Poems that I love

by Rumi Lightning falling on the helpless, a surge of pearl out of the rock covering the rock, this life torn into a hundred pieces, and one of those pieces a ticket to let me back into my life. A spirit world divided into eight sections, one a scroll. Eight scrolls in the parchment of your face. What kind of bird am I becoming, kneeling like a camel, pecking at the fire like an ostrich? You and I have worked in the same shop for years. Our loves are great fellow workers. Friends cluster there, and every moment we notice a new light coming out in the sky. Invisible, yet taking form, like Christ coming through Mary. In the cradle, God. Shams, why this inconsistency that we live with love, and yet we run away? Coleman Barks trans. For more poems by Hafiz and Rumi..

by Jellaludin Rumi I've broken through to longing Now, filled with a grief I have Felt before, but never like this. The center leads to love. Soul opens the creation core. Hold on to your particular pain. That too can take you to God. Coleman Barks trans. For more poems by Hafiz and Rumi..

by Hafiz for Morgan I know the voice of depression Still calls to you. I know those habits that can ruin your life Still send their invitations. But you are with the Friend now And look so much stronger. You can stay that way And even bloom! Keep squeezing drops of the Sun From your prayers and work and music And from your companions' beautiful laughter. Keep squeezing drops of the Sun From the sacred hands and glance of your Beloved And, my dear, From the most insignificant movements Of your own holy body. Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins That may buy you just a moment of pleasure, But then drag you for days Like a broken man Behind a farting camel. You are with the Friend now. Learn what actions of yours delight Him, What actions of yours bring freedom And Love. Whenever you say God's name, dear pilgrim, My ears wish my head was missing So they could finally kiss each other And applaud all your nourishing wisdom!

1) In old age I'm back to childhood pleasures. A bowl in the ground - Just add water- it's a pool! Throughout the night frogs croaked til it dawned as they did when I fished as a child at Feng-k'ou. 2) Who says you can't make a pond out of a bowl? The lotus sprig I planted not long ago has already grown full size. Don't forget, if it rains stop in for a visit. Together we'll listen to raindrops splash on all the green leaves. 3) Come morning, the water brightens as if by magic. One moment alive with thousands of bugs too small to have names, Next moment they're gone, leaving no trace, Only the small fish, this way and that, swim in formations. 4) Does the bowl in the garden mock nature when night after night green frogs gather to prove it's a pool? If you choose to come and keep me company need you fill the dark with  noise and endless squabble like husband and wife? 5) Say the bright pond mirrors the sky, both blue. If I pour w

by Mary Oliver Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light. It was what I was born for - to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world - to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation. Nor am I talking about the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant - but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations. Oh, good scholar, I say to myself, how can you help but grow wise with such teachings as these - the untrimmable light of the world, the ocean's shine, the prayers that are made out of grass? If you want to read more of Mary Oliver’s poems, here are some that I like.

by Gil Scott-Heron (1949-2011) You will not be able to stay home, brother. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out. You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, Skip out for beer during commercials, Because the revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox In 4 parts without commercial interruptions. The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolut

by Robinson Jeffers It flows out of mystery into mystery: there is no beginning— How could there be? And no end—how could there be? The stars shine in the sky like the spray of a wave Rushing to meet no shore, and the great music Blares on forever, but to us very soon It will be blind. Not we, nor our children nor the human race Are destined to live forever, the breath will fail, The eyes will break—perhaps of our own explosive vile Vented upon each other—or a stingy peace Makes parents fools—but far greater witnesses Will take our places. It is only a little planet But how beautiful it is.