old and new...

Dream

Were there flowers before longing created them?
or is it the sigh of the bees
that awakens this field before my eyes…

or the murmur…
- is it the murmur of the breeze
caressing the flowers

that dreams me into being?

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Something precious

(dedicated to those who are loving and all those who grant others the honor of loving them)


There was something precious
about the way you left your window open
that day it rained and the wind was howling
Your gauzy curtain, a dancing muse, flying
wispy poetry for all eyes to see

There’s something precious shared
When you leave your heart achingly wide
to share without withholding
loving without a single thought
For that utterly unprotected warm place

There’s something precious that happens
When you drop those boundaries
between self and others and objects
And gift all earth with the abundance
Of boundlessness

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Friend, stop a moment
(poem for Burma)

Come, friend, sit beside me
on the river bank
Hear the ripples break the stillness
See the leaf bob on the waters

Now lightning strikes the water
A body floats by
And the earth
On which we sit turns scarlet

A child whose face
Is blank with despair
Sits amongst silent corpses
Looking at the murderer
Who does not see, nor hear nor feel

Oh, may we be his eyes,
his ears and his heart!

Hush, hear the goddess
who reigns this land
Whose precious feet walk
alongside those of Ghandi,
His Holiness the Dalai Lama,
Mandela and other noble warriors

Hush, hear her heart
beat the anguish
of mothers who have seen
their children raped and desecrated

Hush, hear her whisper
to her Buddha children

“and yet... and yet
DO NO HARM”

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Sky Burial
(poem for Tibet)

A land in the sky was plundered
and a simple monk
torn from it’s soil
A handful of seeds
was dispersed all over earth

The teacher we could not reach
stands among us now
He says no one can liberate us
from a prison of our own making
Only we can free ourselves

Bones, cartilage and flesh
are vultures food
But the jewel
hidden in the heart
no one can destroy

Om Mani Padme Hum

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Waking at 4am

birds sing
the mornings 1st song

love's smiling eyes;
my horizon

we the weavers dance
suns golden hue

our heart is music
the birds sing to

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When we turn away
(dedicated to Tibet, Burma and countries preyed upon by China... to all countries)

The enemy was a shadow
Now we see a mountain

The seed of our hearts
reaches places we do not even know

Do not turn from those in need
Their strife will be ours

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May I speak flowers to you

May I speak flowers to you
precious Be-ing

may my words be silent
...and my heart spill from my lips

may my small heart beat resonate
with earth's pulse
....aah I am of the same stuff as this Mother
...this precious Earth
who births this body in every moment

may I release all that stains this emptiness
so I may be open
and my heart rays shine with the sun

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37

My love
to my love, Gien

Come beloved
Let’s play again
The meadow dances
yesterday’s laughter!

Come beloved
Let’s play again
Hide and seek
Cat and mouse
Till we find
Ourselves again

Oh this is a death game!
I am so consumed by love
And you
Laughingly stoke the flames
Paying no heed to the funeral bells!

Now its ash ash ash
Ashes all about
I am gone!
The love furnace is all ablaze!

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Innocence

The word danced lightly
until intellect cast its weight upon it,
then it fell to the ground
like an over ripe fruit
Just as all concepts must
when we try to hold them up
to anything as fleeting as life

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Forgotten Self

The intellect tries to grasp
- does acrobatics so nimbly
it forgets itself in awe,
entranced by the utter dance of it all…

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Nothing to Hold

Dedicated to Swamiji

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So Good at Falling

Dedicated to Guruji who holds the keys

Help, I fell again!
tripped over Rumi's Heart
or was it his Keys…

He who was so good at Falling
in Love

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Does a single tear make a difference?

Does a single tear
make a difference?

I know it does -
when it is straight from the heart
pure and salty...

I shall cry an ocean...

does a single smile
make a difference?

I know it does -
when it is straight from the heart
pure and sweet....

I shall laugh
straight into the sun...

does this wanderer
make any difference at all?

I know I do
when in silence I sit

and nothing is done
...yet nothing undone*...

*Aboriginal shamanic saying

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No Furniture

Empty
through what eyes
what vision
do I project
when I look inside
empty

I speak
now hesitating
now clear
from where come the words
when I look inside
empty

like music
unchanging
feelings but not
emotion
like love
truly
what is joy
what is sorrow

I am
an inheritance
a culmination
an interpretation
when I look inside
I see no furniture

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Peace of mind

we are manifestations
of one mind...

animosity is like
inner conflict...

there can be no peace of mind
while it exists...

