55.) Legends Carry Truth Where Unbelief Cannot Harm

Legends carry truth where unbelief

Cannot harm;

There is no doubting of a tale

That bears witness by its own inner mark;

Its inner strength can be relied upon

To explain reality and by resisting it
            Never weaken it;

He who would parry ancient legend to 

Suit himself sets himself a god against the light

Sent only to lighten him and set him free.


                                  *

I have 2 Blogs:
1)   The Holy Grail of Life
2)   Amethyst Poetry

           *

54.) I Saw And In The Seeing Cried . . .

I saw – and in the seeing – cried:

The apple rotted on the tree

Which was taken – from it

And by even the most innocent heart

If it was desired in deceit:

Taken – it died – and the source, too

The tree least eaten of – the life-tree

That – was seldom seen

And even more – seldom eaten of:

Apples of gold are too costly by far

Which steal from us

To us give light and life

It was the one still feasted on

That was multiplied – within us

Which gave us rotten life

Fruit we thought we wanted –

Self’s wisdom, its own knowledge

And so I saw – and in my seeing, cried.

      *

53.) The Finder Is Quite Another Person

The finder is quite another person

From those who follow him;

Those who trail after

Lay hands on what he has done

Till the silver catch is pillaged

That was set apart in wonder.

There are always those in pursuit

Who know more . . .

And as those purple pigeons fly

Race to take the message home;

For whether by stealth or right

The lighted-beauty shall be known.

     *

52.) How Many Times Had I Gazed . . .

How many times had I gazed

At the diamond on my finger?

If I had looked at it a thousand times

I knew it was not too much

For I saw more of love each time

And clearer . . .

So, perhaps, a thought returned to

Brings clarity . . .

And a deeper knowing each time . . .

And that any gifted diadem of hardness

Gazed at the second time, or the third

Would bring greater insight

Loose a new level of light . . .

And then another layer of mystery

Would be unravelled?

                               *

51.) I Knew Now Where My Words Would Find Their Mark . . .

I knew now where my words would find their mark

And work for good

And leave those who were not ‘there’ in peace

To find their own way back

How could the treasure make for a lovely thing

If I didn’t couch it in loveliness?

Find for it some melody that would lift and please?

The chart I’d hid – which led to their shining goal

I knew where it would be found – that map that led

To the tryst-nest of the lighted-beauty:

The thing that mattered – it was in the dark Hill.

Ten paces past the sight of what we thought we knew

Twenty past the sounds of our earthly soul

Forty beyond the bitter taste of any sting in the flesh

One hundred above the selfish touch of any humankind

The sign of the pivot on the map showed the place

On the ground below the Utter, which bore the spirit up.

Though a thing of night – my net cast across the heavens

With its catch – as the silver flash and sparkle of little fish

These leaping stars – they stood out to lead the way here

But so faint, behind the shoulder of my Hill – would they see?

*

50.) In The Dark I Threw It . . .

In the dark I threw it . . .

I hid it in the darkest vales

Lest any finding it, twist it

And twisting hurt their own heart

Though they’d never know it

They would never feel the bite.

In the dark I threw it . . .

Where the eagles would never

Tear them, or make them their prey.

They need not suffer who refused it

They need only shut their own eyes

Who would find it.

Into shapes of pulling beauty

I threw it . . .

Into forms of drawing loveliness

I put it . . .

Where in truth it would not harm

Nor let in those who were not there.

     *

49.) Again and again I tried . . .

Again and again I tried it, tried to give

And to share . . . to foster on them

All my hard won cryptic treasure.

I wrote my letter to them

And they answered me not a word

I sent my book to them

And they could answer me nothing . . .

Not even a one word

Or else, one to lie, albeit unknowingly

And tell me it was easy

When it had cost me my whole life

To write it

Yet . . . had they accepted it . . .

It would tear them, too, to give them

Everything . . .

All of everything they could ever desire

For knowing it, themselves, they missed it

For thinking they had it, they lost it

They did nothing but hide it from themselves

Where they thought they had it

So I hung up my harp where they threw it.

           *

48.) Where None Can Follow I Was Taken

Where none can follow

I was taken

Where none can hear

I went

I tell it them – straight

And they run away afraid

Where they cannot see

I live

Where they cannot know

I know nothing

And know

I speak it them – plainly

And they run away afraid

What was left me but to

Hide it?

What was given me but to

Wrap it up, and bury it?

Tie it tight in ruby ringlings

Fold my hated lines in

Un-weighted silver

Take the pall and with it

Weave a gladder thing

Lose the piercing spear

In mystic honey

I show it them – openly

And they run away afraid

It's all because I love too much

47.) I Hid It In The Valleys . . .

