photo composition by me
I have walked in sacred places
Seen colours never seen
Awake have dreamed of mysteries
Of things that ne’r have been
In trees heard music never writ
Of chords that are unknown
In those hidden sacred spaces
Where I journey all alone
Last night my life was woven
Within that sacred knot
Of ages past, forgotten mists
Of nature’s sacred lot
As the mysteries of life unfold
A tie that has no end
Enlightened by that mystic light
Of mysteries veil to rend
On darkest moor, high stones stand
My spirit is set free
As they speak to me of ages past
Touchstones of eternity
They rise upon those mystic lands
If only we might see
That in each secret stone is hid
A gift of nature’s memory.
To stand in dreams on hill top high
To soar above on eagle’s wings
Where visions are no longer hid
And spirits soar as nature sings
Above those lesser things of life
Above its woes and care
As dreams and visions are fulfilled
As we at one with nature share.
As lightning rends the sky at night
And thunder roars in angry swell
As nature groans in agony
Its song of loss – a tale to tell
Within such wondrous beauty there
Where stars are hidden from our sight
The seeds of dawn are gently sown
To bring new beauty with dawn’s light.
To gaze into life’s deep, dark wells
As though into the deepest grave
Of shadows cold – life’s blackest seam
Where hope seems lost – no hope to save
But from within those darkest deeps
New life springs forth in sweetest span
And flows to quench the longing thirst
That dwells within the soul of man.
Or stand beside a river clear
And gaze in wonder as it flows
A myriad of crystal lights
As to its journey’s end it goes
To hear in nature’s gentle breeze
As willows sing in harmony
As nature’s healing gently flows
If only we would hear and see.
Words by © Les Cruttenden, from Insights into Meditation
How often do poems and music combine? Ever since I learned to sing “Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven,” by William Butler Yeats it was always one of my favourite poems/songs, (listen to it here) , closely followed by Robert Frost’s “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening”.
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
sharing with the Daily Post
Ripple and change
paper silk ripple/
caterpillar form no more/
change is in the air
cagèd dove’s heartfelt dreaming/
soaring freedom flight
Sharing with the Weekly Photoku Challenge. The photos are mine.
on winter’s frozen landscape
Spring whisper’d melting
my first attempt at creating a photoku (a visual representation of a written haiku). This week’s haiku had to contain the words ‘whisper’ and ‘sparkle’. The images are all mine.
Sherry, of Collage Obsession, was bemoaning the fact that writing by hand seems to be a lost art so she invited us to share a creation showing handwriting.
the handwritten text in my image is part of a scan of a page from an old poetry book I found in a flea market in Belgium. Many of the pages have poems (in French) copied on to them in painstaking handwritten script. Copying such poems into books was one of the pasttimes of genteel ladies in days gone by. This entry is dated 4 October 1888. The owner of the book was a young lady called Adele and her initials are monogrammed on the cover of the book.
texture is Kim’s ‘cherished scripted’
the poem “the life that I have” was written by Leo Marks for Violet Szabo, a secret agent working for the UK. The poem contained a coded message.
“Hello, sun in my face. Hello you who made the morning and spread it over the fields…Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness.” — Mary Oliver
And what is life? A crazy quilt; Sorrow and joy, and grace and guilt, With here and there a square of blue For some old happiness we knew; And so the hand of time will take The fragments of our lives and make, Out of life’s remnants, as they fall, A thing of beauty, after all. (Excerpt from “A Crazy Quilt” by Douglas Malloch)
“Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a manner of traveling.” – Margaret Lee Runbeck, creative writer
The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us. – Ashley Montagu
There are short-cuts to happiness, and dancing is one of them. – Vicki Baum
Gulten, my oriental dance teacher, dancing her heart out
Visit Ese’s Voice to see how other people interpreted this theme.
In loving memory of Graham Cleverley who died recently and who wrote this beautiful piece for his wife Jo Anne.
“New Year 1993”
When in the evening comes the time
for memories and dreams
We remember different dawns
and different days
We only share the setting sun.
But if your morning
was not my morning
When your sun peaked it did not shine
on me nor mine on you
Yet we share the setting sun.
And more for we shall share
the dreaming and the memory time
In the evening when the sun has gone.
(used by kind permission of Jo Anne)
What memories came to your mind?
“Silence on a hill where the path ended
and then the forest below
moving in one long whisper
as evening touched the leaves.” William Stafford
Thoughts rest your wings …. Here is a hollow of silence, a nest of stillness in which to hatch your dreams – Joan Walsh Aglund
Did you interpret ‘silence’ this week? Go to Ese’s blog to read more posts.