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Post by anirbas on Aug 21, 2006 18:01:50 GMT -6
Not long ago, a friend
from near or far, I know
queried: what is spirituality?
Where do you look?
I only know, it isn't titled, or in a book.
As long as hope and faith
are given shelter in the heart
there will be a new day.
A fresh start.
Spirituality is to share
in physical acts,
thoughts and prayer.
No need to prophesy and preach.
Simply, out your hand reach
to those in your world.
You be you!
Let me be me.
And them be whomever
they may be.
That is spirituality.
Sabrina Kaye Henderson
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Post by Juan Castrocafe on Aug 23, 2006 8:38:51 GMT -6
you have been saving yourself for a place like this...mmm mmm good, better than Campbell's soup!
johnm
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Post by anirbas on Sept 3, 2006 20:02:01 GMT -6
shut up...not...you're to funny...that's an old piece from the old place, I pulled trying to fill the place, til the rest of the poetically creative nestlings started landing in the eagle's arye in the clouds...LOL... have you seen some of our nestmates brain gases, LW? delicious snacks, breakfasts, lunch, dinners and desserts of cypherical offerings, all over! nothing like where some of us, flew in from, yes? i keep trying to get in as much as possible to read them all around my "Nirland" activities...  |
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Post by anirbas on Sept 10, 2006 23:10:30 GMT -6
~The Standard We get up. We stagger. We stumble. We fall. We crawl. Over and over, as humans. That's all... ~Sabrina. |
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Post by dawness on Sept 18, 2006 3:20:04 GMT -6
yes, sabs... nothing like expresion the higher self to the higher power. graces and huggs!  a very comforting thread! |
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Post by glenn on Sept 18, 2006 12:37:33 GMT -6
good stuff, 'Nir
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Post by anirbas on Sept 19, 2006 20:17:38 GMT -6
Thank you, Glenn. |
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Post by bichsa on Sept 21, 2006 7:25:04 GMT -6
Well put and said! peace to you my spiritual friend!
peace!
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Post by anirbas on Sept 25, 2006 23:01:24 GMT -6
Cheryl! I didn't know you'd slipped by...I don't get into this section, often enough... Good to see you and thanks, lady! Nir. |
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Post by dawness on Oct 7, 2006 18:18:29 GMT -6
what is a body
a heart without
a soul
that searches for some meaning
some light in the shadows
of brooding , doubting faith.
i call the spirit within us.
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Post by anirbas on Oct 16, 2006 9:57:25 GMT -6
Beautiful, Aurora...I love it...Thanks for sharing it here...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------*
~The Standard
We get up.
We stagger.
We stumble.
We fall.
We crawl.
Over and over,
as humans.
That's all...
~Sabrina.
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Post by anirbas on Jan 3, 2007 22:28:33 GMT -6
dissonance
of disparagement
voices raised in judgement
fingers pointing in abhorrence
will not bring back that which is gone...
no one to atone with the smack of a stone,
thrown from a perfect hand...no need to blame another...
for not being as we thought they should be and were...
perfect...infallible...there are no gods, amongst us...
only wanna be heroes with earthbound feet of clay...
we are each responsible for our own happiness,
and kleenexing the boogers hanging
from the tips of our noses;
as well as keeping up
with our own lives
and the things
and the thoughts
we accumulate
in it...
as adult humans,
our first responsibilty,
is look after ourselves,
so no one else has to bear
the brunt or the burden of doing so...
our second responsiblity,
is to look after each other...
and to realize...
dissonance
of disparagement
voices raised in judgement
fingers pointing in abhorrence
will not bring back that which is gone...
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Post by glenn on Jan 4, 2007 14:54:35 GMT -6
I like the way this last poem circles around and begins again -- kind of reflects the way we journey on and on.
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Post by soulfir3 on Jan 4, 2007 15:13:56 GMT -6
gorgeous writings within this thread. bravo!
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Post by anirbas on Jan 4, 2007 19:34:27 GMT -6
Thanks Glenn and Soul! Nir. |
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Post by anirbas on Jan 20, 2007 2:03:31 GMT -6
together...just you and me...
us, them, the "others"...
are you listening? i said, together...
i'll take your hand...
you take my hand...
we don't need a god
or a belief system to do that...
we don't need a bible, a quran, a talmud, the collected stories
of the Brother's Grimm, to join hands, to care to share,
to share to care, to simply be human, to and with one another...
all we need do is to remember, first and foremost...
we were and are,
born into the human family...
no matter the color of our skin;
the culture and nation
we are born into;
nor the gender
or sexual orientation,
we are born into,
as far as that goes...
none of that matters...
it's all window dressing...
surface veneer...
we are of the human
family, first and foremost...
remember? i do...do you feel me
reaching out, fingers stretching like my thoughts,
to touch your hand, to take it in mine? and say, welcome
home, sister...welcome home, brother...welcome, home...
