Tag: nature poem

Animals and the earth, earth, Healing, Poems, sacred earth, Tales of India

The truth of Agni

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on The truth of Agni

flight dawn landscape sky
Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

The truth of Agni;

Fire consumes the illusion.

Trees walk on the black way

To the stars,

Trees who remember,

With the stones,

The earth’s enchanted bones,

The beginning and the ending,

The faces of the stones rise,

Red, gold,

Patterned in scars,

Walls of stone, tall,

Remembering

All

The dragonflies

And the elven folk

Of long ago;

No one believes

In them now

Though

They sang the truth of the stars.

In the ending – skies

Of gray

And white – oppression.

The smoke of time,

The embers

Of existence,

The age of blindness,

Of existential crime,

Treachery,

And war

Going now,

On the winds of time.

Shiva dancing both time and eternity,

In the stark

Winds that clear the smoke

Of being.

Soon, the bough

Of the oak

Will climb

Into the shimmering rain

Of Indra.

There, the face of Shiva

In the gold

Trees – twinkling among the leaves,

In a world so old –

That came before —

Yet shines again –

Now

In the ever-glimmering rain,

In the train

Of flowers,

In the arc

Of ancient powers.

***

Written August 7, 2021

© Sharon St Joan

Animals and the earth, animals in Asia, earth, Poems, sacred earth, Tales of India, Visions

Hanuman, son the wind

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on Hanuman, son the wind

shallow focus photography of monkey
Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

Hanuman,

Son of the wind,

Forest-eyed,

Sent to free

Entangled innocence from rusted snares,

From the bitter clawhold of Ravana,

To guide the gold-winged butterfly,

The shy, dawn-eyed doe,

The nagalinga tree

Of skylit flower,

The brave host of bears

On the oak-hallowed hill,

The bright-songed messengers, in flight,

The belled, meandering cow,

The redwoods of ancient girth,

The moon-

Finned

Minnows

Of silver gill,

Out from the chasms of desolation

Of a world gone awry

Back to the far, far

Reaches of the beginning – before ever time arose

Back to the shining lake of the mountain height

Hidden unseen in the green land of the star

Where mists of joy run

Like horses on the white river, wide,

Where the spring cactus unfolds gold and red.

A day to bring the innocent out, away

In the boat of the canted bow

That fled

Across the storm-bent sea

In the gale-churned hour.

Do you remember your flaming brand

And the fire that went up to swallow

The iron-souled city of Lanka?

Hanuman,

Savior of the innocent, hero-son

Of earth and star,

There  –  hear the call of the raven chime

From the canyon of ill-kept time.

Soon

Hanuman,

Son of the wind,

Breath of the earth.

© Sharon St Joan

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Animals and the earth, Poems, the Americas

Spirit houses

by sharonstjoan1 Comment on Spirit houses

 

Within the bowl

 

Of translucent roses,

 

A star-sung reality.

 

The meaning is the soul

 

Of the word; which word?

 

The unseen hand weaves

 

Together the forest mists

 

Into the far, far lights – the hooked beak of the bird,

 

The blue

 

Green mountains, the cliffs,

 

The spirit houses

 

Which have ever been present

 

In the depths beyond time,

 

More real than the silver sparkling leaves

 

Of the aspen trees

 

Near the flickering domain

 

Of the sage

 

Grouse,

 

More real than the turning tidal sound of the seas,

 

More real than the fog-bound whiffs

 

Of bison noses

 

In the cold-trodden winters of the plain.

 

No, you cannot find them in the bending

 

Desert sage –

 

Until they are within you.

 

You who?

 

Beyond the swift-footed fires of the sun,

 

Beyond the leaping waters that hurl

 

Themselves from heights

 

Down steep mountain rocks,

 

Beyond only the winds that curl

 

Along the empty docks

 

Of the shipyards of forgotten time,

 

The spirit houses, within earshot of the sounding chime

 

Of eternity,

 

Remain

 

Each one,

 

Radiant,

 

In the light-toed, gray-winged rain

 

That blows through all the realms from age

 

To age to age

 

To snow-enchanted age,

 

While the wild horse

 

Runs with his herd

 

His ancient course,

 

His hooves flying,

 

Dancing,

 

Through wind-lit streams of moonbeams.

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, July 2019 

 

Photo: ID 113986688 © Heather Mcardle | Dreamstime.com

 

Animals and the earth, Asia, Poems, Tales of India

Nataraja

by sharonstjoan2 Comments on Nataraja

800px-An_ephemeral_waterfall

 

Their lives are cast in shadows,

 

They who will not see you,

 

You who no one knows,

 

Not hearing your voice in the grass, talking,

 

Or in the pale wintry call

 

Of the tern,

 

Not hearing your voice of ashes,

 

Unaware of your presence in the flames

 

Of the waters that run,

 

That turn over the stones.

 

Still there is only you,

 

No one else anywhere,

 

You who stand behind all;

 

Within all.

 

With only a billion names

 

You are one.

 

In the night soul of the forest, oaken,

 

In the stalking

 

Of the insistent leopard,

 

In the power of the sea, cresting

 

Blue,

 

In the word

 

Of the wind that so long wandered

 

By the bleak

 

Runes.

 

Now there dawns the dancer in the sky overhead,

 

About whom none may speak,

 

And nothing may be said,

 

Not ever spoken.

 

There rise the flames of the names,

 

Unbroken,

 

Standing still by the tall

 

Reeds in the lake of the sun,

 

Hearing your voice in all the rains

 

That ever were,

 

Singing.

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2018

 

Photo: Vince Reinhart/“This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.”/Wikipedia/ Waterfall on the Chagrin River, Ohio

 

Animals and the earth, Poems, Tales of India

The Rain

by sharonstjoan2 Comments on The Rain

113186375 Michael Chatt : dreamstime.com

 

In a portent of misted beauty

 

The rain-wandering hawk

 

Awakens

 

The sleeping

 

Mother of the mountains

 

To ring the standing

 

Bowls of silence

 

There since

 

Before the wings of time took flight,

 

And in ringing, to empower

 

The wild places;

 

The trees, her children,

 

Blossom gold;

 

Bumblebees run races,

 

The stars sail

 

Their tall wooden ships

 

On the bobbing waves of the black, deep sea.

 

Will the antlered elk remain,

 

Even then,

 

Along with the swift falcon,

 

And the barred geese

 

Who rode so bravely

 

Near the fierce night

 

Of the wrath of the wind

 

And biting hail

 

Where the embattled sky

 

Flashed

 

White, unpinned,

 

And armies of air

 

Clashed

 

From outcrop to rocky hill

 

Echoing

 

Echoing

 

Where the old owl blinks?

 

In the aftermath, gray-gowned, shy

 

Rain beings fly by

 

On blue

 

Petals;

 

The band of geese settles

 

On the lapping lake, recalling

 

All the stone-stepped eons told

 

In the unfolding stories – or a leaf-borne tale

 

By the rocks that talk,

 

Voices of the dark red canyons,

 

Of the grass and plants, wind-whispering

 

Of the juniper-guardians

 

Of the all-knowing bear,

 

Of the small-footed mouse, smiling and meek,

 

And the so determined ants.

 

There the rattlesnake slinks.

 

Now only the wise ones who

 

Know the starry ways, by most forgotten,

 

Who tend the earth, will gather

 

Again,

 

Their songs to sing

 

Like the soaring sea,

 

In the bright land of the moon –

 

Gentle as the rain that drips

 

Among the sleeping flowers

 

Of the stars. Now all is connected in these most final holy

 

Hours

 

As it was before the beginning,

 

One in many,

 

Many in one,

 

And if we train

 

Our attention for a moment,

 

Soon,

 

As the gale is done,

 

We will

 

Find the one we seek

 

Standing by the silver tree,

 

Near the old

 

Railed fence

 

Speckled in sunlight.

 

Hear beyond the rivers’ torrent

 

The chant of Om,

 

The lost bells of home.

 

Thank you, blessed rain.

