Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Because you love me,
I can be.

Listening to you,
I smile.

In your invisible embrace,
I am whole.

There is nothing left to do.

It is all you.

It is all
you.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Let the "someone else" be the person at the core of your own heart, and you will have the truth of these words! ;~)
Who knew.

I didn’t actually have to be blonde to have more fun, with all love to blonde women everywhere.

Holding onto my life, just as I did in that small raft on the River Ganges, while Ma Gangas was as doing all she could to ****** me into the rapids and keep me for herself forever,, I had to learn patience, and I did.

I held on early on when one disease and then another went after my tiny body, starting 10 days after I was born.

It didn’t matter.

I was here and right away I saw and felt this beautiful world all around me with a quiet intensity that field every sense, every cell in my body.
Copyrighted by Elisa Maria Argiro, 11 November, 2020, Maharishi Vedic City, America, Earth
Returning is certain.
One way, one day
Lifetimes within lifetimes
Transcend, one into
Another.
Eyes smile in recognition as
Adios will always
bring you home.
Copyrighted by Elisa Maria Argiro  May 2019 Iowa America Earth
Vines of sound wind around my heart.
Wind of distant passion blows in
a changeable east wind.

Take me with you
to your interior landscape,
and I promise to ask no questions.

Shadows of late afternoon sunlight
tremble silently on the wall beside us,
listening to the battling of my heart.

Time and again
I have been undone by you.

Zeus himself stands by, admiring
your tricky disguises.

The simpler and more transparent
the convincing illusion
that you are some other man,
the more dangerous
the dissembling.

It is always you.
Always will be you.

And this will happen again
as it is happening now.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
I had not told you of  this, not yet,
Until now, when it returns clearly,
Within the timelessness of interior life.
A month to the day and the memory,
Abides in its own identity, being itself.
                          
Into this now familiar unboundedness
Came a new and exquisite presence,
A force field tenderly embracing me -
Just along the edges of my seated form.
Unmistakably you. A quiet certainty.
How could I know? But I knew.
As it dissolved, a light of the palest green,
Took its place, glowing a blessing.
                        
Breathing became the intake of bliss
made into the finest substance, and
I was renewed, visited, complete.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Tasting fresh, pungent
cinnamon on the tip
of her tongue

Washing her feet
in spicy
peppermint soap

Finding bliss simply
living life
©Elisa Maria Argiro
A sea of gratitude splashes
onto the inner walls
of this humbled heart
within me.

Seasons, poets, places, people,
singing, devotion, faith, trust...

Years have rained down like
petals from a flowering tree.

Abundance blesses me
in true simplicity.

As my soul enters the womb
of renewal, unexpected blessings
wing across the world to say hello
from where our sun already shines.

Manila, New Zealand, Delhi, Chennai,
where you are it is already morning,
  and the warm sunlight of your day
shines in your greetings and wishes.

May the bliss that you bring me,
dear world family, splash all over
your own dear hearts, and may
peace and harmony be ours
on this beautiful blue planet!
A very special thank you to all my new poet friends around the world! Even poet to poet, you mean more to me than I can ever say!
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Each of us women is one,
you know.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Sometimes, a poem is a letter
and this one is for you.

Living your open life
under Irish woolen skies,
dreaming of having
a candle shop by the sea.

"It's a dream that'll
never come true."
you say,
and that may be so.

Still, I can see it.

Latticed windows, on either side
of a deep blue door, a myriad of
little candles, nestled in thick glass jars,
glimmer purple, and beckon to the passerby.

Outside, a salty wind carries on
all by itself, about where it has been,
and where it is going.

You smile at the sound, looking beyond
your quiet thoughts. The blue door opens.
A new friend has just come to see you.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
It might be the brilliant yellow of turmeric
boiled into salted potatoes,
washed down with the brown
of peppermint tea.

Or the intoxicating fragrance, when
we are hungry enough, of simple
spices. Cinnamon and cloves,
in another dish of oatmeal.

Outside the house, across the street,
the neighbors' children scream happily
into the warm night, where
the first fireflies begin to appear.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Three bright yellow stars on a little box of matches,
in a kitchen in Reykjavik.

