Kairos

Feet planted firm,
wind fills wings;
Tug on the thread
--my heart rings.

Head in the clouds,
dreaming of things;
Time flies a kite
--my soul sings.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem has been set to music by Carson P. Cooman,
in his cycle of songs for solo voice entitled Brief Vibrations, Op. 870

Wishing you a great weekend and suggesting...

GO FLY A KITE!

Referral Spammers, Get A Life!

I always find it interesting that there are people who imagine that someone will click their links to pay for diet tips or training-in-how-to-be-an-annoying-spammer-for-money. These poor, deluded folks are located all over the world.

I could probably start a similar website of my own called "How To Be A Bitch". But I won't--I don't need to, someone else has already done this, I am sure.

But, as it is, this site is a site that is not devoted to making money or losing weight or porn or beauty products or anything remotely as stupifyingly inane as that.

This site is about creativity, and to a certain extent, critical thinking.

What is written up here is copyright protected. I am well aware that I cannot make money by flogging my blogging, and that it is ridiculous to try to do so.

I cannot imagine how all of you trying to sell decorating services in Russia and skin products in Brazil, and I cannot read the Cambodian site, so I don't know what you are trying to sell (could it be bootlegged DVDs of a prurient nature?) are going to find a client in me, but you can, I suppose, keep trying.

Really, I find it rather a sad and even an amusing commentary on humanity that people think they can get ahead in life by being such annoying leeches. Someone should do a sociological and economic study on whether this kind of BS is profitable.

Having commented on the phenomenon may perhaps bring more of such traffic. I am aware of that. But I want all of you who engage in referral spam to know that all it does is make me laugh and hope that the human species evolves sooner, rather than later.

That is all; you make me laugh.

So, by all means, if you feel you need to make me laugh, keep it up.

But, otherwise, may God BLESS you all, and may you find some illuminating light and peace, and a real life that is not so much caught up in sales or money or being annoying.

Public Servants

          Politicians are like diapers;
          they need to be changed often
          and for the same reason.
                      ~ Mark Twain

Weeds grow up

through cracks
formed in the aftermath
of any reign of terror.

Seemingly irreparable damage,
attributed to villains invisible,
is incalculable; somehow,
there is no money for repairs.

Wobbling platitudes
roll off the tongues
of the political class
we were free to vote
into office

to work for us.

If you are, like Flynn,
in the pockets of the powerful,
you need not be free or even real,
but you can afford to paint on a smile
and say g’day and it’ll be all right.

The cracks in the street,
the decay of a republic,
the decline of democracy,
and the absence of common decency
don’t figure into your paycheck.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Note: the origins of the phrase “in like Flynn” are unclear,
but in the context of this poem, all could be applicable.

Dawn

          a song for Easter

          The Holy Spirit is the rising sap, 

          And Christ will be the green leaves that will come
          At Easter from the sealed and guarded tomb.

                       Patrick Kavanagh
                       From the Great Hunger: III, lines 25-27

Steal in,
Steal in softly,
Steal in silently, sweet Other;
Flow thy sweet living steams in,
Flow in vision, flow in being
On the exuberant morning tide!

Illumine from dark to dim to light,
To consciousness and the recognition of it;
In you flowing tide, fill me from outside in,
Until you fill my veins and my visioning with beauty,
Gently birthing me out of your essence.

Steal in,
Steal in softly, Beloved,
Steal in slowly, dear Other;
Flow like the flames of dawn into my senses,
Sing like the lark through my veins,
Extrude me from your consciousness,
Unfold me from the budding of your source
Until I am everything,
And the fleeting thought on the wind,
As the light grows from rose to flame.

Steal in softly, and
Weave our endless song--
Theme and Variations
On our eternally new moment of discovery.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem was written in 2002.

This text has been set to music by composer James Hurd.

Twilight

          a song for Good Friday

          Before I go may I linger over my last refrain, completing its music, 

          may the lamp be lit to see your face and the wreath 
          woven to crown you.

                       Rabindranath Tagore
                       Fruit-Gathering: LI

Steal in,
Steal in softly,
Steal in silently, sweet thief;
Flow into my vision, my being,
Like the drawing on of dusk.

Soothe away the aches and sorrows,
Smooth away all worries and cares, and
In your ebbing tide, wash me, from inside out,
Until you ebb away all doubt, all guilt, all traces of ugliness,
Until you fill my veins and my visioning with beauty,
Gently restoring me to the pure essence that was born of you.

Steal in,
Steal in softly, Beloved,
Steal in slowly, sweet thief;
Flow like jasmine scented dusk into my senses,
Sing like the nightingale in my veins,
Melt me into your consciousness,
Fold me into your arms
Until I am nothing,
But a memory fading on the horizon,
As the light fades from flame to rose.

Steal in softly, and
Sweetly end our song,
Signaling night to draw a discreet curtain
On our eternal embrace and slumbering.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem was written in 2002, and has a companion piece that is for Easter.

This text has been set to music by composer James Hurd.

Check back on Easter, if you want to see the companion piece.

Wake Up Call

Weeping

and the sound of stone scraping on stone
announced a blinding light.

“Come out,”
called a voice,
distant, yet familiar;
far away, yet close by.

A call from one world
to another,
as yet unrecognized
by an object.

“Friend, come out,”
the voice softer now,
closer, kindly.

Could it be for me?

Rising with effort,
encumbered
and stiff,
the faintest trace,
the faintest memory of I
shuffles toward
a bright world.

Sleep,
it has seven beneficial qualities:
    sleep heals,
    sleep relaxes,
    sleep stores focus,
    sleep sharpens memory,
    sleep checks appetite,
    sleep supports a positive outlook,
    sleep calls forth a morning filled with light.

But the wake up call
goes one better than sleep:
love of the Friend is greater than death.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Return Trip

the forty days and nights
passed like years, she writes:

you choose
    your mood
         make your way
and come again
to the city gate
    at an hour late
for finding lodgings
and food.

it is very like
one never left,
but for the sudden death

emergence was
unexpected,
yet edifying:

one sometimes
    has to make sacrifice
in order to know
    it is not needed;

a misapprehension
on the part of one
who thought to measure
commitment in cubits and
freedom in leagues

the gift of
    this return trip:

learning that
the meaning
and the measure
of life fully lived
is the love
that is greater
than death

learning to give it all up

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen