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Archive for January, 2020

A Sunday Poem: Don’t Let Their Throes Throw You

January 5, 2020 2 comments

It seems needed now…

Don’t Let Their Throes Throw You

Violence feels on the rise; state
Sponsored terror, murder is
At the door, our door!

Will it never end? Will the killing
Stop? The promised “new age”
Seems a distant dream.

Yet there are signs and wonders
We watch for, as planets turn
And Pluto returns with renewal.

Perhaps the step-up in violence is
One of these signs: the final throes
Of a dying age, expiring time—

For the ones losing power, losing
Their grip on the old ways. They
Hold tighter for a moment. But

Their days are numbered; their time
Is running. They have no vision.
Don’t let their throes throw you.

Throw off the burden of violence, hold
The vision of that New Age, and take on
The lighter load of love.

 

 

 

©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.

A Friday Poem for the New Year: “Locked by the Clock”

January 3, 2020 Leave a comment

Over the holidays I’ve been reading a lot of Rumi, especially “The Soul of Rumi, A New Collection of Ecstatic Poems” translated by Coleman Barks. Many of these poems are ghazals, poems comprised of couplets. In his later published poems, Robert Bly took up this form. I have refrained from writing in this form as the rules are complex. But I don’t necessarily have to follow all the rules to write couplets. And I don’t have to call this poem a ghazal!

At this time of the year I often think about time. Yesterday as I was writing, the title of this poem came to mind. As I began to write it couplets came through. And as the poem developed our trip to the ocean to celebrate our December 15th special day came to mind. So, here is an attempt at a ghazal-like poem to celebrate the New Year and to put the passage of time in proper perspective!

Locked by the Clock

Teaching Qigong I often say:
“Locked knees block Qi.” Energy,

It flows from the earth, through the feet
Into the core of our being. Feel it,

The force of that flow surges
Like the tide lifting the heart. Listen:

The roaring surf, the salt spray
Glistening in the hanging mist, suspended:

The shimmering light of winter’s
Sun. Such times at the shore!

It is easy to float, drifting within the
Tide, not locked by the clock. Free:

No thought, merging with the
Ocean, emerging as One.

 

 

 

©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.