escaping into silence

Rumi was a cool dude. He understood something about the mysteries and ecstasies of love. He also liked to write about the moon...

Some Kiss We Want

There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives, the touch

of spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling!

At night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its
face against mine.

Breathe into me. Close
the language-door and open the love-window.
The moon won't use the door,
only the window.

And,

Quietness

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an ax to the prison wall.
Escape. Walk out
like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest
sign that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon comes out now.

And again,

Blessing the Marriage

This marriage be wine with halvah,
honey dissolving in milk.

This marriage be the leaves and fruit
of a date tree. This marriage

be women laughing together for days
on end. This marriage, a sign

for us to study. This marriage,
beauty. This marriage, a moon

in a light blue sky. This marriage,
this silence, fully mixed with spirit.

From Rumi The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

moondrops

I am in such a romantic mood today... must be the aroma of summer in the air. Yes, I know, living in Paradise is all sorts of wonderful. Here is one of my favorite moon poems, written by my very talented friend Wingpoem:

Silver moondrops

On my finger tips
On your waiting lips
In between us slips

In the silver light
In the dark of night
I just know you might

Lean to taste my skin
As I breathe you in
Touch you deep within

Kiss me once
In between
The moondrops

© 2010 Wingpoem

billet doux

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon in my valley and I'm in a perfect mood to contemplate the wondrous ways of the heart. This poem captures my feelings exactly:

Your heart is as strange
as the winds of the moon
I cannot read its dust
But I don’t love you because I would
I love you because I must

© 2010 Chris1249

blame it on the moon

Isn't it amazing how the moon intensifies our emotions? Feeling loving and romantic? Thank the moon. Lonely and shattered? Just...

blame it on the moon
the ruin of the lighthouse
the sinking
of tall ships
wave upon wave of shattering
against the pale and lonely shore

blame it on the moon
the madness of the tides
the currents
of desolation
violent swells intensifying
the screaming of the whales

blame it on the moon
the drowning of the mermaids
the sad rage
of blue dolphins
screeching gulls plummeting
disappearing in ocean’s spray

blame it on the moon
the distance between us
the deafening solitude
of disconnection
the final uncoupling carried
on breath of barren winds

hey, love…
let’s just
blame it on the moon

© 2010 Moon Poems

a hunger for words

I once read that we all have a hunger that is hard to name. After a bit of reflection I decided that for me, the hunger is words.

I hunger for the written word and have an overflowing bookcase to prove it. I cheerily walk right past the shoe shop and the bakery to enter my personal sense of heaven... a bookshop. I can spend hours browsing... and savouring... and admiring...  So many words flowing from so many beautiful minds. What a trip!  What a blessing!

The highway to my heart is poetry. Write me a moon poem and I'm yours...

Silent Night

under stars
you and i
full moon
waves lapping the shore
tropical breeze feels
delicious on the naked skin
yours and mine
all night to get to know you
the taste and smell
and sound of your pleasure
mingled with
night creatures
witnessing in wonder
our wonder
our meeting
our slow exploration
of one another
bodies
minds
tastes
sounds
smells
feel of skin on skin

join me

© 2010 Wingpoem

music of the soul

It is Voltaire who said that poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls. I can not say much about the greatness of my soul as opposed to any other, but I can certainly say that I feel deeply and that words move me in a way that little else does. In fact, words are without a doubt the way to my heart.

The first time I ever read a poem of Pablo Neruda, I fell hopelessly in love with him. (I still am.) These are the words that sang to me:

you know how this is
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals, were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

From If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda

Sad as it may be, I doubt that Pablo's little boats were ever headed my way. But I do wonder if there is someone else out there who could even contemplate such a thing... who would want to be carried my way on the little boats of the everything and the all... Someone who knows how long I have been waiting.