shut its mortal eyes.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Spring afternoon

A spring morning – well,
I only need to say the words?
I’ll picture mine, you picture yours –
champagne bubbling in the blood and in the mind,
hopes and possibilities flooding freshly in..

but a spring mid-afternoon… like today, like now:
a subtle balance of the elements;
the sunlight bathes the room, but gently,
with its promise; yet,
there’s a timeless peace with it
that’s like a life surveyed; yet
free of thought, of comparison, or of regret:

the six loved paintings that adorn the walls
bought for a song, when art was like a song –
they love the gentle sunlight, and it in turn loves them;
five artists painting their sunlit peace, their happiness;
(two very different ones from the man
who lives so humbly halfway up
the mountain hills he rambles every day):
three oils; one gouache; one watercolour; and one pastel;

they all but two have clouds in them
as they’re all landscapes;
one that hasn’t, has a haze as if
the painter’s painting the summer wind, in those high hills..
the other is a cloudless morning’s peace,
the bend of a river in mid-France;
the river…it cannot be, just painted oil?
it’s water seen as by a pure clear soul…

and the clouds – caught in an impossibility of time,
play out an endless drama of the elements;
timeless in the peace of, now, a slightly later
springtime afternoon; almost with a touch...
but how could perfection ever regret
its own departure?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Water and Spirit

A son does what he sees and,
A daughter does what see see too;
For this world do go around us to learn always.
At the seventh hour,
At the moving of the water,
Of the scraps that remained after the work;
Begotten of water and spirit for the wind to blow where it will,
And others born of the flesh like a keeper who gets the ball.

Born of the spirit,
A player scores a goal!
Rivers of living waters like clay with the spittle;
He is of age and she is of age too,
But a man's mind is full of darkness.

Of ears to hear,
Of eyes to see and,
Of a nose to smell with too;
But the measure you give is the measure you get.

When the water moves,
The spirit gives life;
Like heavenly bodies and earthly things,
But deep inside the well is the darkeness of death.

The bridegroom gets the bride and,
The light of life is for us all to share;
Like water and spirit on the muse of one's birth.
I came into to share my mind,
You came into life to play your part,
For this world is like the water and the spirit around us;
But the wind blows to where it will.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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More Water

The time was rapidly drawing near,
We went below to dropp an insult
Of work and rapid strokes of luck.
The lapping of the waves below
Was invisible, as we came on
To each night underwater.
We slept tonight in the dark of Asia
That had waters and eyes of living.
This watered hole called the ocean
Gained height and weight as we went below.
In evidence was the heaven and hell
Of these waters, and these holes.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Canvas (Part 2)

We last left off with such the fright,
She paints—but gasp! —that's not quite right,
For every story has a twist,
And every painting is done on her wrist.

She paints with—sorry? —with little regard,
To what may bleed and what may scar,
But oh, she paints a lovely spar,
Despite the way that most things are.

Some find it funny and watch as she flees,
Others feel sick the moment they see,
Because a painter, she can't have much of a life,
If all of her painting is done with a knife.

This painter—in fact—she thinks she's alone,
Because of the burden of problems at home,
And then there's her mind, a nasty old place,
It's mostly the cause of the paintings she makes.

But one can be trapped, or one can be freed,
Though most painters like her find this hard to believe,
Yet this very painter broke free of her sadness,
And if she ever wonders 'why? ' she can look at her canvas.

poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Rilke in Rome

The chance remains of another time
and a life that is not ours...
no, there is not 'more' beauty here than elsewhere -
but there is much beauty here,
for there is much beauty everywhere.

Waters unendingly full of life move along the old aqueducts
into the great city
and dance in the many squares over white stone basins
and spread out in wide spacious pools
and murmur by day
and lift up their murmuring to the night
that is large and starry here and soft with winds.

And gardens are here, unforgettable avenues
and flights of stairs, stairs designed by Michelangelo,
stairs that are built after the pattern
of downward-gliding waters - broadly bringing forth
step out of step in their descent
like wave after wave.

Through such impressions one collects oneself,
wins oneself back again,
and learns slowly to recognize the very few things
in which the eternal endures
that one can love.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Powerful People

Look at the powerful people
Stealing the sun from the day
Wish I could do something about it
When all I can do is pray
Its a lonely afternoon
With nowhere to go but my room
And sunday when theres time
I think of these things on my mind
And I dont know
Where I will go
Look at the ominous people
Draining the salt from the sea
Wish I could just stand up and shout it
Why cant they let goodness be
Oh its a lonely afternoon
With nowhere to go but my room
And some day when theres time
I think of these things on my mind
And I dont know
Where I will go
Come on you world wont you give a damn
Turn on some lights and see this garbage can
Time is the essence if we plan to stay
Death is in stride when filth is the pride of our home
Wish I could just stand up and shout it
Why cant they let goodness be
Oh its a lonely afternoon
With nowhere to go but my room
And sunday when theres time
I think of these things on my mind
Oh and monday theres no time
So I close both my eyes and Im blind
And I dont care where oh where is my prayer

song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King And Queen

(Justin Hayward)
It's like awaking from a dream
All I remember is a lullaby
I couldn't tell you where I've been
A thousand images just flutter by
Takin' my time
In a white limousine
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are growing louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ryday
My mind is back behind my eyes
And there before me sits a butterfly
And as I watch, she gently cries (And as I watch, she gently cries)
Can there be anyone who'll pity her? (Who'll pity her?)
How many faces
Have all of you been?
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are getting louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ryday
My mind is back behind my eyes
And there before me sits a butterfly
And as I watch, she gently cries (And as I watch, she gently cries)
Can there be anyone who'll pity her? (Who'll pity her?)
How many faces
Have all of you been?
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are getting louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
*************************************************************

song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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