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Buddha Nature in all

...at first we believe
this existence is all there is

then we believe
we must find the truth

now we find
this is all

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Footprints

every footprint left in the sand
is sacred...
as is the breeze
which sweeps it up,
leaving no trace...
besides love
whispering tales through all time

... telling of steps once taken...

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Love burns away all that is not itself

Surrender!

Love consumes...
all ability to see anything as outside of self

all fear, animosity...
...reduced to ash

...fluttering away
in the perfumed breeze

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For Gra-anna
(1979 – 2004)

my candle burns for you
incense swirls through in the air

your words once so clear
so wilful & passionate
now in dreams
you speak in signs
& so I look for signs
finding them everywhere;
stars, praying mantises,
feathers, roses, flying birds

my darling child
this pain I carry
this treasure is mine
I look back over my shoulder
wailing into eternity
I smile too
2 headed
as the sun breaks through
I reach forward
nurturing those who stayed behind

my beloved
our chord
still intact
you are still mine
softly under my healing love
I hold a candle
looking out for you
at last transcending this hardship
you are so radiant
building a temple

I receive initiations
I am building my love
an archway will meet
from both sides
of the veil

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End of a cycle

When I look back I cannot remember
the beginning of it all.
Beasts have roamed free
and preyed off babes.
Storms raged ceaselessly,
creating such catastrophe.
Mothers buried their children
& gathered survivors to their breasts
where the last of the sun shone

I rode that raging storm
till I could bear no more.
Found a desolate landscape.
Felt I could rest there
in that place of bones.
Everything subsiding at last.
Endless silence

But a hand broke through
that inert sky
to lead me back.
This journey I'm meant to take.

Slowly slowly I find the eye
of the storm
& lay myself down

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Divine Kali

Kali, Kali, Kali,
how to experience you with grace?
Beloved Kali

Those who quake in your presence
who weep because their feet are torn
don’t see the beauty in your dark form
they do not understand
that skulls & ash give way
to the piercing scream
of a woman in labour

seasons change
change always

Kali: Hindu goddess often associated with evil & death
but is the embodiment of Mother Nature and natural cycles

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There is no choice

I meet this risk willingly
I have no choice

perhaps at some distant crossroads
long before we were born
long before the dream
then
perhaps
then
there was choice

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There was a time

My love
there was a time
only our inner most being knew we were to meet
In those times each step we took
was preparation for the moment
of conscious meeting

There was a time we were propelled to meet
as physical beings
… and we tumbled and fell into the same day
and nights…
This funny clown game time plays!

now once again
we speed towards such union…
Oh, what strange tricks!

These layers of consciousness..
obscurations
have kept us apart way too long!

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Loved one

Dear one you came to this planet
through the passage
of my womb
You reached for the umbilical cord again
as you took your life
hanging from this tree
with the scarf I¹d given you
a little while before

I think of this
as I sit at the foot of the tree
molten rock of attachment
runs red rivers from my eyes
I say quietly
'loved one, I gave birth to you,
you never asked
if you could end it all'
A bowl of swirling liquid
filled with silver and shadow
presents itself to me
In it I see the blend and journeys
of your sacred life
These I did not sanction either
none of this was mine to direct
I thank the Great Mystery for imparting this wisdom
softly returning to the arms of the Beloved
the place of 'It is so'
the place of eternal rest

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Sacred Yoni

I watch the scarlet droplet
fall
just as thrilled as the 1st time
– this Woman-Being experience

It’s pain pain pain
ocean deep
deep
me in the depths
where light cannot reach
out of reach
beyond where I’ll see tomorrow
behind the mind
where the Sorceress dwells

Yoni: (Sanskrit) Source; womb, female genital organs

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Power of love

May mercy flow to all beings...
may suffering and pain on earth be embraced rather than denied...
so it can be seen as the illusion it is...
And give way to the eternal power of Love

tears are shed...
listen.. the sobbing echoes through all time

in this life:
...child
...arranged bundle of bones
...you look out knowingly through large eyes
...woman burned by your husband
...men bear the scars of war - below the skin

aah my cry echoes through all time...
my arms reach out to enfold
you
to my weeping heart

Kali looks on...
she knows the cycles
of this dual existence

and we fear her! and these cycles...
...until we embrace them lovingly to our Heart

when we reject the object of our fear
how fear thrives!

and fear
must dissipate in the face of love...

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A piece of jazz

1

it’s after five
people in a taxi line
each made art this morning
when they dressed
just look at that picture!

