Poetry

A Love Sonnet by Ian Harry Wells

Infatuation

Aged over seventy and I fell in love, unexpected to say the least. I will never forget the date; 31^st October 2014, Halloween! Is that prophetic? More than twelve months have since passed and those feelings haven’t waned, they have intensified. How to celebrate this situation? After some thinking I came up with the following … I like to write, the language of love is poetry, the best love poems are sonnets, therefore I decided to attempt to create a love sonnet. What follows is the outcome of that decision, written for my princess.

January 9, 2016 9 comments

Poetry Writing

The Other Side: A Poem from Sydney

Balls Head Reserve, Sydney Harbour

I recently lived for eighteen months on the north side, in Waverton. One of the precious finds across the bridge was Balls Head Reserve, flanked by Sydney Harbour on three sides. This Reserve of 23 acres of bushland with native flora and fauna, Aboriginal sites, and spectacular views, was first explored by Lieutenant Henry Lidgbird Ball, Commander of the ship Supply in the First Fleet of 1788.

I used to go there every day to walk, meditate and marvel at the scenery and wild life. There’s nothing like it on the eastern side. One day I caught sight of Wild Oats Eleven practising on the harbour.

There were several favourite places where I liked to sit and meditate, before continuing on my daily exercise.

a-nest-for-a-human-being

The Other Side

Within this secret womb
where reeds and limbs embrace
and water-lapping sounds wash over me
as sailing boats and gulls glide into view
I sit in lotus poss and close my eyes and
breathe in bushland smells
as fresh and crisp as newborn dew that
lift me up as if to hover air-born
on the other side

In symphony with mystic signs of
currawongs carrolling
and ancient ferries passing by
liquefying mind in sight and sounds
on the other side

Smell the salt from seas brought on the winds
swishing soft past ear and hair as far
away floating giants stir up wakes of foam
and head for open seas—America over there
I dream of fish flying in the spray
and magic eyries in which eagles lay their eggs
and plovers quiver guarding young
from snakes and lizards prey

Shedding human wiles
I meld becoming one with all
with grass and sky and harbour waters on
the
other
side

© Anne Skyvington

January 4, 2016 2 comments

Mythos Poetry Writing

An ancient mystic: Rumi

About Rumi

Born June 03, 1207in بلخ / Balkh, Afghanistan
Died August 20, 1273
From Wikipedia:

Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī (Persian: مولانا جلال الدین محمد رومی), also known as Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Balḫī (Persian: محمد بلخى) or Maulana Jalal al-Din Rumi, but known to the English-speaking world simply as Rumi, was a 13th century Persian (Tādjīk) poet, Islamic jurist, and theologian. Rumi is a descriptive name meaning “the Roman” since he lived most parts of his life in Anatolia which had been part of the Roman Empire until the Seljuq conquest two centuries earlier.

Rumi’s work are written in the new Persian Language. New Persian (also called Dari-Persian or Dari), a widely understood vernacular of Middle Persian, has its linguistic origin in the Fars Province of modern Iran. A Dari-Persian literary renaissance (In the 8th/9th century) started in regions of Sistan, Khorasan and Transoxiana and by the 10th/11th century, it overtook Arabic as the literary and cultural language in the Persian Islamic world. Although Rumi’s works were written in Persian, Rumi’s importance is considered to transcend national and ethnic borders. His original works are widely read in the original language across the Persian-speaking world. Translations of his works are very popular in South Asian, Turkic, Arab and Western countries. His poetry has influenced Persian literature as well as Urdu, Bengali and Turkish literatures. His poems have been widely translated into many of the world’s languages in various formats, and BBC News has described him as the “most popular poet in America”. (Wikipedia)

January 2, 2016 7 comments

Guest Post Poetry Writing

Life is a Beach: a guest post by Ian Wells

Life is a Beach

Have you heard the saying, Life is a beach?
Have you ever strolled along a sandy shore?
Scrunching wet sand deliciously between your toes?

I have

I’ve watched the spray fly,
heard the waves pound
marvelled at dolphins dancing
enjoyed the birds’ aerobatic antics.

I’ve felt the sting of the hot sun on my flesh
while breathing in the tang of sweet salty air.
I’ve licked briny beads from my lips and tasted the sea.
I’ve walked with a well-loved someone, warmed inside and out,
talking and smiling and caring,

touching and laughing in the sun,
sharing our past, our present and our future.

Born and raised by the beach, I left for a while,

but the beach’s lure meant I just HAD to return.

Live well, laugh and love the beach, I cry.
I think I’ll always be passionate about my life…

and I’ll be so with a very special place in mind.

Life IS a beach!

© Ian Wells

December 13, 2015 2 comments

Mythos Poetry Writing

Poets In Praise of Love

This beautiful poem fell upon my desk one morning
out of the world wide web :

I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too
I have come all this way, eager for you
Without shoes or shawl
I want you to laugh
To kill all your worries
To love you
To nourish you
― Rumi

The Poet

Rumi

Rumi (1207 – 17 December 1273), was a Persian poet, theologian, and Sufi mystic.

His quotes on love are inspirational.

Rumi has been described as the “most popular poet” and is the best-selling poet in the United States.

His poems have been widely translated into many of the world’s languages and transposed into various formats.

This led me think of William Blake’s lovely poem
about a sick rose:

william-blake-by-thomas-phillips

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

―William Blake

And I must include my favourite Shakespearean
Love Sonnet No. XCI

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

—William Shakespeare

young-shakespearian-man

December 12, 2015 0 comment