What shall I do with this body they gave me
What shall I do with this body they gave me,
so much my own, so intimate with me?
For being alive, for the joy of calm breath,
tell me, who should I bless?
I am the flower, and the gardener as well,
and am not solitary, in earth’s cell.
My living warmth, exhaled, you can see,
on the clear glass of eternity.
A pattern set down,
until now, unknown.
Breath evaporates without trace,
but form no one can deface.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Related quotes
Breath Upon The Looking Glass
My breath expressed
Upon the looking glass
A living veil
Composed of gas
Eyes kept without
Breath held within
A visual shout
A ghastly grin
That fades away
As does the breath
As sure and certain
As life and death
The looking glass
Now free of mist
Lays bare my soul
And doing so insists
That I observe
The exposed nerve
That in said glass
Persists
I hastily breath anew
On said looking glass
To renew said veil
of living gas
Then Hie away
Before it fades
And draws me fast (and forever)
Into the looking glass
poem by David Whalen
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A special flower....♥ ..............(love)
Every once in a while
The beholder casts
A special wish
And a flower is created
For every day that comes.
This flower glows lovelier
With every breath it takes
Earth seems a little brighter
For with every sunrise
A heart becomes happier
With every breath it takes
The air seems sweeter
For every time my eyes see
This flower blossom
It's a miracle and privilege
To be in its presense
Every time I touch this flower
I appreciate living
For I 'm grateful for being alive
When you are my special flower.
All rights Eyan desir 30th Sep 2009
poem by Eyan Desir
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In A Breath
Life is only one breath after another,
We are the ones who control our breaths, not oneanother.
A breath is all it takes,
To make a breath.
In a breath you could stop,
In a breath you could drop,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Life is the journey down a pathway,
Of which stones are breaths that show you the way.
A path to eternity, to forever.
Where you shall stay forever and ever.
In a breath you could die,
In a breath you could fly,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Tomorrow is yet a turn,
A turn you may not reach, but only a breath can determine,
You don't know when your final turn comes.
You do not know what you will become.
In a breath you could win,
In a breath you could sin.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
Life is but a breath,
Air is but a breath,
In life you will find the truth,
And find air is the proof.
In a breath you could find nothing,
In a breath you could find everything,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
You travel down a river,
Where bubbles are breaths and you are the giver.
The giver of ripples, of currents,
Of which for endurence.
In a breath you could loose,
In a breath you could choose.
In a breath anything could happen
In a breath anything could happen.
Follow the river of dreams to the sea.
This is eternity you will see.
Breath avery breath,
As if it were your last breath.
In a breath you could sail.
In a breath you could fail.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Moment Frozen In Eternity
Touch
fuses
painfully
with biting agony
after hand
is grafted
into imprisoning ice
breath of life
dissipates as warmth
is distilled and dispersed
leaving body
clear cast
encased
for eternity
as a specimen
displayed
in unknown isolation
memories dreams passions
knowledge language personality
beyond contemporary scientific analysis
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Unknown Light
From out of the darkness came a living light
I knew not its size, it shone so bright
its warmth kissed and penetrated my skin
and gave me an overwhelming feeling within.
As the light came closer it began to change
into an unknown form that looked so strange.
Its light intensified so much I covered my eyes,
but I looked between my fingers and realised.
That the living light now had a definite outline,
but it kept changing to even that of mine.
It was much too bright to distinguish any features,
but I recognised past friends, family, and teachers.
Its warmth through my flesh filled me with words,
and my subconscious debated with some discord.
In seconds a feeling of happiness filled my entirety,
agreement was made, but it happened too fast for me.
A shudder swept through my body and mind
I somehow felt refreshed, renewed, and defined.
Once my life had no definite purpose or reason,
but now all is clear my direction is certain.
I don’t know who or what that living bright light was,
but it was definitely supernatural and mysterious.
And there’s no doubt about it, it shared its energy
the day it gave its precious light to me.
poem by Orlando Belo
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To A Friend
Here in the fairway
Fetching--foul of keel,
Long-stray but fortunate--
Out of the fogs, the vast
Atlantic solitudes.