2

a walking constellation
of EVERYTHING
this man is selling EVERYTHING
dangling from EVERYWHERE
an assemblage
not a mistake
by design
organic clown earth design

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It's all the same

You say I am prettifying..
White washing
with sweetness

I am taking a ride through the galaxy
on the tail
of a shooting star

We see Biko in his coffin
His face has been tidied up
But not enough to hide the hideous atrocities
Which break our heart so

we zoom in further..
Deeper...
We see ourselves..
The pain underlying the rage...
see the causes of this pain
The impotence felt as witnesses
The guilt
...at not having acted more..
Always could have done more...
Always reasons for holding back...
The anger...
Pain...
Hurt...
The... WHY!!! WHY!!! WHY???
Echoing thunderously through the mind

Zooming in further..
Further...
Further...
The killer is embracing the murdered...
The murdered... The killer...
Further...
Further...
Finding true essence...
one in all...

And zooming out
Out...
out...
out
Same thing..
Same thing...

we start...
...by seeing others
end with self...

Then beyond

all the same

All the same

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1 makes a difference

...may every single person know their heart can make a difference...
Gandhiji was ONE man...

May we never march as though peace does not exist...
Never put ourselves on the outside
Of the experience of love...

There is only love
Love is all there is...
All else is tricky shadow
Sun will cast away
As sure as night flees the day

Peace does not arrive
Peace is
Om resonates over all earth

On the outside all is chaos and confusion...
Within is emptiness where all is peace
leap off the cliff into the divine
Om Shanti

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Notes written on the train in Mossel Bay

1
Women screech
below in the dark
all undone
+ I think I may be
far too gathered
I tell my baby
I’m ‘a clever’

2
Out in the bay
ourange-outang spiders
cling to a small grey
fishing boat

3
The plump woman
in the red jersey
walks ahead of the man
she colours her hair
he leaves his thin
and grey

She turns treading backwards
she pulls him in

4
A couple stand
on the beach back to back
yin and yang

he steps away
to face her
with his camera

she’s an arc
head turned demurely
toward the sea

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Prayer

Forgive me for my efforts.
As though my gross actions
can in any way improve
Your perfect song!
I should just sit here
in an eternal lotus
listening to Your melody

I give thanks for all
You do to help me
that my efforts
become effortless

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Selection

Like is drawn
to like
while those who contradict
are left out
in the cold

As with a flipped coin,
only one side
of the whole
is possible here

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I am another you

everything the eye sees is itself...
there is nothing known to self
that is not self

love flows to love

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Taking a Walk

Yellow bounces off the ground
overhead a bird
completes an arc
my walk becomes a dance
defiant
I pass
a kindred spirit
the man’s doing a boogy
whistling
a little tune
from the bigger music
of Africa

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After the Night

The night
had been very long.
So this morning
as I close the window
against a breeze
and notice a slice of sun
alight on leaves,
I have to leave it open
- just a fraction.

The skys’ depth
fathomless in the dark,
is not bright blue now.
Violet is its hue.

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Between here and there

Sickle moon in the day
rain all night.
Lone bird
whips its wings
against a bank
of curdled cloud.
Somewhere women chatter
to a hoarse old man.
By and by
a slow car drones
louder
then quiet again.

In the distance
little grey towers
and power towers
beckon.

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You open your arms

You open your arms
wide as a womb
‘enter’ you say ‘come
or are you the enemy?’

‘No, I know you
how can I be that?’
‘Then come
Come’

How do I tell you
water cannot enter fire
nor fire water
without terrible injury
‘Wait, just a while’
You sigh then let me pass

That night I dream a dream
where all fight
for my life
All but one
who murders me
for gain

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After the rescue from slavery

The people walk dumb.
Under the Eye
of the Master
who is so cruel.

The people accept their fate
and no one speaks
about that.

The people
never look into the face
of the Master.
They carry their burdens.
And no one speaks
about that.

The people are angry
because someone has said something
about the cruel Master.
She said:
‘He does not have to be our Master’

The people wait.

The Master says:
‘Stone her!’

The people always obey
their Master.

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Grey Metal

Grey metal strands
wrapped
round chicken legs
or razor wire
wrapped
round townships
to be used in
glassless
windows
drawing
thin lines
across this nightly
sky

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Rape

Did he
- the one who undid her -
know he’d undone her?

she’s an old lady
baying
on the side-walk
shoppers turn
and rather cross over.
Long ago he made her
(when he undid her).