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Post by anirbas on Jan 24, 2007 9:53:15 GMT -6
I've never climbed a mountain in Nepal,
America or Rumania; nor anywhere else for that matter...
But, I still think of myself, as a mountain climber...
I've crawled steep slopes on redded, ripped knees...
Tiptoed and edged my way around the sheer
dropped crags and faces of cliffs...
To reach peaks and pinnacles
inside myself...Mentally,
emotionally and spiritually...
Literally and symbolically...
I've found it's as hard
to breathe the thin
air of the icy
heigths
within
oneself;
as well,
as outside.
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Post by Sam on Jan 24, 2007 12:38:19 GMT -6
Truer words have never been spoken!!!
Sam
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Post by DavidMc on Jan 24, 2007 17:34:57 GMT -6
Your plant began with strong roots and now it's starting to bloom |
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Post by anirbas on Feb 18, 2007 23:56:20 GMT -6
I didn't know you two had been by here...
Good to know...Just made this henny penny,
grin like a corn fed ginny...I mean, really...
And now I'm crying...I must be going hormonal, again...LOL...
Or that's my story and I'm sticking to it...What you both said inspired
and uplifted me...That's a good thing...Thanks millions! Sabrina.
~*~
I feel the lights of your souls...
Drifting past me up and down the halls...
Each of you in turn that shares the burn of wick and wax;
the waste of ink and paper with me throughout day
or deep into the night, to write, write, write...
Each of you is dear to me...
Priceless individual treasure,
peerless, without measure...
I feel the lights of your souls...
Drifting past me up and down the halls...
And I am comforted, given solace and asylum...
Amongst the herd I most feel at peace with...
Where I'm just another joe, not an oddity...
Just another poet amongst many poets...
My spirit at home hanging out with my kind...
The chosen kith and kin of my very soul...
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Post by anirbas on Feb 19, 2007 21:51:21 GMT -6
I love...
the rythmn of life...
everflowing...overflowing...
receding...waxing and waning...
I love...
the dark moments as much as the light...
moving from the bends and curves to the shallows...
one moment on an even keel, the next,
feeling as though I'm headed to the gallows...
I love...
that I don't perceive life as a circle,
or a square, or a straight line...
life is a spiral...a tornado...
a moving screw with a mind of it's own...
twisting and writhing up and down...
down and up...up and down...down and up...
I love...
that no matter what I believe, individually...
life continually does it's own thing...
just keeps on keeping on...
spiraling up and down...
down and up...up
and down...down
and up...
I love...
the rythmn of life...
everflowing...overflowing...
receding...waxing and waning...
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Post by DavidMc on Feb 20, 2007 0:32:53 GMT -6
what is a body a heart without a soul that searches for some meaning some light in the shadows of brooding , doubting faith. i call the spirit within us. Beautiful thread ... I particularly enjoyed the above piece. Love, David |
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Post by soulfir3 on Feb 20, 2007 2:18:17 GMT -6
seeing inside the light,
i am caught by the beauty of a vision
angels with silken wings
dancing over clouds
a skyline littered with stars
making music with their cosmic thrums
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Post by anirbas on Feb 27, 2007 10:06:25 GMT -6
I've been remiss... Thank you all for sharing in this thread! Your offerings honor it! And being of a somewhat gluttonous nature, yes, I am... I can't resist asking, got more?  |
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Post by anirbas on Mar 16, 2007 23:11:06 GMT -6
~Saving Face [?]
*don't know if the title fits*
I see them, in the streets...
Eyes dark and hollowed out with need...
Scruffy and dirty to the point of being odiferous,
if one stood in their three feet of space...
One rides an old rust riddled bicycle;
a milk crate, tied with rope to the front of it;
an American flag, waving jauntily from the back;
as he rides the highway, looking for the refuse
of society, to bring him some comfort of a home...
A home he makes beneathe a bridge,
or behind a restuarant in town,
curled up against the trash dumpster...
The other, is equally poor in worldly goods;
no home to call his own, but the bosom
of Mother Earth...He works at odd jobs,
sweeping convenience store parking lots,
doing random yard work, or cleaning
up for the auction house, across
the street...A tiny, dark man, not even
as tall as I am...Hair black and greasy,
from not having a shower...When not working,
at odd jobs, in this tiny burg, one sees
him sitting on the side of the road,
in the shade of an elm or oak tree;
or coming out from under a tangled
thicket of scrub, after taking
a nap...He hasn't a home
or anyone to care for him...
And yet he always waves,
and smiles beautifically,
when one passes him,
on the highway.
I see them in the streets...
Eyes dark and hollowed out with need...
And wish there was more, I could do for them...
These people, called the dregs of society...
The unknown homeless...
I hand them money,
when I have it extra...
I save soda cans, and give
them to the little Mexican man,
that roams the fields,
sleeping beneathe,
the starry scattered
and strewn night sky...
Somehow, it doens't seem to be enough...
But, I do what I can, when I can...
And sometimes, I cry for them...
Praying never to be, in their place...
With people acting like I'm unknown,
invisible, without a face to save...
~Sabrina.
10/2005
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Post by anirbas on Mar 19, 2007 23:31:58 GMT -6
Cooled by the exhaled breath of the evening
I stand on the planet that is my world.
Breeze blows the smoke rising
from my lit cigarette, to and fro...
To and fro...A surreal bundle of sage...
Hanging from my long fingers...
The hands of an excellent cotton picker...
Or a piano or violin player, as the case may be...
I look into the star pocked and pitted
face of the universe, all that is and isn't...
And may yet be, as fast as new data pours in these days...
Asking questions, expecting no answers...
What next? What do I do next?
Especially the next moment?
What do I do next? What next? What?
Querulous with querying...
I remember where I came from...
The ones who danced along the elegantly turned jawbone
of the earth, long and not so long, before me...Them...
The ones--I am the all
of nothing and everything
they might have been...
Their myriad sparks coalesced
within me, gives my blood it's pedigree
and makes me all that I am...
Or will ever truly be...The mark, the stain
of all the history that went before me...
The adored ones, my ancestors...Some wore poplin,
tight stays and frills; some lived in loose homespun
or buckskin; some suffocated, one breath at a time lost,
in the wearing of chains...The unmitigated property
of my other ancestors...And grandmothers...
Fruitlessly, I wonder how many times,
any given one of them stood beneath
a night sky asking these same questions...
Especially she whom
was claimed and sold
as an excellent cotton picker...
What next? What do I do next?
Especially the next moment?
What do I do next? What next? What?
I get tickled at my mental and emotional dramatics...
Believing my life to be taxing, waxing into sensory overload...
Compared to theirs, mine could be worse...
I could be dealing with these issues at hand...
While tanning hides, alternately chewing at them
with my teeth; and rubbing the animal
skins with brains and urine...Or boiling laundry
over a gigantic kettle in one hundred degree heat...
Or worse, bent over with my back aching
and breaking in a cotton field, the sound
of a whip lashing my eardrums, above my head...
While a fat white overseer on an equally fat white horse,
told me my long fingers, made excellent cotton picking hands,
while he admired the curve of my ass
and the exotic, sultry sheen of my dark skin
with a dirty, mean gleam in his eyes...
I think about these things my grandmothers
dealt with on a daily basis and forget about my questions...
Dropping and stepping upon the fire of my cigarette...
I walk back into the house, into the laundry room,
emptying the washer contents into the dryer,
a smile of contentment on my face...
No washboard scrubbed and skinned
red fingers and knuckles, here...
Knowing...It could be worse...
Life could be so much worse...
Than not knowing what next?
The miracle is...That it isn't...Worse...
Which leaves all possibility for a better future...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 22, 2007 8:25:14 GMT -6
~Sometimes-
Sometimes-
I hear you...
Do you hear me?
It's hard to explain.
I hear you through feeling.
It's an empathy thing.
Sometimes-
I hear you...
Do you hear me?
It's hard to explain.
I hear you through feeling.
It's a sensitivity thing.
Sometimes-
I hear you...
Do you hear me?
-Sabrina.
5/2005
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Post by anirbas on Mar 22, 2007 8:27:06 GMT -6
~Quiet, Please...
Shh...
Listen...Shh...Quiet, please...
Did you hear that? Shh...Shh..Shh...
That sound? Just listen, closely, my friend.
Hear it? Hear that sound, now?
No? You don't? No? Are you sure? Yes?
Good...Good to know...Real good...
You know what that absence of sound is?
That's what peace in the valley, sounds like...
Ricocheting, back and forth, in microwaves,
across the universe...Only canines, poets and writers,
can hear the absence of sound...
Isn't it beautiful?
Isn't. it.. beautiful...
Simply beautiful and beautifully beneficial...
Just peace.
Just the sound of peace.
Peace...
Isn't it beautiful?
Isn't. it.. beautiful...
Simply beautiful and beautifully beneficial...
-Sabrina.
5/2005
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Post by michaellasalle on Apr 1, 2007 10:34:43 GMT -6
Hi
this is amazingly enlightening, a profound work of the heart, loved every word,
thank you for sharing this wonderul, insightful, masterfully written poem.
Best Regards, Mike L
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Post by anirbas on Apr 9, 2007 20:21:45 GMT -6
~Confusional Coloring
More to your story than your telling...
You walk through the door claiming
to be a student of Paganism...
Then kiss up to the Father
in versificationism...
Color me confused...
So, you're only Pagan
when it suits your purpose?
Or you're only on your knees
in front of the Father, to impress
someone else? Really doesn't matter
in the grand design of things,
but, if you're going to tell stories
you ought to get them all straight...
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