When lit, they flare up with uncommon energy and brightness.
This little box of matches is from Sweden, like your people.

Having said it badly once,
I want to tell you what you have taught me.
How joy and strength, honesty and humor, create sanity.

Goodness is a fragrance you exude, like soft brown bread.
Green shoots of grass, and leaves,
are brighter because you have told me about them.

Once, sitting together in a park,
a real-live bluebird settled onto a telephone wire in front of us.

A metaphor paying a call, making a personal visit.

You brought that bluebird to us.
I know it.

Because you are my beloved best friend,
a Swedish form of light.
©Elisa Maria Argiro, 2008,  Santa Fe, New Mexico
Coming from your humble and holy
houses each morning bringing blessings, your lively and
cheerful "Good Morning!" sounds - all the power and energy
that a good life brings. Living by the light God gives you
every day, eschewing electricity,
and all of the worst that it brings with it,
teaching your children and loving your wives
with gentleness and devotion.

Ruben, Glen David, Marlin... did I spell these right?

I only heard your beautiful, traditional names in your own, clear, grounded voices,
as we began to know each other, while you travelled back
and forth, from bright and early each day, onto our ailing roof.

Tearing into four layers of old, sickly roofing tiles with your
wonderful vim and vigour, a healing began that went deep,
deeper every day, as we absorbed the precious fortune
of having you in our midst. Your chosen, Amish lives inspired
us, and still do, as we still, quite often, hear the echoes
of your footsteps above us, each one a prayer and an affirmation
of lives well-lived.

One fine afternoon, one of you stood straddling the very top of our
steep old roof line, and that image of a man mastering his craft,
invested in a life that blesses everyone he cares for,
and teaches by example, everyone he meets,
will stay with me for all of my days.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Seven generations Roman,
and one hundred percent male.

That voice, like thunder and wind over Lazio,
and a smile that could melt your kneecaps.

Surging with life, laughing, singing,
telling stories from his naughty boyhood,
here on the cobbled streets that he loved so well.

Fiercely loyal, a truer friend could never be found.

When he sang 'Vivrò!' smacking his old guitar just once,
and then roaring into song,
he did live forever, right there and then.

We live on, caro Bambù, transfused
by your vibrant, unforgettable memory.
For Bambù (Carlo Mannù)
"Vivrò!" "I will live!"
©Elisa Maria Argiro
One perfect autumn day,
you stood under maples
in Northern Illinois, and there
was this kind of yellowness.

With compassion and technology,
you captured the light,
gave us an image,
gave us peace.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Each winter it happens again,
deepening its way into my bones.

Light, lengthening the days, even as
cold plummets to colder.

Gentle, promising colour of sun in
an angle that warms the wall.

Sneaking up from behind to give
heat to my back, you were paler,
even unavailable, until today.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Palest orange, a watercolor
wash slips in behind
bared branches
variegated,
rustling leaves.

You slumber,
down in the cellar,
fearless of the spiders
and centipedes.

Awakening me
with your roar
my sleep vanishes,
trading places
with blessed warmth.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Do I know what you are thinking?
Perhaps....
But come into my kitchen,
and let's see if this other fragrance
makes your nose swoon....

Bright red little apples,
spooned with a sweet,
slightly spicy sauce
soften,
turn pink,
exposed to quite  
another
kind of heat...

And that fragrance,
well...

Close your eyes...

Yes...

That's it!
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Quiet mind, immersed
in palest, warmest yellow.

Molecules within
find alignment
with infinity.

Silvery mercurial fluid
paints my bones
with gentle light.

You have come back.

Abundantly, warm salt
water envelopes me.

Even in this chair,
in this empty room.

On dry land.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Very early,
and just
twice.
Raspy, dark,
almost
mechanical.

This bird
is
not
from
around
here.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Swiftly moving clouds modulate
the light coming to closed eyelids.

Today, with God's grace, I know
what it is to be my own
true north.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
I am thinking about newly-hatched sea turtles,
and about how perfectly formed they are.

And about how, with independent instinct,
they head straight for the open ocean.

In our dream worlds,
where convention holds no sway,
we do the same.