I hid it in the valleys

In the singing lines of Wales

I hid it in the crystal halls

Above the glint of censure

I put it where the seraph goes

Beyond the trek of men

On the hills above the rooftops

I hung my hallowed harp

Where the ringlings run

I tied the tale

Where the fallow deer go past

Where the linnet sings

And sunlight plays

I hide my hallowed harp

Should the sunshine fade

Should solace wane

The fields of love grow cold

The sooner found the lines I hid

The nearer held their help

Where dark comes streaming

Down the vales

I have my hallowed harp

 *

46.) At Daybreak The Dew Lies Still . . .

At daybreak the dew lies still 

Upon my fragrant herbs

And sparkles in their silver songs

The sun rises above the sky-edge

And delights the lark

Upward its listening heart is drawn

By the light of it

Till, by some endless enclosing,

Sense loses its reaching soul, for spirit,

And the merely straight

For a life that twirls as it flies.

      *

45.) At Dusk The Mist Rises From The Ground . . .

At dusk the mist rises from the ground

And moistens the field

The sun sinks below the sky-edge

And satisfies the seeing heart

Upward our listening eyes are lifted

By the pull of it

Till by its careful capturing

Sight loses this its first land for the sky

And the merely straight

For a life that flies.

   *

44.) In The Hollow Of Every Hill . . .

In the hollow of every hill

There was ingress

In the cradle of every cloud

Was the door

From the echo in the world that

Held the key

Could be known the entering

In-ways of the light.

In the hill that is my hardship

Came my help

In the cloud that wore me constant

Was my sight

All the natural things around me

Were my gifts

They told me all I needed

Which was life.

For every ill there was

A cure

For every heartache there was

A joy

For every mystery that ever

Bound me

I known a welcome

Could be found inside it.

                      *

43.) I Don't Ask . . .

I don’t ask for a life of ease, or to beg a crust

Nor do I ask for that which will profit me

But will take from me instead to profit another

It is for a poured-out life, I yearn – more – I plead

That the life in my depths be as the source of a star

For what would I be in this world other than a light?

If my life was not as a burning beacon it was as nothing.

If, I could ask for what I long for, it would be this:

To be a spring – where others could drink from

And be replenished

To be bread – from which any may happily eat

And be strengthened

To be a voice – such as any who hear it might rejoice

And find fit company in inimitable loneliness.

Not only am I fit to serve when I am strong

But when I am weak

This then is my hope, that strength be not my own

For this alone works miracles.

Any influence of power is as much to be felt

In the dark black ebb tides of my life

As in the sunlit days of life upon the flood

The same pull that takes the sea, returns it.

If strength could be received, in return

For faith and hope in these few child-words,

Then would I be full, and my work done.

                                    *

                               

42.) It Can Be Given That Water Flies In Pattern . . .

It can be given that water flies in pattern

Just as perfectly so as it does in snowflakes

Through an upward spray of flying rain I saw it

The falling shapes of drops in a pattern of arcs

Like the tight-bound-shape of grains I’d seen –

As so many spearheads of life, aligned together.

It was strange, but even fanned water spoke of it –

The wheat – that was the picture of completeness.

In one drop that fell – in one grain that entered in

The parts of wholeness were complete, too

Seed of my turned-thoughts – entry points of light

Life, because they were turned, up-flown and fallen.

Even blinding blasts of upward fanning winds

Spoke of smallest parts – being as great as the whole;

And the shooting spray drops – before they fell –

Beaded diamond necklets – even these had their tongue

And spoke to me of that which alone was taken up –

Gifted chains of water wisdom – whispering to me.

                             *

41.) Joys Await The Brave . . .

Joys await the brave and give their other-sight

So it was I saw the wheat – the single stalk

The picture – it cannot be more plainly given

The sign in the glass – the glass in the pool

The pool in the whirlwind – and that

In the midst of me – in my world made new.

Stepping back I had the joy in owning nothing

Knew the gloried end in my knowing nothing:

And free – no guard against any take from me

Naked – no armour against self’s lust in me

The sight of it alone freed me to own it

And owning it – squarely to turn from it

And learn from it – with all joy unspeakable

That I – I – truly was nothing and utterly corrupt

And I knew it – accepted it – and was glad for it:

I walked amongst the eagles as their carrion

I ran with his dead body as an empty carcass

No will my own I owned my own freedom

Flew the lowly heights above the barrier skin:

I had never heard – by any page of many words

The thing was mine to know time out of mind.

  *