Tag: Poetry

Swami Sivananda recommended that courage is a good quality to meditate on during the month of March. For me, this has turned out to be difficult to implement.

First of all, there is the task of examining fears regarding the state of the world, regarding the experience of pain, regarding the aging process, regarding traveling loved ones, and so on. However, when fear becomes chronic, I also know that anxiety and other disorders are not far behind. And so it comes down to recognizing the power of choice.

Embracing choice means choosing to acknowledge fear, no doubt, but also transforming the contraction of fear into an expanded awareness where courage can thrive. Now, the month almost over, another storm is expected. Wind rises. Grey clouds stretch out in long lines with hints of light penetrating, and the friend to courage becomes hope.

Gudrun

The Spiritual Journey

1.
I’m on a mission uphill,
downhill, back and forth,
I refuse to fall into myself,

to sink. Cold
may contract
all it wants.

Breath lifts and lifts,
I raise my face to sun
like a prayer.

2.
In that space between rain
after rain, after rain,
I stand on wet grass,

close my eyes, hear happy birds,
see the play of red and gold
behind lids, radiance.

3.
When anger crosses the street
and makes a sharp left,
I am relieved.

I check the slider and two doors;
one was not locked.

I sit by a west window and enjoy
bright afternoon light
almost warm.

………..
Gudrun Mouw (c)
March 1, 2017

A Poem

I would like to be able to celebrate the news that From Ashes Into Light has won two more awards. How can this be done when the world is reeling and in shock?

I realize, after the presidential election, that my book reads like advance warning. There are things to ask ourselves, and From Ashes Into Light brings up some of these issues in stark ways. I am reminded of the Dylan line: “The times they are a changing.” And the change can be frightening.

I am reading Ge’rard De Nerval from 1854. The poem called Golden Lines begins with a quote from Pythagoras, “Astonishing! Everything is Intelligent!” Yes, I agree, we are swimming in consciousness. Still, what we do with that consciousness/intelligence makes all the difference.

The Romantic Poets responded to difficult times by turning to nature. This was an “Attack on the Old System,” according to Robert Bly in his News of the Universe poems of twofold consciousness.

How will poets respond to our current era? In many different ways, surely, unless an overwhelming movement develops in the genre.

               Morning Cold

Instead of pushing against cold,

muscles contract until

they become aware of themselves

after shock.

Many months of drought, at last, rain;

rain turned to tears.

I wear yellow to remember the sun,

to ward off complacency.

(C) Gudrun Mouw

November, 2016

A Poem From Ashes Into Light

we-are-three-9780961891602I am again reading Rumi, We Are Three: Translations by Coleman Barks. Inside the back cover, I find a gift.

I had written a poem there, dated 4.21.1991, and there was also a revision on the facing page, dated 5.28.2002. I smile thinking of that saying, “A Poem is Never Finished, Only Abandoned.” Since I don’t much like the word abandoned, I reconsider.

This poem will not be abandoned, because I find myself working on another revision as my memory of that long ago day becomes vivid:

The Santa Barbara Bird Refuge

A goose stands on one leg at water’s edge;
it’s long neck stretches over a glassy sheen,
and a squat duck on one leg,
pecks under its wings.

Similarities and differences jostle
to make an imprint on my perception.
Feathers ruffle in the wind.

A silver cloud floats across the sky
like a large, slow barge.
The carnival of my mind
shuts down.

And the longing for which I yearn,
bursts into into light
like a golden swan rising up.

A Poem Journal Entry

Today, Only Today



I wait, but July is quiet. 
A woodpecker taps until suspension 

creates a ringing sound 
that something may soon arrive. 

The slider cracks open 
to remind me, 

though yesterday held my head in a vice,
I will not anticipate tomorrow.




July 14, 2016
(C) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

Music Within

The radio transmits sounds I cannot
integrate. I push the button off;
a lyric rises inside, playing
an energetic silence.

Words unsaid create pitch, vibrate
and color the atmosphere.
We are disconnected, or
connected to melody,

something between the letters,
beyond articulation,
expectation, or fear 
waiting to be heard.




4.16.16
(c) Gudrun Mouw

			

A Poem