Left to our own unencumbered instincts,
and when we are rested and happy,
we make choices that nourish our souls,
and the souls of those around us.

Finding a point of origin,
and finding where we belong,
are two sides of the selfsame coin.

Trundling into the sea of our own authenticity
may seem too simple, lacking in choice.

It is our bravest, most definitive act.

As vital to our real survival,
as to those tiny beings,
who innocently do as they must.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.

Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.

Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.

The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.

This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.

These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.

What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.

Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.

The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....

The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.

Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.

To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Don't wait for its light to come to you!
Breathe in its light -
Now!
As if it were your own.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Sitting in silent bliss,
absorbed in the Absolute,
that perfect smile
so at home
on your beautiful,
radiant face.

Regal as a queen, laughter
busts out of you
suddenly
like tropical rain.  

A colorful flower opening
in time-lapse magic.

Hands of finest delicacy,
refined by teaching
the pathless path
to infinity.

A mind as clear and wise
as the heart is kind,
strong and loyal.

Infinite tenderness is
the Unity within you.

One early morning,
first of your birthdays
I was to celebrate,
watermelon juice whirred
to completion while I cut
two huge banana leaves
on which to place my gifts
before your door.

In the yogic flying hall,
just a little later,
there you were, transformed.

A Balinese angel wearing jade
green wings sat amongst us.
Soft dark hair swept up into a
sanyasi's top knot, and that
same eternal smile of bliss.

You were wearing the love I had
given you, making those giant leaves
into wings that would carry us into
decades of friendship, through
passages of loved ones, and
life's hardest challenges.

Unfathomably,
wherever we are on
Mother Earth,
we are always we,
even as you are you,
and I am always me.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
"Casa Gonzales, leave a message."

                     In this lilting, merry voice,          

                                        you can hear her kindness,

                                         even that famous dry wit.
                                                          
 ­                              A dusty Sunday afternoon drew me here,

                             and I knocked shyly on the handmade door.
                                                          
                             Stirred from easy conversation with friends

                                   by the energetic, furry little dogs,

                              a tall, courtly gentleman came to greet me.

                                      In him I saw a graceful manner,

                          the wisdom of a life well-lived, and kindness too.
                                                          
 ­                            Together we walked to the opened door of

                                    the little casita beside their home.

                                     They had been newlyweds here,

                                    began their family in this bedroom

                                              that could be mine.
                                                          
                                  Looking down at me, more than once,

                                     he said: "You would be safe here."

                                    Words that soaked into my bones,

                                                  into my heart.
                                                          ­
                                           Time has gone by and I

                                         have made my home here

                                         on this simple, holy ground,

                                           beneath the shining stars,

                                          safe, and deep in joy, beside

                                             Casa Gonzales.
Poem from an earlier time... with New Mexico on my mind... and in my heart...
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Afraid to sleep,
we keep on working.
Afraid to sleep,
We meet the dawn
from either end.

When light comes,
its continuity calms us
and ancestors watch over us,
as we sleep in fits and starts.

Outside the kitchen door,
Señor Romero's own grapevine
says: "Buenos dias!", says
"Gracias a la vida!"
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Just between you and me,
I'd rather be a saint than a poet...

But to see the world like this:

A huge, shining consonant, lying on its side,
over the very ordinary clothesline,
well,
that's something, isn't it?
©Elisa Maria Argirò
From deep within the cavern of my heart
a stream of truth is rising.

Like clear water rising through
the rock of ages
it flows.

It caresses the rock
softening its edges, leaving it
still strong and sure.

From deep within the womb of my body
a seed of truth is rising, warming to
the sweetness of a newly radiant heart.

From deep within the jewel of my heart
the light of love is shining.

Vast is the one unbounded space
within me, all around me.

Vast is the one lovely moment
which is right here,
and which is right now.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Steaming, pale pink, moments ago
these rosebuds were sleeping, dried, unfragrant.

Now, like a single paper flower that blossoms from within
its scrubbed clam shell, held together lightly, then opening slowly
in its requisite, tall, crystalline glass of water,
these tiny buds are softening, unfurling, reviving,
intoxicating me with this heady, womanly scent, and
moistening my face as I lean over this healing brew you sent for me.

