Category Archives: Poetry

The Carrier – The Vision – A Wedding Song

art courtesy of leadingsmart.com

art courtesy of leadingsmart.com

These hands separately

Are just our hands.

Together………….. gently … they become the bowl that holds our life.

The treasures collected…………… the special moments

Those memorable events……………… like watching you sleep, then wake…..

Each triumph over the mundane, the petty, the insignificant……..

And over time, this bowl will fill with these – the gems of our life

 They will – in their turn – create an alchemy that feeds us, inspires and expands…. Us

art courtesy of Mirlande jean-Gilles

art courtesy of Mirlande jean-Gilles

The eagle will watch over this – our precious bowl

Our hands together………………. Our Life

and protect it like the lost tribe of David

Reminding us with its haunting cry

to follow our united vision of a larger grace

Beyond an immediate horizon…………….

 

 

copyright –R. Golden 1998 – a wedding song for Lori and Mark –

 

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The Invitation….

Poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer – Indian Elder

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams,

for the adventure of being.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,

courtesy of Paul Smit

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own;

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,

or to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;

if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it’s not pretty every day,

Courtesy of Paul Smit

and if you can source your life from ITS presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,

and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,

“YES”!

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls

courtesy of virtualsynapses.com

away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and,

 if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

A Daughter to a Mother….at Death…

You stare at me with those baleful eyes

Draining they were – a crystal blue

       that left them transparent-

Sunk back in reproach, in wonder…

       Dared me to look

Smirking at what you were sure I’d see-

Like a badge you carry that tufted, misshapen head

                 Swollen, bloated belly – white

Those long, narrow limbs,  fingers

               that keep clutching open and shut

At Nothing.

You dare me to look at you, Frog Lady-

              “tell me what you see”, you croak-

I throw back my head, laughing – exposing white teeth.

“I see a picture, Frog Lady, of another swollen belly

          only this one

this one is full of life-

And it was oh so long ago that I clutched that great belly

        in wonder at the magic.

And I lay my head against it

And you lay your hand on my hair

        pushed the bangs from my own  eyes…

It was so long ago, Frog Lady”

I look now at the bloated belly

To embrace it now is to embrace Death

        And it frightens me, Frog Lady

And my teeth, white

          are still bared….

And it’s cold

        Dead white cold

And you never really knew

         did you, Frog Lady?

Sharon Mary Golden 1944 – 1994  She loved frogs….

(Raiana Golden – 1994 – all rights reserved)

A Mother to a Daughter….at Birth….

Courtesy of astrodynamics.com

Some children enter our world

and have the sun continuously basking them in luxurious warmth.

They are indeed fortunate.

Other children are continuously reaching through the sun to the moon –

Their road is rough.

You are one of these children –  my Dear.

Your are, indeed, Blessed…

(Sharon Mary Golden – 1964 – my mother – all rights reserved)

Icarus Ascending…

courtesy of flickr.com

A voyeuristic glimpse into a true heart

What scared you more?

What you saw?    Or…  What you didn’t see?

No reflection of the fear that tracks you

       like a shadow you can’t shake…..   Or run from……  breathing at your heels….

But your friend and confidante none the less.

And far, far more comfortable and seductive than any love you could ever accept

         but desire…….  desperately.

Reflection

           Reflecting

                                Reflect

                                               Icarus Ascending…..

Push away the thing you want most

          Accomplish this……. You did.

I am so sorry for you

                              You have your deepest desire

                                          Right in front of you and you won’t see……

Me.

I am gone now.

You are safe now.

          Your fears are intact…….  now.

You will be missed.

Raiana Golden 2012  All Right Reserved)

A Thought from a Star Ocean…

courtesy of aastro.org

 They said it could never happen-

This ocean I view you across

         In which you may ascertain your own outline….

 That distant shore I call myself – estranged now from what it once knew

        

and dared to call a possibility…

 Rhetoric is the curtain call and a grand, traditional mantle it is-

Dark, thick, warm…. With very certain edges-

       Excuses all original thought that may arouse a sense of uncertainty –

        – lack of clarity….

 And so it did

So boldly

So shamelessly

    In the name of… nameless passion

                   For Life.

 For that which it is Not…

 For how can one know oneself if not against the mirror

Of That-

        which It is Not?

Raiana Golden (2012 – all rights reserved)

The Panther…..

thebeckoning.com

His glance, worn by the passing of the bars

has grown so weary it has lost its hold

It seems to him there are a thousand bars

and then behind a thousand bars  no world.

The soft gait of the supple, forceful paces

revolving on a circle almost nil

is like a dance of power that embraces

a core containing, dazed, a mighty will.

Rarely the pupil’s curtain, soundlessly, is raised

and then an image enters him

goes through the silent tension of the limbs

and in his heart ceases to be.

(Author Unknown – )

I love this poem.  I feel the potential in the images.  What might be beyond the cages I’ve constructed in my mind and the latent or dormant power I have to open the door…….