Dec
27
2009

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
And he answered saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
Kahlil Gibran,
1 comment | tags: kahlil-gibran, philosophy, photography | posted in Inspiring, literature, photography, quotes
Dec
23
2009
an extract from a lovely haiku by P Noble

freshly cut oranges
revive memories
too deep for sharing
orion’s arm
reaches over the horizon
tossing stars
no comments | tags: haiku, nicki-bennie, philip-noble, photography, poetry, winter-haiku | posted in literature, photography, poetry
Nov
23
2009

Love.
So many different ways
to have been in love.
Boncho

thinking…
must get back to blogging more often
with thanks to Bel-Vedere for the pics
1 comment | tags: birds, boncho, haiku, photography, sea | posted in Art, Inspiring, photography, poetry
Sep
26
2009

From Kumārasambhava 5.24
As Parvati is meditating, the first rain drops of the monsoon fall on her:
sthitāḥ kṣaṇaṃ pakṣmasu tāḍitādharāḥ payodharotsedhanipātacūrṇitāḥ ।
valīṣu tasyāḥ skhalitāḥ prapedire cireṇa nābhiṃ prathamodabindavaḥ
and two lovely translations:
With momentary pause the first drops rest
Upon the lash then strike her nether lip,
Fracture the ladder of her waist then trip
And slowly at her navel come to rest
Pausing a moment on her eyelashes,
beating against her lower lip,
breaking up in the fall
on to the protrusion of her breasts,
slithering into the three folds of skin below,
the first drops of water
eventually reached her navel.
— David Smith
3 comments | tags: Kālidāsa, poetry, sanskrit-literature, sanskrit-poetry | posted in Art, Uncategorized, literature, poetry
Sep
15
2009

Merry Merry Sparrow
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Sees you swift as arrow
Seek your cradle narrow
Near my Bosom.
Pretty Pretty Robin
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Hears you sobbing sobbing
Pretty Pretty Robin
Near my Bosom.
from Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Blake
Continue reading
2 comments | tags: garden-of-love, poetry, songs-of-innocence-and-of-experience, visual-poetry, william-blake | posted in Art, British, literature, poetry
Aug
11
2009
a re-post while i’m enjoying the summer hols


Continue reading
2 comments | tags: photography, poetry, Robert-Herrick | posted in literature, photography, poetry
Aug
5
2009
Drink Your Tea
Drink your tea slowly and reverently,
as if it is the axis
on which the world earth revolves
– slowly, evenly, without
rushing toward the future;
Live the actual moment.
Only this moment is life.

Being Peace
If we are peaceful.
If we are happy.
We can smile and blossom
Like a flower.
And everyone
In our family,
Our entire society
Will benefit
From our peace.
no comments | tags: buddhism, poetry, Thich-Nha-Hahn | posted in Inspiring, literature, poetry
Jul
27
2009

splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar’s knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil’s
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it’s like a cobra. it’s a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
Charles Bukowski
2 comments | tags: charles-bukowski, poetry, splash | posted in literature, poetry