 

Thank you, Parvathi,

 

Ever there, peace

 

Falling

 

On the star-clad mountain peak.

 

 © Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: 113186375 © Michael Chatt / dreamstime.com

Animals and the earth, Poems, Tales of India

Where is the way?

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on Where is the way?

dreamstime_xs_122429856

 

Do you know the way

That leads to the stream

In the early morning,

Where spotted fawns

Run,

Letting shining droplets fall

From their silver hooves

Like the last shreds of moonlight,

While the owl in the wild oak

Tree shuts her feathered eyes to sleep

At dawn, opening the door of the dream

To a universe of wonder,

In the star-bespeckled sky?

Or else, maybe you might know the way

To where the bright

Grass bends in the cold north wind

And the bison

Rumble by

On nimble feet

Across the wide, flat

Plain, and there

The wolves

Forever run

To greet

The spiraling snow on a white and wintry day?

Or perhaps you might even know

The way to the deep

Sheltering forest where the bear

Waits out with her cubs the hours

Of the squall,

Of crackling thunder

Near the hillside of peace where wildflowers

Cast in a trance

The bumblebee,

And the clay

By the riverbank holds up the saplings,

While dragonflies flit

And execute their wise dance

Of joy?

You see we were looking for the way out –

Out from the cinders swirling,

Out from the center, come all unpinned,

From the ashes of history gone awry

That prophetic ravens rue,

From the sting

Of bitter smoke,

Out into the clear sun-

Begotten waterfall that

Shimmers all the way

Down on to the rocks

Of granite

On to the foundation blocks

Where all the worlds begin anew?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

You who ever walked as a young boy

On the wandering waves of the eternal sea,

In the star-born mists of all the dawns

That ever were or are to be?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

Where is the way

To find the light of your lands

That sing the song of the soul in the sounding sea?

 

 

©Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: ID 122429856© Syberyjczyk/ Dreamstime.com

 

Animals and the earth, Poems, Tales of India

Garuda

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on Garuda

edited,ID 71782566 © Juliscalzi | dreamstime_xs_71782566

 

Garuda,

 

How

 

Do you fly

 

On swift, gold wings,

 

Not having any answers?

 

You live in peace, always, among

 

The saffron petals, beyond the crowded questions

 

Sailing through all the mist-

 

Driven worlds sung

 

By the ancient forest,

 

Abode

 

Of stars and falcons,

 

Near the clear, deep-canyoned waters

 

Where step the blue-toed cranes,

 

Where ran

 

The wind in wild-haired leaves of the cottonwood tree.

 

You are the heart given by eternity.

 

Within, you bear the spirit of God.

 

You are the dawn, the sky

 

That rained,

 

The dream-walking dragonflies that nod,

 

And the speaking of the mountains that rose up and waned

 

Before ever time began,

 

You who carry

 

The sacred essence of all things

 

In the clouds that tarry,

 

In the flashing lights of the moon and the bright summer rains,

 

Garuda, you who are wandering ever, even now,

 

On your wings of wind-swept beauty.

 

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2018

 

Photo: Juliscalzi | dreamstime.com

 

 

Animals and the earth, Artwork, Poems, Tales of India

The light of butterflies

by sharonstjoan7 Comments on The light of butterflies

 

 

 

ID 4545510 © Dbpetersen | Dreamstime

 

Listen, and hear

 

Within the moon the silent flight

 

Of white

 

Crane

 

Feathers,

 

While stars ring like bells in a sky of snow.

 

Did you know

 

That the moon is hollow

 

And it chimes?

 

Now, past clouds of bitter rain,

 

Of weathers

 

Sullen in the jagged wind,

 

At a sharp bend in the long road,

 

Shines the light of butterfilies beyond the shards of the dark,

 

The spark

 

Of grace, as yet unimagined,

 

A hand of tree bark

 

Offers peace, abhaya mudra: “Fear

 

Not,” a message,

 

Seek and ye

 

Shall find

 

All truth

 

Within the call

 

Of the star, cloaked in a misted shawl.

