Inspirational Poetry and Verse
The Arts Department posts original poetry and verse. The content is uplifting or a part of life’s experiences. If you would like to submit a poem or verse, please contact us by Clicking Here. (The word Poetry should be in the subject line). Authors retain the copyright.
By Elsie DiMarzio
Ah, spring. All life bursts forth from its night of sleep
Butterflies exchange furry coats for lofty wings
Beautiful Rose buds burst forth with renewed life
Strong hands tenderly assist new growth.
Spring warms to summer with optimism, hope, joy
Sun’s heat burns, dries, the Rose intoxicates with its perfume
Summer rains refresh in gratitude
Loving hands, still strong, tend to vigorous growth.
Falling leaves announce change; green turns to red and gold
Winds blows, squirrels hustle, gather nuts
A chill is in the air, a change in fragrance too
Weakening hands strive to preserve the Rose.
Bony, wrinkled fingers laboriously prune the Rose bush
Unsteady hands lay mulch against winter’s harsh cold
Roses’ shriveled stalk appears dried up, dead
Winter snows fall, purify, during the long winter.
Beneath winter’s snow, lie seeds, that in due season
Spring forth from hidden chambers and Akashic realms
Bony fingers, now invigorated, tend to new growth
Renewals, the modus operandi, hidden in plain sight.
Life continues through this ingenious “Hall of Mirrors”
Until ultimate Renaissance; when lead turns to gold
And “The Emperors New Clothes” no longer deceives
Let the eye see what the inner heart knows.
Appearances, like magician’s sleight of hand,
Appear; disappear, through sorrows, joys,
Through duality of all expressions
But the mystical Inner Rose blooms eternal.
One Great Love©
By Darcy Scott
When my heart is filled with love, more love comes to me.
As I give my love to all, more beauty do I see.
Silent, soothing, healing, too, in laughter or in prayer.
Oh, the joy that fills my life when I show I care —
A gentle urge that whispers soft, “Give, for I’m the key.”
This force so tender and so strong: priceless, yet so free.
Like grains of sand or ocean drops, our love is part of
One Great Love, whom we call God, deep in every heart.
The energy magnetic, that holds creation fast;
Filling every wondrous soul, the first one and the last.
If we could search the atom deep and find from whence we came,
It would reveal a simple truth: God made us all the same.
So, open up, with love for all, not just those we want near.
But let us love the way God loves, for each of us is dear.
The Sacred Journey©
By Louis Gibbs
What begins as perception
Transforms into awareness
That triggers curiosity
Which begs understanding.
So begins a journey
Into the depths of mind
Which fails to satisfy
The undefined longing.
It is only when
In final desperation
One explores the heart
Thus continues the journey
Through this sacred portal
And we come to realize
It’s only just begun.
Sacrifice Means Resurrection©
By Tom Carney
To be born.
Each night merges
Into a new dawn.
The pain comes from holding on.
Sacrifice is saying yes.
In the yes we let go.
The pain ends
In the New.
It is, of course, true–
There can be no Phoenix
Without the ashes.
Phoenix focused, fused
To that rush and release,
With the ashes.
Joy filled– joyfully
Into New and formless Light.
Is the commitment
Of Summer’s full blown richness
To the gloriously incandescent furnace
Of Autumn’s kaleidoscopic color
The death white ash of Winter
From which has already
Sacrifice is the doorway into Eternity.
WHO AM I? – A conversation of the worldly self with the God Self©
By Elsie Dimarzio
I took assessment of myself one clear day in June,
I looked in the mirror and what did I see?
Who is she? I asked, as she stared back at me,
Your Higher Self, come, I’ll teach you, devotee.
Consider your life; the roles you have played;
A child, a daughter, a sister, and student,
A wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sage.
What? You seek what is outside the cage?
What have you learned, have you reflected at all?
O’ teacher of others, come teach yourself.
O’preacher, O’ nurse, O’mentor, O’ muse,
O’ Baptist, O’ Buddhist, O’ mystic so bruised.
Come, listen you, who comprehend not,
How one in a cave with back to the light,
Sees naught but shadows; a fathoms charade,
Except one escapee, who saw the masquerade.
How can this be, pondered I in joyous wonder,
There’s more to life than these myriad illusions?
What? We are immersed in the grandest fantasy?
If I’m not my role, nor my thoughts – then what IS me?
Come out of the dungeon, out of the dark,
Spade the charade; allow true light to shine,
Awake from your slumber; prepare for breakthrough;
The screenwriter is none other than you!
I am the laughter of children; I am the exhilaration you feel.
I am the creativity of artists, musicians, writers.
I am the joy of lovers locked in embrace.
I am peace, I am joy in commonplace.
I remain unmoved – oceans rise ‘n fall in me,
I am the fierce, the gentle winds that sway,
The scorching heat on summer’s day,
The refreshing rains that soothes in May.
I am the first breath of the newborn.
I am the last breath of the dying.
I am the seed of creation.
I am the essence of the ROSE….
We have drunk the same water,
As Jesus, Gandhi, Mohammed,
We flirt with Time but are of Eternity.
We are all ONE in perpetuity.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who am I, after all;
If not the dancer in this grand ballet,
Nor the sum total of DNA?
All emanates from me.
I am past, present and future.
I am unborn and undying.
I am NOW, I am in YOU, I am LOVE.
THE MUSIC OF WORDS©
by Gay Witherington
We are told that all is vibration. Sound is vibration. Number is vibration. Words are vibration. Poetry uses words in a special way which emphasizes their vibratory quality. Like a mantra or a seed thought, poems can still the lower mind and allow the heart to guide us into the contemplative consciousness of the intuition. A single word or a phrase can reverberate in awareness, leading to insight and illumination.
Also, in poetry, the form of the words and how they are arranged takes on a special meaning. Poetry becomes a pattern of words which gives a visual image as well as a vibratory sound. Repetition and rhythm are expressed not only by the sound of the words but by the look of the words on the page, by the length of the lines and the spaces between the lines. For instance, in this very short poem, an intuition is conveyed which would take many words to express in prose.
To the deep abiding joy
Reverberating at the Heart of the Universe
It is the Voice of every atom of creation
Singing: “I AM”
In this very early poem, which I wrote, the form is meant to convey a kind of closed spiral. It flows from the point of the experience of the burning ground which every disciple experiences, down through the mystical joy of the release of all which hinders the merging of personality and soul, through the occult or mental understanding of what the process has entailed, to the final line which encloses the realization of fusion.
THE BURNING GROUND
By Gay Witherington
Sing Holy Fire
Sing in my bones
Sing in my blood
I dance with you
Rising and turning
There is no painful burning here
There is only the letting go
Of all that is not me
And the joyous fusing together
Of all that I am
It is interesting that in the process of writing poetry, the writer probably benefits as much or even more than the reader. First, the writer benefits from the effort of contacting the intuition, holding the mind still to receive the vibratory impulse of the impression, and then struggling to find just the right word and pattern which can contain this vibration. Second, the writer benefits just as the reader does by contemplating the beauty of the images conveyed and striving to blend together the above and below of meaning and form.
Gay Witherington is a long time student of the Ageless Wisdom. She came late to the Lucile Cedercrans teachings – being introduced to them after having spent over 20 years studying with the Arcane School. Her special interests are promoting Wisdom teachings through both the ageless wisdom and modern psychology, participating in the work of the Ashram of Synthesis, and working with earth energies through meditation and crystal grids.
By Tomi Ward
A winged angel in flight with Pegasus; like the breeze moving ever so softly, making branches sway.
The sound of rustling leaves, like gentle kisses and each leaf, a soul who has been touched by your passing by, infinitely moved by your wisdom.
A part of the universe, as important as the sun, the moon, as day and night, your road map, the stars against the horizon where the earth unites with the heavens.
A teacher who descended from Goth.
You are the Lady of the Mist, my dear one.
By Tomi Ward
Emerald water with white waves breaking onto a carpet of cream colored beaches. In the distance I see the sail of a boat shrouded in burgundy, yellow and red. The ocean breeze embraces my body as though I have always been a part of this majestic scene. The sand is peppered with people at play. The songs of the gulls ring out as they soar toward billowing clouds high up into the blue skies and below, the sea grass sways methodically back and forth.
As I gaze down into crystal clear water I watch in fascination the daily routine of the life that goes on beneath the sea. There is the beauty of the manta rays swimming gracefully, their bodies moving effortlessly, like black velvety feathers until finally they are out of sight. The occasional fin of a dolphin rising up and then disappearing into the depths of the water, leaving behind the feeling of complacency. There are schools of silvery skinned fish; and, as the moon settles over the water, the dance of the crabs along the shoreline begins.
Close your eyes and listen to the symphony of the waves, “Shhhh,” they whisper “Let go of all of your troublesome karma and become one with the pure energy that surrounds you.” And, on the second day God created the water and all was good. But do not disrespect the enormity of the sea or the heavens, for once angered the angels of high and the angels of the deep can open up their wrath with such severity that they will swallow up with mighty destruction all that has offended, and, only when the tide goes out and buries the affliction will the waters once again return to calm.
If I had the wisdom to set my pen to describe how I feel, my words would paint a picture in your mind and it would surely be a masterpiece for you too could experience the miracle, and feel the magnitude of the creation of the sea.