Children alone at night
curl up to an intruder
who smells of booze
who presses his erection
against their softness
muttering muttering
- next morning
the little ones hold
only each other’s hands
crossing the street
to school
- he did this too
when he undid their mother.

Yes he knows
- he whistled down the corridor
that next morning
on his way to work -
having done
this undoing.

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Missing Child

I think –
she slept-walked
through the window
and out out
into the veld

But maybe
she went with her boyfriend
to have their own life

Or –
she went to a ‘friend’
a dealer
they overdosed.
ran into ‘friends’ of ‘friends’
were bust

On the streets
she carries a knife:

Rape.
Accident.
Gang fight. Other fight.
Sex murder Other murder.

Self
murder.

That child I just miss –

Is it my own
massive restriction
that I can’t
let her go?

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Reflection

overhead the blue
makes no distinction

Hillbrow
...Randburg
.....Alex
.......Sebokeng
.........Orange Farm
...........Soweto
..............Pretoria
................Tembisa
....................Kagiso
.......................Yeoville
..........................Krugersdorp
................. ............Katlehong

companions rest
by the roadside
on cool gravel

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Concerning Pachipamwe Artists Workshop 1991

This workshop I am not trying
to make wine out of water
– I’m making wine
out of grapes

This workshop is like a hand
brushing briefly over a surface
collecting a thin layer of dust.
– It is like the gathering of that

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This Painting

(concerning the painting titled:The Whirling Dervish)

Daring to hold back
make the mark -
then look away
half way through

This painting is frightening.
It refuses
not to be rough
- refuses to take leave
of the beginnings of things

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Congeniality

You are the one
who did (or may still)
perform
glorious deeds
You are the one
who did (or may still)
heal
the most obscenely diseased

You are the one
who did (or may still)
force
a bayonet
down the mouth
of a child.
You are the one
who did (or may still)
seek to profit
from a war meaningless
to you

At times you say:
‘I see’
At times you say:
‘I did not know’
Don’t impress on me
your need
for congeniality

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On the 1st day he sat under a mango tree . . .

shadows cast
without a rustle
reflections
are not the thing
itself
days slide
silently by
against the rising
and the falling
over sheer
water
dipping insects
staccato
the ripples
silver and turquoise

while cars race
and a hand plunges
into a child’s face

one step
may well be all
one should ever take
i n   a   l i f e   s p a n

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She Drinks

she had nothing
so she drank
all her money
she has nothing
so she drinks
she is lost
but first
she lost everything
then she drank
now she drinks
she can’t get work
that’s why she’s drunk
she’s so drunk
she won’t get work
she drinks
she drinks
because why
she’s drunk

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1. Autumn / 2. Elections
28/4/94

1.
This is the season
of falling

I love ochre!
Burnt sienna.
Now
it means dying
away

How is this possible?
The ochre, the dying -
air so full
heavy just
before frost sets in.
But Autumn is perfumed!
Loaded
with sandalwood and spices.

Flame trees blaze
- that moment before
a fire ceases - its spark is
brightest

2.
Spring
is the political season -
N O W   I S   T H E   T I M E
our-vote-is-our-voice-vote-your-choice-our-vote-is-our-
voice-vote-yours

i flick out my hand
to catch a music

alone
on my way home i
open the window hold
my fist
high
over the flyway

everyone is

V I V A

Today

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Plunging

she leans against a paper boat
her black dress
floating along the roadside

a sickle moon reflects
in umber water
then she wakes - k n o w i n g -
she must  n e v e r   dip her cold hands
into heated basins

having tea on the balcony
later that morning she asks
the woman with the long nose
(which she knows she ought not to
watch) if she’d like nose in
her tea
she spills grains of brown all over the white
puts the sugar
lid into her coffee mug
offers a presentation of scones with cerise jam and
billowing cream
she says:

hug me
- planting kisses
all over
Noses’ cheek
clicking her
nails

on her feet shoes
of raw
umber shine

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To be

I-ching coins
tossed from the hand
land according to the plan.
If we could live like that
- as unintellectually
as on the mark

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Sea Point

raucously
we eat our dinner
discuss seagull chicks
who run along roof ledges
- but never quite fall over

ignore the gulls scream
at midnight
- they who yell and squawk
over lit street lamps
having sacrificed
sleep
for a life
of our crumbs

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More poetry by Anna Varney-Wong

www.geocities.com/joopbersee/av1.html

www.thanalonline.com/Issues/06/poems_02b_en.htm