Meditations in Fast Times: 3. The continuous rumble

                  3.

The continuous rumble,
the watery babble,
the trending of disaffection
continues apace;
forward we tumble,
we rabble scrabble,
neither ending the dejection,
nor seeking to displace—
this no-wise movement
is how houses usher,
divide and fall.

Birdsong and flowers,
dappled light through trees,
lure one away from the smoky,
first world drawing room;
out through the French doors,
in through the hedge,
and into the garden we go,
following deception,
we do not know.

Ah, to breathe!
The lively stillness
dispels all former torpor
and mindless twittering;
the freshness of all that is real
reaches out from the day,
singing like a merry bell peal,
tugging the spirit, as if to say
your cares I beguile
for the while
you are here.

The soul cannot well thrive,
no matter what plot might contrive,
away from the gardens of Paradise;
tending the diverse flowers,
for weeks, for days or just hours,
allows one to realize
the duty bounden
on each person’s part
to nurture the beauty in one’s heart,
the garden of where you are.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

In the Garden of Delights: 1. et invisibilium

the thin veils
of invisible realms,
they softly flutter,
the breeze flowing
free upon the brow
—and I know you are near,
your vibrations pooling
in the autumn afternoon.

I have often wondered:
if I were to completely falter,
should I spark and go up like straw?

but, none has ever sparked such flame,
and I forestall madness
while time shifts at my foundations,
visibilium et invisibilium,
with gentleness and loving kindness.

had I tried,
I could have sent them away,
but they fly to me
—for conversation, mostly—
for I am a light, too.

we are all frustrated and
colorful intelligences,
reckless, even mad;
all that is missing
is the convivial cup of tea.

refuge is found in capitulation,
a weaving in with the pattern integral:
a unique delight, lightly balanced.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen