Poems themselves are not directly Poetry yet a written, cognitive transcription of It. A beauteous Poet doesn’t need to speak or write
to be one;
It resonates through their either tender or pondering glances,
acts,
demeanour
and kisses peppered on the universe’s matters
with eyes,
finger tips,
soles,
breath
and thoughts of Heart too complex for the Mind.
If Heart Thoughts are even greater, they turn gibberish
and may seem silent or even non-existent to seekers of the verbal.
Poetry can be every thing,
a newspaper,
understatement,
laboured breathing,
reflective walk among the trash bins, apprehension hidden behind a lonely phrase
or honourable existing
as a sole, proud activity.

Oh God, You hide Yourself in the world so well
that there's hardly anyone around who can tell.
People often ask Who, what or where You are
because it seems that You're so near, yet so far.
When You reveal Yourself to anyone someday
all their narrow limited mind is blown away.

They are then left speechless and in a state
of knowing nothing new according to fate.
Because all along You've been within them
whispering directions for those who'll stem;
and get to the source of that voice they hear
which rises from the heart and is very dear.
_________

(out in the open)

Eyes see a plane gaining speed...now airborne
Soaring...from a background of bright, lush horizon
Out in the open
I see the high and low....of slopes...undulating,
Curves and points abound...showing
A rising
A falling.
Surface is covered with grass, bushes and trees
A pallette of nature's colors...brown, yellow ochre, red, orange, green
All are nurtured by light from sun
All are watered by dew and rain.
Outdoors, or indoors...there truly is a rising
always followed...by a falling
To show and prove, a story of birthing
how it is.....when surviving
and what transpires...when in the process of dying

Alone...out here in the open
I am infinitesimal...just a dot, amidst this vastness
There's no one, just me...no rush...nothing is hastened
When i speak...aloud, in whispers...Somebody always listens
Even when i don't speak at all.
There is calm...yet the sounds are endless
The mockingbirds are singing...wind is whirring
Somewhere, water is flowing, running,
...all are ceaseless...

Now and then, heart beats, way too restless
Followed by a moment of helplessness
Have i strayed towards a path of selfishness?
Could there be a need for more...of selflessness?

In this diurnal existence, i am surrounded by mountains
On my own, i could never conquer those soaring cones on my horizon
But, i lift my eyes, up there...without a fiber of pretense
Surrendering  my shoulders, my all, to a known Omnipresence.

I dwell on a promise long time spoken
That, no matter how high my mountains
No matter how heavily laden
Just  a look up to the Heavens
Will make a big difference,
For, in my heart,
I know,
I believe:
Prayers
Can
Move
Mountains.


Sally


Copyright January 8, 2016
rrab