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Reflections

Category: Poetry

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To my Beloved

Happy 15th Anniversary my Love!  Take it away Pablo . . . ______ Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because — because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the

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“In your light. . .”

In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art. -Rumi Monday night I went to the cemetery to meet my friend and writing/teaching partner Betsey Beckman who has created a video of her Mary Magdalene storydance (will be available early 2010).  She had asked me to come film some still shots of her for the cover. I absolutely love cemeteries and am used to having strange and serendipitidous encounters there.  As we finished shooting,

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“Today is such a day”

On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty. Today is such a day. -Rumi ** Our next Poetry Party will be on Monday! ** © Christine Valters Paintner at Abbey of the Arts: Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts

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Secret Spaces of Your Heart

What’s In The Temple? In the quiet spaces of my mind a thought lies still, but ready to spring. It begs me to open the door so it can walk about. The poets speak in obscure terms pointing madly at the unsayable. The sages say nothing, but walk ahead patting their thigh calling for us to follow. The monk sits pen in hand poised to explain the cloud of unknowing. The seeker seeks, just around the corner from the truth. If she stands still it will catch up with her. Pause with us here a while. Put your ear to

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Will you go with me to visit the soul?

From the door sill of a dream they called my name… It was the good voice, the voice I loved so much. “-Listen,” said the voice. “Will you go with me to visit the soul?…” And a soft stroke reached up and touched my heart. “With you always” … And in my dream I walked Down a long and solitary corridor, Aware of the touching of the pure robe, And the soft beating of blood in the hand that loved me. -Antonio Machado, from Times Alone: Selected Poetry of Antonio Machado (edited by Robert Bly)

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Monet Refuses the Operation

Doctor, you say there are no haloes around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my life to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels, to soften and blur and finally banish the edges you regret I don’t see, to learn that the line I called the horizon does not exist and sky and water, so long apart, are the same state of being. Fifty-four years before I could see Rouen cathedral is built of parallel shafts of sun, and

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The Last Wolf

The last wolf hurried toward me through the ruined city and I heard his baying echoes down the steep smashed warrens of Montgomery Street and past the few ruby-crowned highrises left standing their lighted elevators useless Passing the flicking red and green of traffic signals baying his way eastward in the mystery of his wild loping gait closer the sounds in the deadly night through clutter and rubble of quiet blocks I heard his voice ascending the hill and at last his low whine as he came floor by empty floor to the room where I sat in my narrow

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