Shall, by the hawser-pin
Waiting the signal
Leave--go--anchor!
Scent the familiar,
The unforgettable
Fragrance of home;
So in a long breath
Bless us unknowing:
Bless them, the violets,
Bless me, the gardener,
Bless thee, the giver.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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News of: Codicils
Too many things
one must know -- so many --
a place on the breath for each? each passing?
(its turning -- breath's inmost
turning, my Love --
for delight -- )
*
And another
'massacre of the innocents.'
And that there is a form
even for that.
*
Breath as
tidal -- ardor... fervor... horror... as moon --
*
What comfort?
*
There was a moment
of blessing, calm.
Though it was a pause, a hiatus.
*
'... then what felt like a whirlwind
had risen up
in me, such that
little was spared.'
*
News of
the unbearable, happening.
Breath saying Now, now.
poem by Carol Snow
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Zen & the Art of Poetry
Letting the mind go,
letting the pen, the breath,
the movement of images in & out
of the mouth
go calm, go rhythmic
as the rise & fall of waves,
as one sits in the lotus position
over the world,
holding the pen so lightly
that it scarcely stains the page,
holding the breath
in the glowing cage of the ribs,
until the heart
is only a living lantern
fueled by breath,
& the pen writes
what the heart wills
& the whole world goes out,
goes black,
but for the hard, clear stars
below.
poem by Erica Jong
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Absence
I speak to you over cities
I speak to you over plains
My mouth is against your ear
The two sides of the walls face
my voice which acknowledges you.
I speak to you of eternity.
O cities memories of cities
cities draped with our desires
cities early and late
cities strong cities intimate
stripped of all their makers
their thinkers their phantoms
Landscape ruled by emerald
live living ever-living
the wheat of the sky on our earth
nourishes my voice I dream and cry
I laugh and dream between the flames
between the clusters of sunlight
And over my body your body extends
the layer of its clear mirror.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Breath! Breath out!
A moment of silence.
Breath out!
There is nothing to say aloud.
Reflection of passion in the eyes.
Breath!
There is no time to realize.
They quickly open the door lock.
Breath out!
They look at the clock.
Endless kiss in the hall.
Breath!
Don’t fall!
The sound of falling ring.
Breath out!
Ding, ding!
The smell of electricity on the skin.
Breath!
Who will win?
A certain expression on his face.
Breath out!
It’s not a race.
Fulfilling with ecstasy two glasses.
Breath!
They are full of fantasies.
Not clear whispers of wet lips.
Breath out!
You are not VIPs.
The hasty movements of two lightings.
Breath!
They are fighting.
One is tender, another one is rude.
Breath out!
One is not so cute.
Rocking hands of the clock.
Breath!
Don’t get a shock!
As… one is released,
another one is not.
Take a deep breath!
As… here is a dot.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Long Ago, The Land Was Green
Long ago, the land was green
Blue and shades of brown
And now, the mass of concrete slabs
Form rainbows all around
Once the air was lonely
Except the majestic birds
Now, screams of airplanes fill the air
And cities are filled with words
Rivers of old, were crowded with fish
Too many for us to eat
Now, we fish in quiet rest
For cans and other treats
Bless the ones who gave us this
Inhaling smoke for breath
Bless the ones who gave us comfort
Although the cost is death
poem by Wakefield Mahon
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Invocation
Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old,
Formless and void the dead earth rolled;
Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind
To the great lights which o'er it shined;
No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,--
A dumb despair, a wandering death.
To that dark, weltering horror came
Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,--
A breath of life electrical,
Awakening and transforming all,
Till beat and thrilled in every part
The pulses of a living heart.
Then knew their bounds the land and sea;
Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree;
From flower to moth, from beast to man,
The quick creative impulse ran;
And earth, with life from thee renewed,
Was in thy holy eyesight good.
As lost and void, as dark and cold
And formless as that earth of old;
A wandering waste of storm and night,
Midst spheres of song and realms of light;
A blot upon thy holy sky,
Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I.
