Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this modern age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the romance and love out of our lives. The Internet has become a medium to connect with people as everyone is finding it a lot harder to meet one another in the 'real' world. It has undeniably also become a place of voyeuristic fantasy in the realms of sexuality on pornographic sites. What ever happened to true love? Are our priorities so messed up that romance has been forgotten, only to be experienced vicariously through television and movies? The answer is no. Romance will never die; we just have to feed it with our energy.
Around 800 years ago a famous Arabic poet, philosopher and sage named Rumi wrote beautiful love poetry beyond all comparison. I don't know if there have been many other people in Earth's history that have thought about love as much as this master. His poems have not been forgotten, and one place you can simply find and read them is on the Internet. E.g. www.khamush.com/love_poems.html
The beauty of the heart
The beauty of the heart
is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning. (Rumi)
Of course you can also buy books by Rumi on the Net as well, but the main point here is that the Internet doesn't just give us access to our present time and place; it gives us a means to connect with past realities often assumed to be lost in time. It is quite ironic and paradoxical that we can use this modern space age tool to connect with our cultural, spiritual and social heritages. We as a society have come a long way in terms of our technological development, but it is well known throughout the world that our ancestors were much more evolved in these important areas where our growth has become stunted due to a lack of awareness and narrow perspectives on life.
Love, romance, spirituality, none of these things need be forgotten. The answers aren't locked away in tombs and pyramids; they are still here lingering in the back of our consciousness. All we need to do is to get the desire to fulfil our lives by these means and we will search and find the ways. Human beings are incredibly resourceful creatures. When we put our minds to something we can make just about anything happen. I don't want to imply that the answers to our problems are easy, or that the Internet is our sole saviour. I am just amazed at how all things in life are connected, and that we just have to open our eyes to see the all too obvious!
Jesse S. Somer
http://www.m6.net
Jesse S. Somer is a writer searching for Cupid's arrows anywhere possible. He has found that the modern Internet to be a possible source of ancient knowledge and wisdom.
MORE RESOURCES:
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Morning Minutes: March 21 Avon Messenger 1999: Year when March 21 was designated as World Poetry Day by UNESCO. Celebrate today by reading some poems or writing your own! ... |
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Google News
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.
In Poetry: Meaning of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Meaning of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the meaning of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a complete different meaning of what I had intended; this I call a moment of damage control. If my rhyme is flat, and my cadence is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the meaning of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
Kafka Re-Trial
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewedeposited by a silvery alien craft,And whilst he is wondering what to doHe is asked to show his passOr pay an instant one off fineAt a cash dispenser of his choiceAnd they are checking all the timeOn his irises face and voice.And of course they find that he is not,They discover he just cannot be there,Although he seems as if he is visible,And has hands and toes and hair,If he is not on the Great Data Bank,He plainly and simply cannot be,He is not listed and he is not rankedHe is surely not like you and me.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the most difficult questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my response to three items.
Recollections
I AM SO GRATEFUL for simpler times.Stores were closed on Sundays,TV shows seemed to make more sense,Family members spent ample time with each other,And people were valued more than things.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown!I mealy noticed, now they're gone,How quickly passed the flowers!Time does not stop youth's bells;It was like I was in a spell,And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My youthful past days,Still lively in my golden age,When all was quick and newNow wrapped in pictures and books,And friends and family were all I knewAnd love was shown by friendly looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me nowTo find what's old and new,They peer into my-everything, And criticize my views;They tell me what I should like,And that I should be grieved-These are my fragile friends That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the buzzer off;And put the phone outside the door;In vain I speak to tell them why-I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some people ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never answer that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like breaking free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel traditional verse, a stricter formal pattern should be used, as in "Boyhood," and can contribute richly to the poem, so it is.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Writing Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding meaning in few words. A melody of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet express the inner most thoughts and feelings of those who read the words.
Poetry in Turbulence
To many non-specialists of literature, poetry is deeply unsatisfying. There are several reasons for this, but two in particular come to mind.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
Tsunami Day
A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were carrying out the customs of their land.When suddenly without warning, Mother Nature came calling,shook the earth and stole the ocean from the sand.
Stones
As I picked up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the stones looked like before they were polished. The store had several rocks on display showing the before and after and I realized that unless you knew what you were looking for, you could easily pass by a valuable gemstone.
Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words.
Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']WitnessMy face belongs to whoever sees itEverything has a meaning but lifeEven the bugs strive for existence God saved man, from GodGhosts have lonely sinsHer bones are stonesUp and down the hillGardens blossomSpotless skiesDramatistsAugustI can not rest!..
Testimony to the Night [In English and Spanish]
In the quiet of the arctic night-In its deep northern skies,Dim are the lights, in its coldEvening frost?!Even the stars of the arcticSeem silently stone frozen!Here, here is where you findPeace and the beast within-!Remote, no ears or wordsTo clutter the mindTo entrench the throat;Here, here is where you die?(for a moment).Here, the sky has eternal eyesEyes with cosmic tidesTides that never rest: they warWith the Universe-Likened to a dark deep abyss;Endless and never resting?Here my eyes seek and searchIn countless hours, ebbing andSweeping the heavens aboveNumbing, changeless-Are the cosmos, the heavens?Here resides a strange peace?Here, resides a strange peaceWith an army of stars to defeatShinning, silently in the darkThe ebbing, eldritch dark;Time has no relevance here,Here, resides a strange, peace?Cold and oddly numb are my feet,As I look up, upon the many bridgesOne star bridging the next-as if,If Kings and Queens wereGuarding them-the Hosts-O-Yes! A strange, strange peace?Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeFlaming, blazing firmaments-ye,Ye, remind me not, of the wars I left,Of the foes, divine immortals?The enemies that never restAh! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeI hear music, harmony from afar (there)There are storms hidden in a storehouse,For tomorrow-war beyond, beyondOrion's dust?perpetual dust;There, there the sun is dim to bleak.
The Poets Corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner[Three poem/ see review of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly'sAmongst the hillsIn open skiesOf San Jerrnimo,Near Huancayo?Forbidding anyTo near his path-Lest he dareTo risk a attack,Near Huancayo!..
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are serious about seeing your work published by reputable publishers, there are a few points you should consider. Firstly and most obviously, you need to determine if you have poetry worth publishing.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandablejustificationsI respect them, respect you, honor what you tell meand even though I know where you're coming from,I just wanted to share with you, let you hear:my heart..
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Common Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fateWas on the plateOf Doa Leonor'sWhen she arrivedIn Lima, Peru;To taste revengeFor the beheadingOf her husband.And so the plot?was now played out(in an alleyway)As she gutted her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de:La venganza de doa Leonor(1627 despus de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el platoDe doa Leonor.
Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru-By the hills of HuancayoBlack Poncho was given A treasure of gold?;By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of scorching fruit;Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pullThe sizzling golden fruitThrough the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindledBy a jeweler of dire repute.Thus, his life changed (as so often they do);And now he lives with:Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