Born of humans, linked to me by human blood and a shared, ancient selkie ancestry,
wise, beautiful, deep eyes, flowing dark hair, blessings pour forth from you
in all, and every moment, of your gentle, earnest, worshiping life.

Kinswoman to my open heart,
to our ceaseless inquiries into sacred mysteries,
your power to transform finds me
wherever I am.
Copyrighted by Elisa Maria Argiro 2017
Revering all holy vessels
manifest and blessed
may this heart
held inside us
harbour
God's
Divine Light
May this heart
held inside us
learn to become
a chalice
for
our own
unconditional love
For all of our dear ones facing illness, and for all of us wishing
to offer the best of ourselves.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
So, okay, are you listening?
Being a monkey means
many things...
Yes!
It also means loving,
not just bananas,
but the people who love
bananas, and monkeys too!

Listen to me in your heart,
pay attention now, person,
and this is gonna be
the best smoothie ever!

Bananas come first, of course,
then yogurt, vanilla, of course,
a BIG spoon of peanut butter..
Yes, really!
Trust me!
Cinnamon to jazz it up,
water to smoothen it...
we are calling this a smoothie
RIGHT?
And for extra-special, maple syrup,
to give it a heavenly touch!

Now cover your ears,
which are almost as sensitive
as mine, and ... Oh!

How do you push the button
with your fingers over your ears!
For the child in every heart, and every child.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
I pull my damp,
faded jean's jacket
out of the machine.
Something clatters.
Oh good, a dime.
No. A cherry seed.

Now you're going to tell me
that cherry have pits, right?
But "pit" is such a dismal little word.
And this shiny clean trophy sports
a history of petty thievery,
committed in the local grocery store.

A big yellow cherry with a pink blush.
Just one, chewed boldly. Its hard center
hidden in my pocket.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
You may not have meant to
and you probably didn't  
but your smile
and your voice
have left soft footprints on my heart.
Because of that, as soon as you left
I had to get up and dance,
alone here on the gallery floor,
amongst the paintings I am meant to be selling.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Silky clean hair shines
in momentary sunlight

Scent of sandalwood stirs
in the breathing air

Holy silence blesses
each perfect now
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Help me to know
that this hunger
is not personal.

This form that
holds my soul
is more delicate
these days,
but the mind
is also clearer.

Help me to be
patient, help
me to trust
what comes.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
I still want to dance for you!
And until I do, I will dance
in the spaces between our
floating, virtual words.
To no one in particular,
with all my heart.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Jupiter and Venus,
radiantly dancing.

Proximate partners in a velvet ballroom,
somewhere over the eastern trees.

Light from a fiery source,
transformative and transforming
heart and mind of the Universe.

Convergence renders conversation
almost null and void.

Nothing but each other
will ever give them peace.
"A loving heart is the truest wisdom."
Thank you, Charles Dickens
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Endlessly
inviting,
the river
that flows
between us
flows everywhere
at once

our internal words,
warmed by
being
held for so long
are all at once
sent flying
into the open air

making a splashdown
landing into this  
deep old river,
we hear the words
in our unknown voices
for the very first time

all that we know of each other
is waiting now to be heard

as if this river was a room
and this book that does not yet exist
was open on the table beside us
©Elisa Maria Argiro
I had walked miles that day.
Finding myself in these old
Los Angeles side streets,
was to travel back in time.

Bougainvillea, overflowing
with color, festooned the
weathered cedar cottages.
Heavy trumpet flowers,
sleepy in the filtered light,
stirred beside huge green
leaves, in the easy marine air.
I walked on.  

Evening had come, and with it,
a few stars shone over the ocean.

After a perfect dinner, I still
craved a bit of sweetness
on my tongue.

Walking back from the end
of the pier under deep
cobalt, the night sky held me.

Just ahead, tiny birthday candles,  
and warm, kind faces, welcomed
me into their midst.

Softly, they sang 'Las Mañanitas'
in one voice, and I sang with them.

Someone's hand
reached out to me; a
thin paper cake plate,
heavy with treasure,
was silently offered.

Tres Leches, soaked
with tender love
and milky sweetness.

Heaven could only be
more of this.
('Las Mañanitas' is the lovely, classic Mexican birthday song. Traditionally it is sung in the morning to awaken a loved one on their special day. Tres Leches, the cake of the' three milks', has no equal in moist, sumptuous sweetness. 'Dulce de Vida' means  'The Sweetness of Life'.)
©Elisa Maria Argiro
First light in the Hudson Valley
Arbor Day of April, 1970.

Adrenaline coursed through our young
bodies, our hearts on fire with purpose.

As we rode our bikes, walked, or jogged miles
to our rural high school, red-winged blackbirds
called out from the misty swamps.

Beautiful but invading, acres of purple loosestrife
were rapidly taking over their wetland habitats.

Harbingers of the forests, blue jays issued
warning cries from deep in the woods,
where blights were killing our trees
with increasing frequency.

Three of us rode together, cycling in relative
silence, until we came to a meadow
selected for our early breakfast picnic.

We feasted on special fruits and cheeses,
hungrily stuffing in rare treats.

One friend began to send iridescent
soap bubbles into the chilly air.

Up they rose, up over the soft, puffy cloud
of her reddish curls, and into the dawning sun.

One bubble landed, unbroken, in the cold, dewy grass.

We stared at it, somehow understanding that here
was a delicate metaphor for our own fragile planet.

Approaching our school now, we breathed deeply the fragrance
of apple blossoms from commercial orchards all around us.

The spraying of pesticides had yet to be banned.*

We were sleepy in our classes that morning;
most of our teachers understanding that we stood
now for something worthwhile, that we believed in,
and they smiled with kindness, some even with approval.

Our principal agreed to an awareness-raising slide show
designed for our fellow students, teachers and parents.
An intelligent man, he was admirably tolerant of the wave
of changes that our generation brought with us.

Smoke stacks, polluted water, and dying wildlife
flashed onto a screen in the darkened auditorium,
accompanied by the vivid symphonic power of
Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'- a score so revolutionary
that a riot broke out at its premier, in May of 1913.

We had no idea then how much worse things would become.

All these years later, we each do our part, blessing
the efforts of our children and their children,
*hoping fervently that we are not too late.
Written on Earth Day, April 22, 2016. This poem is dedicated, with special, heartfelt love, to my fellow alumni of Highland High School, Highland, NY, USA, and to our supportive parents and families. Special thanks to Gloria Caviglia for her timely, sweet reminder!
Above all, may we be blessed with active, disciplined, purposeful love for our Mother Earth, with tolerance and understanding for each other.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Once a place of crossing,
  on this sensuously and
precariously warm
February day
I have come to be still,
and to watch, and to listen.

Shadows of trees,
so immensely tall,
stay oddly motionless
under green river water,
even as the surface
moves and swirls
carrying itself ever onward.

Leaves and mud are newly wet;
walking is softer, soundless.

Below the path winding upwards,
melted ice sings again as water.

I drink in its sound, soul diving
heart first into perfect, liquid treasure.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
First-born to you,
into a world of light and music,
myriad words, and all their possibilities.

Birth of another kind for you now.

The sphere of light that is your heart
attenuating beyond all fear,
merging into your limitless beginnings.

The secret love you have for the universe
has taught us,
will always teach us.
On September 11th, 2001, Patricia Regan Argiro, my beloved mother- poet, journalist, artist and dancer - was in the final weeks of her life. The first version of this poem was my last Mother's Day present to her. Now she lives in the Light.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Seated beside you in a bicycle rickshaw,
eventide of your last New Delhi day
gathering itself all around us.

Silk from my sari encircles my head,
shoulders warmed by a winter shawl.
Your heavy beige mantle and dhoti,
frame a man as tall as a tree, at least to me.

There is no need for words.

I may have been singing a bhajan to you,
just quietly, as shop lights came on
in the deepening blue.

Perfection finds us in the briefest of moments.