O Thou who movest on the deep
Of spirits, wake my own from sleep
Its darkness melt, its coldness warm,
The lost restore, the ill transform,
That flower and fruit henceforth may be
Its grateful offering, worthy Thee.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Here Only Image Plays Like Puppet!
Diving deep into own,
eyes learn to look into far,
beyond the horizon into cosmos,
matter from several galaxies,
light from several stars,
filtered by earth and air
keep you alive here,
several celestial bodies,
working silently to fill breath in your life,
look your form is in cosmos,
here only image plays like puppet,
for the divine unknown, working!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Gospel, The Dharma, And The Breath
the darkened streets
haunt and whisper,
lights come and go,
eternity breaks the glass.
and right and wrong,
frozen on the ground...
smokestacks, abandoned cars,
vacant buildings ran by rats.
the hungry hand,
the mouth of poverty.
the addict's needle,
the body in the alley.
the woman beaten,
her face blackened and bloody.
the click of the hammer
on an empty chamber.
and the houses beckon,
with lighted rooms
where shadows move in
a most familiar way.
the smell of food,
and the warmth contained...
never quite reaching
the children sleeping
in the back of the car.
the churches gone dark,
no sound, no action.
down the street the bars
light up the night.
at a corner table,
he sits alone with a drink...
and a book he just opened...
he writes with a pen,
sure that no one can see:
we are the gospel,
we are the dharma...
we died on the cross,
we gave up our kingdoms.
we are the healers,
but the killers...
we are the medicine,
and yet the guns.
we are the hand dipped
in the infected wound...
and yet we are the giver
of that very wound...
both the breath of Satan,
and the breath of God!
from our knees we learn
the gift of flight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Dead
These there were, who lost their everything.
Gave all! And left the earth a vaster sphere
In memories: a song or two to sing,
Some takes to tell, some thoughts to think,
more near
To humanness by death, and blood of death
Than life itself, which in the passing hence
Enriched the world with an awakened breath,
And fled no longer nameless form the sense.
‘Twas not the shed of blood, but fearless mirth
that set a wondrous pattern to the earth.
And these,, - within a corner that is theirs,
Are laid in smiling peace – a rich content.
The pain has been – the glory is. Old cares
Have dropped, and left no drooping wonder –
ment.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Birth, Pain, Love, Happiness, Sacrifice and Death-A Life Quoted
Penning down the fantasy,
From the land with mortals as scarcity,
Every frame having its liberty,
Where no word is struck with sterility.
The verse depicting a prose,
As in the clouds the sun rose,
Earning the smile of every earthly rose,
And going to touch Lord’s toes.
A flower was born out of the soil,
Where others were in turmoil,
Beauty of love it had in its essence coil,
Budding out it was juvenile.
Grew it on every ray of light,
But the days were not full of delight,
The clouds and the floods came into its sight,
And it slept every day as if it was a night.
Faded were the colors,
Days it lived like counting numbers,
But there is a God who never slumbers,
For the life of a child He played like a gambler.
Sent He a gardener with His smile,
Who never left that flower for a single while,
Who would bring the showers from the flooding Nile,
Who gave the flower a new color and went away as He's agile.
Gardener being God,
Sent by the Lord,
Was the only reason for the flower to make a nod,
Made with the flower a life bond.
Nurtured he the flower and its roots to the earth,
Never let the flower move away from mirth,
Everytime he touched it gave a new birth,
And the flower died every night in his memory when he returnest.
The gardener had to do his service,
This was too known to the flower’s nervous,
Told it to him, it was thrown in a circus,
But he never completely acknowledged its reverence.
God was the supporter to the shining flower,
Which showed like a bright star,
The gardener’s pain was its scar,
And his hand was its power.
Flowers cursed by the Satan,
To live until the autumn,
But gifted by the God’s solemn,
To live ever after, by the aroma, in men.
Said the flower to his Almighty,
“Crush me under your bare feet”,
Replied the planter to his child,
“You are my child from the bosom
And I would melt myself in the guilt.”
The flower with a pearl in its eye and a smile in the sun,
“The colors of my life, the water in my roots,
The food in my shoots,
Are no a pleasure of Him or the earth’s loots,
But of your might.
I would get my heavenly abode under your feet,
By serving my God who gave me my colors,
And my fragrance would keep you in my Light.
poem by Aashish Kalra
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Last Breath
Don't take it now
Your last breath
Wondering how
Your last breath
All that it means
And all that it does
Your last breath
Fitting everything in
Just before you take
Your last breath
Want to take mine
Before you've taken yours
Your last breath
Shutting your already opened doors
Your last breath
Don't do it yet
There's plenty to do
If you take yours
I'll take mine too
Your last breath
Please don't
Your not ready yet
Your very last breath
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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The Flower.
I.
The flower in its own scent breathes till it dies
As if the scent its very birth-breath were
(As love is life's) which, while it occupies
Like a mesmeric light the living air,
Feeds every portion of the tender hue
In which it manifests so subtly fair
The faery form, which as in a dream grew
Out of the dark earth with ethereal power
Quickening its limbs, as those of a babe who
Draws from its mother's life a vital dower
Of warmth and beauty, thrilling breast and brain
Till it too comes to birth — a perfect flower
With its own aura, like a subtle strain
Which must vibrate to every joy and pain.
II.
The seeing eye and hearing ear are fed
With nature's nurture, and the mind imbues
Earth and all things within it, even the dead,
With its own sap that with thought's mystic hues
Bourgeons in every waking hour, and e'en
When sleep does all the inner life transfuse
With its own radiance, and the unseen
Becomes a part of us too, as we were
Back in some other sphere where we had been
Before the new thought breathed in the old air,
And the new body budded into birth,
Making us all that we are now who bear
The signs in us of all the woe and mirth
That came and has gone on with man on earth.
III.
Far back in the unstoried past, whose rune
No sage has ciphered and no bard has sung,
In the beginning of the sun and moon
When e'en the oldest hill was very young —
Ah! then perchance the seed that was us first
Took root in th' mystic soil whence we have (Unclear
Under the very hand of God, and burst
Into the secret being it has had,
All through the enchanted aeons strangely nursed
From death to life between the good and bad;
E'en as it were a spirit-germ that grew
By some mysterious process, and was clad
E'en like the flowers with varying form and hue,
Till it ends in what all may end in too!
poem by Robert Crawford
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Wash of Cold River
Wash of cold river
in a glacial land,
Ionian water,
chill, snow-ribbed sand,
drift of rare flowers,
clear, with delicate shell-
like leaf enclosing
frozen lily-leaf,
camellia texture,
colder than a rose;
wind-flower
that keeps the breath
of the north-wind --
these and none other;
intimate thoughts and kind
reach out to share
the treasure of my mind,
intimate hands and dear
drawn garden-ward and sea-ward
all the sheer rapture
that I would take
to mould a clear
and frigid statue;
rare, of pure texture,
beautiful space and line,
marble to grace
your inaccessible shrine.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Eternity Is Looming
Many people just can't see, the looming Truth of Eternity,
An endless time ahead for all, yes indeed, for every soul,
Every soul upon this earth, is here today, by natural birth,
Here for a time all will die; these are truths you can't deny.
Many don't give a thought, to what choices have wrought,
This, in the light of eternity, or even what life after may be;
Some have bought the lie, live merry for tomorrow we die,
Giving after life not a thought, as God's Truth isn't sought.
Only one life's decreed by God, for beings on earth's sod,
As He Decrees our last breath, the time that we see death,
This encounter will then lead, to Judgment, for all decreed,
Appointed to all by our Creator, Who is also man's Savior.
Time on earth God gives us, so we may seek Christ Jesus,
Who paid the judgment for all, charged on us from the fall,
Reconciling God with men, when in Christ we're born again,
Removing the sting of death, while giving us eternal breath.
You may not believe this friend, as all life on earth will end,
Our soul lives on eternally, but in darkness without Calvary,
Which, gave us Eternal Life, through the Lord, Jesus Christ.
Come to Him before the end; eternity with Him you'll spend.