 

Soon, between the bones of yesteryear

 

Rise the rushing waters to the ridge

 

Of ending times.

 

There at the top of the narrow stair

 

Opens the rock-enchanted desert that will echo eternity,

 

Shimmering stones,

 

Who

 

Sing that the shadow

 

Has gone, though it is not that the shadow

 

Has gone, but just that the sun is real and the shadow not, after all,

 

And so

 

The holy one, unknown, will walk again on the straight path,

 

Will hold the innocent deer high in his hand

 

(In the land

 

Of the gold dragon who gnashes

 

Her emerald jaw,

 

Extending her five-toed

 

Paw)

 

There the brave one walks, placing the sun anew,

 

Engulfing the burning cities of the mind,

 

And – casting death at last behind,

 

Cleanses the earth of ashes.

 

 

Poem: © Sharon St Joan, 2017

Photo: © Dbpetersen | Dreamstime

 

 

 

Animals and the earth, Poems, Tales of India

Mahadeva

by sharonstjoan3 Comments on Mahadeva

© Jsuspence7cc | Dreamstime

 

Ender of worlds, you who are

 

The moon-winged light

 

Glimpsed through silver clouds that recall only

 

The music

 

Of the rain

 

That hums

 

On the dry branches of the scrub oak,

 

You who are the soul

 

Of the juniper trees and the wind-waving sage,

 

Re-awaken now your lands of magic,

 

And so,

 

Unmask the deeper, greener forest

 

Of long ago,

 

Abode of the forgotten fairy folk.

 

Young Ganesha watches from among the red-encircled blossoms

 

To hear anew

 

The clear

 

Ringing chimes

 

Sound, that the dust of a crumbled age

 

Is gone,

 

Swept away and cast

 

Asunder

 

On the gusts of the great

 

Gale,

 

That peace may settle ever after

 

On the blue-

 

Belled petals

 

That gather in an opalescent bowl,

 

A glimmering, crystal grail,

 

Far

 

Beyond where the ragged hulls of iron ships

 

Were set adrift on a tired sea.

 

Soon the haloed star

 

May bless the night,

 

And the coyote

 

Sing her laughing song again

 

In the darkness, beside the shimmering gate

 

Of a time beyond times

 

When

 

At last

 

The long-toed crane

 

Dips his beak

 

Into the cold waters of the creek.

 

Then,

 

Mahadeva, Shining One, Dispeller of fear,

 

May the swans, who know, and have always known, all things, sail

 

Ever near

 

Before the bright, sky-clad boat of the dawn

 

Climbs

 

On through the echoing waters of a many lilied mist.

 

© Sharon St Joan, August 2017

Photo: © Jsuspence7cc | Dreamstime

 

 

 

 

Animals and the earth, Poems

Years of snow

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on Years of snow

cliffs-in-snow-one

 

Years of snow

 

 

Rains unspoken.

 

Do you remember

 

Diaphanous wings

 

Who knew only the mist

 

Through many–stranded years of snow

 

On the hill

 

Of the ringed dolmen,

 

The omniscient crow

 

Who hid high

 

In the sky-

 

Tossed towers,

 

In the moss-meandering forest

 

Of the great bear?

 

That was the world then,

 

The reality,

 

The flowers

 

Of dawn,

 

The eternity,

 

Emerald rings

 

Of the sycamore tree.

 

Gone,

 

Gone on the smoke over the brown hill.

 

Who now will bring

 

The buckets of songs and all the laughter,

 

Faint, so far

 

Away, yet ever near?

 

Where?

 

In the opalescent eyes

 

That peer

 

Through

 

Deep-green bowers,

 

Who

 

Know

 

Only the mist,

 

Only the flight

 

Of the dawn-winged petals,

 

Undaunted,

 

That settle

 

On the lake-footed land where

 

The goose plays still

 

With her snow-bright

 

Children,

 

Her flock that sings

 

Beneath a star

 

Cluster,

 

All the while, when

 

Blue-

 

Sailed ships

 

Slip

 

Into the shining seas of the night,

 

Ineffable, haunted.

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, text and photo, 2016