leonard-gorski
Written by essayens / Leonard Gorski (Krasnystaw, Poland, 04/27/1953) Polish wandering and wondering poet, who lives in New York, coming from Poland via Refugee Lager in Latina, Read more →Italy, in 1987. MA graduation in 1982, Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski w Lublinie, Catholic University of Lublin, Poland, Polish Philology and Culture, Humanities.
Rusty voice on the Subway stairs
Disturbing morning contemplation:
“Do you believe in God!?” -
Forcing me to wear suite filter
On my imagination.
Don't stop right there -
I'm telling myself.
Don't stop.
“Do you trust God?” -
On the higher level of meditation
In my mind.
How brave and strong
You must be to
Totally accept?
To believe my Angel Protector
The shield is here...
I'm just a freshman
On my Way.
I'm just at the gate of
The Golden Seeds University.
Mysterious Unmanifested
Welcome by
The Morning sun rays
Warms me great.
New Hope in my heart
Again arising.
Maybe that's next step
In the classroom
The Great and Difficult
Art of Acceptance?
Just
Don't stop right there.
Please,
Don't stop...
* * *
Isaiah 55: 8-11
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
Neither are your ways my ways,
Declares the Lord.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
When so amazed - listen intently
Far night echoes,
That stillness wonders you,
Which everything embraces:
Collect itself in its silence,
Like you can’t possess yourself.
And get in one grasp -
In the ray which illuminates the tree,
In the stone’s accomplished shape,
In the unity…
Which everything embraces
By the Light……………….
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
I would like to
Build up
Pyramids of sounds,
Sylvan corridors of
Golden cork pines - where
Spats of the sun
And single rays
In the spider’s web,
And further artificial gardens
Of coniferous scent of the resin.
Touch the cloud on the forest pond,
Taste of cherry on your lips………
Wait!
How many senses?
Five?
It is time for Meditation.
Take a deep Breath……
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
For Emil Varda
Spots we dwell
For while,
People we meet
On the Way...
Call from Unknown
Is a milestone.
The world is a pair
Of wings - to unfold,
The world might be heavy stone.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Don't go after the first hit of the word
But don't avoid friendly mention
Of the Master,
If you can -
The drops penetrate the stone
Same you, be patient
In ceaseless effort
Until good spirits will unexpectedly gather
Under your roof
On the cover of the table of yours, they do leave a stain
Of red vine
And soon fulfill you wish
It will happen – just like that!
Anything that is possible under Sun...
The World – however, limits you sketch -
Will open its gates,
And will accept you -
Who you are.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
The poet – nightingale,
Singing his sad, nostalgia song,
When moon in full.
Walking under green branches
Has Met Guru. Who was sitting under the tree.
Guru: Free yourself, leave your burden...
Poet: I can't give up my dreams.
Without it, I will be nothing, nobody.
That is all I have!
G: Don't be attached to it.
Don't be dependent on anything.
Don't be a slave of your poor - yet – mind...
Remember:
You are more than that...
P: Maybe I need your guidance?
G: Master will reveal himself inside of you
Or will come from outside.
When you Be Ready...
P: In that case – when I'll be ready
Guru is for what?
G: Go take a deep look inside of you...
You will probably find yourself
And Acceptance (with the small letters
In The Book of Universe - for first...).
Then you will Be Ready...
P: Read for?
G: There is nothing behind or upfront.
Just To Be. And
Be Ready...
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
In an empty room on the table
Never open, and not finished the book:
"One Hundred Years of Solitude".
On the wall pale crimson roses
Where the clock still runs
In light azure,
As in the picture of Van Gogh's.
On the floor in the middle
Chair,
The smell of silk dress hangs,
And a warm touch on the handrail.
Ajar door softly creaking
Without strings violins concert -
Fragments of "The Most Beautiful
An embodiment of The Beauty",
"Welcome Silence" - in E-minor,
And "Impossible Love".
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
I, the poet wandering and amazed
Nailed by unhappiness to the wall
By age and poverty,
On which floor of stupidity or ignorance I dwell?
I don't know,
However, I count beads of the words
As rosary,
In Hope of Redemption
And attain light of elevation
All covered with Serenity.
Consistent and quiet with myself alone,
As the greatest longing for Purity -
Which one touches the World by the wise look.
In my dreams, I wander
Among the shady palm tree's alleys,
Where my beautiful, forever, Nefertiti -
Who never gets old,
Calms wrinkled surface of the water
And inserts hand inside familiar gesture,
Bowing her head
To bless Buddha and the whole Kingdom.
Hiding in her *****
The Script of The United Elements, and
Papyrus of The Secret Proportion,
Silences her existence
In front of the threshold at Highest Meditation.
Same time
On the bank of the river Nile
Peasant washes his food,
Squeeze's thorn from his heel
Whole in the prayer and pain.
The countless form of existences
In the Total Kingdom of Being and Suffering,
In the Space of Vanished Events.
In vain to look
In the scrolls of the treasures
Library of Alexandria
Simple prescription.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
For my son Kamil
Waiting for the highest level of initiation
I was looking at small regular things.
I know, it’s doesn’t matter: how things show up.
You have to climb up to illumination…
Then You find yourself Inside.
Then Big Silence comes to you,
Bringing total concentration.
Easy to recognize, because
When You there, no questions
To answer… There is no need.
Meantime I smoke a cigar,
And whisper for the small thing:
Just to begin meditation,
After fulfilling my stomach,
And have a nice coffee…
Leonard Gorski Copyright © 2006
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
A bird is a bustle with the nest,
Time growing ripe,
Vintage is coming.
Grapes almost boil in the baskets
Noon, glow,
Sun in the Zenith.
Congeal air waving in the grain,
On the slops grass is almost redden,
And plum-tree is giving the bow.
Who filthy conscience has today?
Leonard Gorski Copyright © 2008
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC