NJ is 'The Poetry State'

Poet or not - This is a place where those who are inclined to poetry can post and share those inspired works with others. Please take the time to share a poem, a quote, a story, yours or another's, and/or simply read and enjoy the poetry, etc. posted here.

Kind comments appreciated.

Namaste.

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  • April is National Poetry Month and was introduced in 1996 - organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States.  It sponsors a P0em-a-Day on its Website and below is today's selection by Kirk Wilson:

    I kept my life in a small room
    with pale blue walls
    and brought it back
    little presents from the world

    This is for you I would say
    This is for you

    Sometimes the gifts
    died in my hands
    and often I could not pay
    the price of their redemption

    I could never be sure
    they were appreciated or how much
    they wanted to be in the place
    where I had brought them

    The room filled with less and less
    space to breathe so instead of gifts
    I began to bring stories
    that did not end but slipped away
    around corners and over horizons

    I brought premonitions
    and resistance to closure and left
    at the end of each day
    looking for more

    Poem-a-Day | Academy of American Poets

    National Poetry Month - Wikipedia

    Academy of American Poets
    The Academy of American Poets is a national, member-supported organization that promotes poets and the art of poetry. The nonprofit organization was…
  • The Dark Night Of My Soul
     
    Last night the demon dweller came knocking at my door.
    It was because I left the Light for darkness more and more.
     
    He roared because I had woken him from his slumber of the day.
    The surrender of my ego spirit the price I had to pay.
     
    You cannot escape me; he snarled with thunderous might.
    I wondered how it got this far; could I withstand the fight?
     
    The dweller reached my very soul; my blood like ice became.
    It was than my mind discovered this demon knew my name.
     
    I searched  my heart for answers; in desperation looked within.
    The dweller made me realize he fed on ego, lies, and sin.
     
    From this nightmare I will awaken; this simply cannot be.
    Soon the long night will be ending something inside kept telling me.
     
    The minutes passed to hours as the dweller shook the door.
    The darkness was overwhelming in my eternity of gore.
     
    I heard the rattling of his chains; felt the fire and brimstone;
    The horrible stench of burning flesh; that might soon be my own.
     
    This never ceasing hopelessness became a part of me.
    Hold On! Hold On! For Goodness Sake; the best is yet to be.
     
    It seemed like an eternity; this Dark Night Of My Soul.
    My heart wrenched from its moorings as the dweller ate it whole.
     
    It was then I had a vision; a tiny spark of light.
    My room no more in darkness; my salvation now in sight.
     
    The door soon stopped its shaking; the demon dweller gone for good.
    My life will now begin anew; in the Light and Brotherhood.
     
    There will be Karmic restitution, I learned from this Vision Quest.
    I am now a humble servant; coming thru the Cosmic test.
  • The following video is a reading of a poem - THE GREAT REALIZATION - by Tomos Robert - and how the Covid Virus changed the world in a good way:

    The Great Realization | Storytime Read Aloud - YouTube

    "Tell me the one about the virus again, then I'll go to bed..." It's storytime! The Great Realization, Tomos Robert’s message of hope and resilience during the coronavirus pandemic, has resonated with millions online. Now he’s partnered with award-winning illustrator Nomoco to bring his inspirational poem into a beautiful picture book that’s perfect for anyone, of any age, who needs to see why hindsight is 2020.

  • This is another poem that Oriah Mountain Dreamer used in her book What We Ache For - besides really liking the poem - the last two lines I really love and will take to heart.

    Things to Think, by Robert Bly

     
    Think in ways you've never thought before
    If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
    Larger than anything you've ever heard,
    Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.

    Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
    Maybe wounded and deranged: or think that a moose
    Has risen out of the lake, and he's carrying on his antlers
    A child of your own whom you've never seen.

    When someone knocks on the door, think that he's about
    To give you something large: tell you you're forgiven,
    Or that it's not necessary to work all the time, or that it's
    Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
  • From the Daily readings of the 13th Century Persian poet Rumi as translated by Coleman Barks - The Treasure's Nearness:

    071507+016web.jpg
     
    A man searching for spirit-treasure
    cannot find it, so he is praying.
     
    A voice inside says, You were given
    the intuition to shoot an arrow
    and then to dig where it landed,
    but you shot with all your archery skill.
     
    You were told to draw the bow
    with only a fraction of your ability.
     
    What you are looking for
    is nearer than the big vein
    on your neck. Let the arrow drop.
     
    Do not exhaust yourself
    like the philosophers who strain to shoot
    the high arcs of their thought-arrows.
     
    The more skill you use,
    the farther you will be
    from what your deepest love wants.
  • Soror Sandra Norton - one of several contributors to the various poetry threads - found the following poem by Rumi - who is a favorite of many - but having difficulty in uploading it here - sent it along to me and asked me to do it for her - so here it is:

    The Guest House

    This being human is a guest house.
    Every morning a new arrival.
    A joy, a depression, a meanness,
    some momentary awareness comes
    as an unexpected visitor.
    Welcome and entertain them all!
    Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
    who violently sweep your house
    empty of its furniture,
    still, treat each guest honorably.
    He may be clearing you out
    for some new delight.
    The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
    meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
    Be grateful for whatever comes.
    because each has been sent
    as a guide from beyond.

    — Jellaludin Rumi,
    translation by Coleman Barks

  • The author/poetess Oriah Mountain Dreamer likes to refer to the poetry of others to make a point in several chapters of her book The Dance.  The following - by the Sufi poet Hafiz - was found in Chap 5:

    It Felt Love

    How
    Did the rose
    Ever open its heart

    And give to this world
    All its
    Beauty?

    It felt the encouragement of light
    Against its
    Being,

    Otherwise,
    We all remain

    Too
    Frightened.

    –  Hāfiz e Shīrāz

    Rose - Light Yellow Center with Deep Red Edges

  • This poem by Dylan Thomas is posted in observance of Memorial Day - May 25, 2020:

    Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

    Dylan ThomasBy Dylan Thomas More Dylan Thomas

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Dylan Thomas, Famous Poet - Family Friend Poems
    Dylan Thomas was born on October 27, 1914 in Swansea, South Wales. While his parents spoke both English and Welsh, he wrote in English. Thomas wa…
  • 2013 - The following poem was written by a Frater "Across the Pond" - he has given permission to post it here - and it is done in remembrance of Veterans everywhere and all who have come before:
     
    Meeting in Time
     
    The Anahata sound arises in a forlorn heart
    As another soul returns to its dwelling place above
    And its note seeks its corresponding note
    In both rthythm and chord across the Space below.
     
    A song sings the name of its beloved
    Upon and across the crests of time
    Knowing not when its notes
    Will form the melody once more.
     
    In Infinity is Cosmic Immensity
    In Eternity are the unlimited spirals of time
    Mentally constructed by Man
    Removed by Love and rhyme.
     
    The cross of matter is both cruel and benevolent
    But joy divine returns to that human heart
    Which finds its true voice in their other,
    Where melody begins once more.
     
    Tears of remembrance drop
    Like torrents in a sacred well
    The sounds finally blend like blood and wine
    To be drunk in loving verse.
    Image result for red remembrance poppy image
  • Love at First Bite

    It was the tender age of seven
    When the introduction was made.
    Me -  a young, naive city-girl
    For this encounter ready-made.
     
     I remember the evening so clearly,
    Muggy summer heat what I recall,
    When in walked my Uncle Louie,
    And what was to be my downfall.
     
    He carried a big box so gently,
    Then opened it for us kids to see.
    We looked inside in child-like wonder,
    At what was soon to be eaten with glee.
     
    What we saw was a cheesy circle,
    Covered with meats of all kind,
    With colorful veggies in the mix,
    A treat to boggle the mind.
     
    Where was the garbage?, I wondered,
    For he had called it a garbage pie.
    Then a piece to each was given,
    With my first bite - out came a sigh.
     
    From that day forward,
    A fan of Pizza I became.
    Pepperoni on thin-crust my favorite,
    Jersey pie the best is my claim.
     
     
    Related image
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