Wherever you are now, timelessness
governs friendships formed
in the Land of the Veda.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
My very dear friends and wonderful, international tribe of poets:
When I first joined you all here last August, I was in a time of deep solitude, culturing inner silence.
It became an ideal time to make real progress with my writing.
The part I had no idea about then, and that has become such a treasured part of my life, is the growth and blossoming of new friendships
with many of you!
On June 2nd, 2016, just over a month ago, I felt an innocent, spontaneous impulse to open up, once again, to the world around me.
After all that immersion in transcendental bliss consciousness, life began presenting me with beautiful new opportunities, which has in turn lead to the most fantastic job I have yet had the honor to call my own, in which I am able to express and employ
all of my particular set of talents and abilities.
Hence, then, my long absence, and my enormous, growing admiration for those of you who have families, jobs,
and also contribute excellent poems here!
*May the force be always with the poets, the writers, the thinkers, the artists... all the good and sincere well-wishers of our dear world family, and of our precious Mother Earth.

(I have just re-written this poem that speaks to my present experience and frame of mind, and thought to offer it again in this context.)


Eyes of Light

Momentarily, two eye-shaped
places in these thick grey clouds
stared directly at me, and there it was:

"Always be truthful.
Always be kind."

Just that.
A reminder.

Slipping down into the place
beyond all words,
feeling knowingness
seeping
into my bones,
residing in quiet bliss,
at home
in my own authenticity.

The lamp at the door shines,
both within, and without
residing, just being,
knowing, in the the words
of Julian of Norwich:
"All shall be well,
and all shall be well
and all manner
of things shall be well.”
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Arrays of stars land softly
on this thick bed of pine needles
under your graciously reaching tree,
and we see impossibly blue, miniature
flowers with centers of infinite white.

Tunneling underground, more
have been born over the decades
since you planted their mothers and fathers
by hand, here in this garden that has become
a secret woodland, even in the middle of town.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
High above the Holy River Ganges
where the water flows like Brahman itself,
  is an ancient cave, a place of sacred pilgrimage.

Entering silently, our small gathering
sat together, meditating here where the great
sage himself transcended in deep samadhi.

Wrapped in warm shawls, dhotis and saris,
eyes closed gently in the stony half-light.

Early hours had seen us awake, readying
for this auspicious day, and the sleepiness
of a little child began to overtake me.

With that same innocence, a childlike feeling,
I curled down into a woolen bundle, asleep
in the inner depths of that holy, dark place.

Sleep was sleep, and not sleep,
as awareness shone within me.

Limitless akasha unfolded inside me now,
and the ground where I rested expanded
into that same unbounded, cosmic space.

From far beneath the cool, damp earth,
a radiance travelled into my small frame.

Renewing energy suffused and blessed me.

Bowing in my heart, I touch the lotus feet
of Maharishi Vashistha. His darshan
shines on into our present day, and
throughout all of Ved Bhumi Bharat.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
A love like this,
perhaps it isn't made
for mundane living.

I can still feel
the texture of your
deep yellow shirt
as I held you in my arms,
sleeping your holy sleep.

At the very centre of my fingertips,
I can still feel the sense
that I am holding life itself,
that I am holding - Infinity.

Green and new as emerging plant life,
vaster than the velvety immensity
of this Icelandic night.
Copyrighted by Elisa Maria Argiro
Transcendent sleep
is still a rarity
for me
and
such a gift
when it comes
©Elisa Maria Argiro
As children, in this springtide of the year,
my two brothers and I would venture deep
into our woods, exploring all that had thawed.

Walking along, there was little need for talk,
absorbed as we were in the scents and sights
of lovely nature, awakening all around us.

Following a line from the artesian well that fed our home,
we listened for signs of an undiscovered, woodland stream.

There, we heard it. That secret, lovely gurgle, somewhere
hidden under soggy brown, deciduous leaves.

Excitedly, we used sticks of hickory and oak
to dig down, to free the living water.

Once we had found it, clear and singing,
we leaned in, working together to ease its path.

Time disappeared from our minds,
this self-appointed team of junior engineers.

Somehow, though we wouldn't have known it then,
that freshly springing water was life itself to us
surging forth once more, finding,
like each of us, its own way home.

Now I understand, remembering
our common sense of purpose,
the way we worked together,
with single-minded focus, why
freeing it really mattered to us,
mattered so very much,
and always will.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Beautiful
and
Improbable.

Like so many
of our
human
relationships.
This evolved into my first (10W) poem.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Next page