Entries Tagged as 'Poems'

International Corps of Diploets

“Terry Philips, Founder of the Corps of Diploets, was an aspiring poet from West Hartford, Connecticut when he underwent life-changing inspiration in April 2003. Eager to meet the mythical muse, Terry was skeptical that such events really happen… until the muse met him!

“I got only one word. That word hit me–like–kapow!” Terry announced to members of Meeting the Muse. “Diploet. It means Diplomatic Poet. What I don’t know is: What am I supposed to do about it?”

Fellow poets responded by naming Terry director of the fledgling circle of diplomatic poets who next adopted the honorary title “diploet” as one any writer who had signed “A Writer’s Credo” could use. From this humble start, the path of diploecy circled the world. Join us? It’s free!

THE DIPLOET’S PATH

Diploecy produces profound-yet-practical peace and prosperity, and includes a creative-writing critique technique that assures everyone wins/no one loses.

Diploetic power in motion promises to be more influential than military might or political prowess. and it eradicates religious conflict.

Terry Philips, the world’s first Diploet, died less than six months after his meeting with the muse. His legacy lived on. Plans for development of the Diploetic Corps proceeded under the inspirational light of Pratap Kotamraju, former career diplomat and journalist from India who retired in Southwest Missouri. In January 2006, Eric H. Read became Keeper of the Seal. ”

http://www.amykitchenerfdn.org/diplomat.html

Writer’s Credo

http://www.amykitchenerfdn.org/dock.html

Mindless Versus Mindful

Some say it is moving into an altered state.  Some say it is simply focusing on one thing.  Some say it is prayer.  Some say it is found through movement, through dance, through song, through chants, through breathing.  For me, meditation is focusing on an art project, moving to a space where a poem resides, being so present, the world, and its stressors, go away.

The world we live in is nothing more than heightened chaos, and governments and medias would have us kept there because we are easier to manage if we are stressed out and fearful.

I remember a relaxation technique I used to go to sleep, when I was much younger and sleep came hard.  I would start at my toes and say, “My toes are falling asleep,” until I was totally conscious of every part of my toes…then I would move up, slowly, to arch, to heel, to ankle, to calf, to knee….on up to crown of head.  If I had not fallen too sleep by then, I would start over again.  It was better than a sledge hammer, and I did not realize I was in a state of meditation.

Mind body transformation…that is part of what meditation is.  Have you ever entered a totally new sense of space and time while creating art, gazing at a scene, writing a poem?  That is that place.  It is also a place of authentic soul.

I include a link to Mindful Meditation   http://www.shambhalasun.com/index.php?option=content&task=view&id=2125

How much do we do Mindlessly?  My daughter and I were speaking about how we can go from table to fridge and forget what we were doing.  How easily we have been conditioned to overlook the movements of our body, the depth and reasons of our thoughts, the triggers for our emotion, and the whispers of spirit.

It is far from New Age, although some churches will warn their members that to empty one’s mind is to allow evil in.    For example, this quote:  “The believer who enters the realm of Platonic ecstasy and transpersonalism runs the risk of opening them¬selves up to the influence of “rulers, authorities, and the powers of this dark world” (Eph. 6:12). The English doc¬tor and scholar on psychotherapy, Roger Hurding, writes thus, “As well as the clear injunctions of scripture against the one who practices “divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead” (Deut. 18:10,11), we see many examples of tres¬passing into forbidden territory amongst the advocates of transpersonalism.”9 These “excursions” are dangerous because one is exposed both to divine influence and also to influence from the evil one. In observing the general¬ized interest that people have today in parapsychological phenomena, yoga, Eastern religions, altered states of consciousness, experiences outside of the body, etc., another psychiatrist warns, “This urge to transcendence occasionally takes on bizarre or exaggerated forms, such as black magic, occultism, misuse of psychedelic drugs, and cultic guru worship.”

As long as their has been thought, there has been the way to calm oneself, to focus, to quieten the chaos, to calm the fears, and to gain strong connection with The One.  So many misunderstand….meditation is prayer, connection with The One Omnipresent Being ( not Pope, nor ideological “God” as each religion defines him/her).    It is connection to the sources, that part of goodness and God-connections within.  It is a way to connect, mindfully, to one’s soul and spirit by quietening the outside world.  It has nothing to do with religions, if you do it right.  In fact, it is way more pure, more clear, less connotative and restrictive.  It is an awakening and an awareness of the deep, deep, soul.  It is an absolute personal relationship and connection to Creator.

Next time you focus on something, consider your body’s reaction to that, consider your thoughts, consider your emotional response to it, and then connect to the spirit of it.  I would suggest that to listen to the voice of a politically, power hungry religion telling you what your relationship with God/Creator should be, what should be like, how it should be, is to act in a mindless way.  We all have minds, now we must exercise that and be mindful of all things.  Meditation is a focused mindfulness.

Broken Site

The site was broken in IE7.  I have had to delete posts backwards to find the one that was stalling it.  I have it repaired, I think.  I will continue on.  Sorry for the inconvenience

That Kind Of Rain and reply by Orean

That Kind Of Rain

I.

one that deserts heaven

to leap to a prayer-tipped, face

and mixes with tears, like watercolor

brush to wet canvas

that kind of Rain

II.

one that slides slowly to a new slant

in order to give a newly budded blossom

its first kiss

that kind of Rain

III.

little bit that fills a rain gauge

after a long dry spell

and that one last drip

runs over the quivering lip

that kind of rain

IV.

let me heaven heaven-spiral,

blue on blue, to colors’ cup

it sips to nourish new ways of being wet

but never down

that kind of rain

a high sung carol

dropping note by note

Reply from Orean:

Orean  http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-KlP9VAsrab_njRKB86w-?cq=1&p=139#comments

A tiny raindrop…
One of millions: insignificant
A face in the crowd: unnoticed
It has no meaning,
There are more from whence it came.
No future: No past
Nothing matters: Nobody cares
Who am I?
Who are you?
Does anybody know: Really
Does anybody care: Sincerely
Who cares if it is gone,
There are more to take its place.
What makes me so special: Honestly
What makes you stand out: Realistically
Have you left your mark?
Will you be remembered?
Or will you be like the raindrop: Forgotten
Be more of the same: Indistinguishable

©Orean

Thank you, Orean,

I want to be that raindrop that leaps to a lover’s face.  I want to be that raindrop that gives a blossom its first kiss.  I wish to be that raindrop that fills the gauge…. what a wonderful poem.  Thank you for sharing it.  Carol.

Whispers From A Dying Bloom

In the secret language of flowers,

tongue of masculinity resides

in perfect expression

of what catches the feminine eye.

Sufi draped and stalled wait

for sunshine to regenerate

words for peace

after palmy leaves

release their bundle into light

to rust in sealed-lip consecration

of prayers in regal costume.

Oh, that is the way of the world:

When hope is tender, taut and true

freshly released from coddle

we are splendid in our desires

to be beautifully unbent,

only to be whipped and warped

by acidic breath of those

who wish us ill

in greed and envy

for perfection

that is polluted

by sad, surrendered wishes

whispered from a dying bloom.