There’s no comfort
like the comfort of a friend.
There’s no comfort
Like the comfort of a mother
or a father.
There’s no comfort
like the comfort of a son
or of a daughter .
There is no comfort like
the comfort of love,
All In The One
Views
We
All have different views :
Some view from above
And
Some from below .
some look back and
some straight ahead
some north or south and
some east or west
some look
Inside and
Some look
outside
some in darkness
some in light
some see from youth
And some see from
Oncoming death but
None
Except through faith
can
easily see it all ,
as it is ,
one ,
one
and
the same .
Void Voice
I was tired
you gave me rest .
I was desolate
consumed by a void
till I heard
A silent sacred voice
Spilling into it
so very clearly
In a sparkling flow
Peace relieve me.
Grief let me learn to
live with less .
Give me more of that
stark and simple insight
courage
so that I can
Openly confess
that all is one .
The moon peered
In the distance and
Shed blue tears
At 3am,
Dressed bed
in darkness with white
Nocturnal bliss.
Oh why so
Dark And full of light, heavenly tilted head?
Fatima
Fatima
daughter
of the prophet
child and servant
of the creator,
Charitable and kind,
many times a mother ,
sometimes
your bones
are broken.
There are times
you are so frail,
and sad .
We all are made so
at times.
In your prayers
you are strong,
and made whole,
and in them
you live forever .
By the River Shore At Night
The full moon was pillowed
In the glow of cloud
Iluminating the river shore,
as Orpheus plucked
his heavenly resounding string.
The boatman
tired
had given up his rowing
And taken up the sale of books,
and other things.
So Sidhartha
approached
from darkness
from the shelter of the many trees,
to take up the boatman’s mantel
first asking for a balaclava
to sheild him from remembrance,
from the cold
and the familiar,
To take up the oar, the boat,
their travels,
back and forth.
“My country is not so cold”
he said
“and I’m not used to chill.”
“In the countries where I’ve lived
the owners of the lands
are wealthy
and the people suffer still.”
So I’ve come here to the shore
to ferry,
to forget
troubles and desire,
to listen to the music of the waters
and to heal,
receive,
repeat and mirror
the placid rivers aid,
To put my faith in the One,
once again
To strum the water
with new found ancient oar,
To ferry the disenchanted,
the broken hearted,
the heroes,
the lost and the forlorn,
Some wrapped in white
linen sheet,
Some on bed of flowers,
Some on wooden barge
lit by single flames,
Some reduced to bare
And pristine bone,
to the golden islands,
or to the other shores.
The German Couple Next to Us
A couple
was speaking German
at the table next to us.
She was a fine lady
in her fifties
with short cropped hair,
clear blue eyes and,
quite young
in her movement
and demeanor.
He sat across from
her at the table,
a tall graying gentleman,
with wrinkles
in his face ,
engraved
likely
by many frequent smiles
over the years.
And at one
quite unexpected
instant
in raw and unashamed emotion ,
she laid her hand
on him and caressed
all the deep lines
on his face ,
with a type
of tenderness
and warmth,
rarely ever seen,
with no equal in it’s honesty.
He returned
the gesture to her
lovingly
like a mirror
by looking deeply
into her eyes.
And in the end
it was plain
that there is
no brand or nationality
to humanity.
We are all part and parcel of
the human race ,
and all
the same.
We’re the subject
of a kind and gentle grace ,
with a yearning for
gentle
embrace
and for each others
enduring
mirrored love.
From “Dreams for A Saturday Morning ” by PWChaltas
Dream Sequence
Misted evening
David on his terrace
watching two men .
one his soldier ,
the other friend ,
across and down the way
on neighbouring terrace .
Red wine drips
from both their lips
at a perverse table
of their words.
Suddenly Bathsheba
appears
naked In the thick
and sultry
air of night
only to quickly disappear.
He feels her nearer now.
The sickness in his loins
grows and sets
in his heart.
The sun
is tempted .
Further up the One
observes
and knows
the
outcome of it all .
Thank you for
this return
high up
on towers
so much
like Lorcan song
where the soul
can soar,
fly free,
and be
certain
of a never-ending
love kept
warm and close
For you
for me
made three.
The Travellers
Each one of us
is a traveller
and often a wastrel,
with a soul like
a feather in the wind.
Winds blow it
mercilessly hard and cold
in furious storms without meaning
into thankless death.
Lead our souls like a feather in the wind
like a sheep and like a naïve lamb
led by a loving hand .
Its such a long way to go,
over the waters .
Thalassa, thalassa,
the wind blows ,
and we travel far
from the gentle start
in the morning.
We all have a choice to make
as we go .
“You have come down
now visible ,
Infinite and Eternal one
to conceal yourself
as the manifest force of nature
and to allow evil to have free reign
and to exist in this world ,
only to raise us high
and to test us to reveal ,
through your blowing
and changing winds ,
the traits of leadership
that you have given us,
and placed quietly within.
In your eternal will,
you wait patiently
to spring out
and fulfill . “ * *Kabbalistic Prayer
From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas
PWChaltas 