Tag: Poem

 

When I am liberated by silence…
My whole life becomes a prayer.

—Thomas Merton

 

I still see that light shining around
any object; and I still feel that current,
sometimes so strong I may not
have feet on the ground.

And that space inside grows larger,
like a scary no beginning, no end;
vibrating, vibrating until the silence
is no longer silent.

 

 

Gudrun Mouw (c)
July 4, 2017

A Poem

Remembering

 


We remember, and the memories float
like clouds that shape themselves
then dissolve into something else.

We remember, and the past comes to life
as if there is no difference.

We remember how the years pile up
like children’s blocks we try so hard
to keep from crashing down.

We remember and at our best embrace
sweet gratitude.

 
Gudrun Mouw (c)
May 9, 2017

A Poem

Swami Sivananda words
vaguely remembered as I walk
with a tired brain into wilderness
until blocked by oak branches and leaves
so prickly dry and sharp I dare not pass

but return to a domestic journey
of emptying compost,
bringing stones to the courtyard
for their permanent residence, I pray,
since rocks don’t crave movement.

Now, I stop with gratitude:
there’s almost a drizzle
left over from this morning’s shower.
A drought burdened ground absorbs
what my tears welcome.

 

 

 

(c) Gudrun Mouw
June 11, 2015

A Poem

A quote sent to me via one of my students:

Personalities are born once.
A mystic many times….

I am not Shams Tabriz,
But a light within his light.

The poem reminds me of my teacher who passed over a decade ago. His light continues, and is the same within us all.

I still remember the strong scent of rose when Gurudev, unexpectedly leaving his assigned seat, sat down beside me at a movie premier. Earlier, I had been asked to wait, for a time, before I entered the theatre, finally, just before the room went dark, my name not having appeared on the list. I was later than I wanted to be; embarrassed, I sat far in the back.

 

 

To Gurudev, Again

88 years you walked the firm
and the soft
through space thicker than water.

Your father called on your gift
for the rhythm and dance
of words.

You planted seeds unknown to me
until now
a tree of gratitude has grown.

 

 

November 24, 2014

A Poem