Last week I received from Tushita Publishers in Germany, the proofs to read of my book of 125 poems, Poems from the Edge. I am very grateful to Tushita as it is extremely difficult to get a book of poetry published.
I know. I tried. Poetry publishers ask for three to five poems and SAE. I duly sent off. With no success.
One poetry publisher replied and said they received 250 to 400 submissions per month and only published 15 books of poetry per year. Another said it would be a minimum of three years before they publish a new book of poetry due to contracts already signed. Another poetry publisher has not accepted unsolicited manuscript for 20 years. etc.
Time in the nature has the capacity to squeeze the poetry of life out of us. T.S. Elliot had Ezra Pound to edit The Wasteland – perhaps the finest poem in the Engllsh language of the last century. As poets we ne an editor and feedback.
I had around 250 poems written over the past 25 years. I did a search through Word doc. folders and found poems from my books, articles, Dharma eNews as well as files kept for poems. I spent a year working on the poems, mostly putting them into metre form although free verse, like conceptual art, remains firmly in fashion. Here are three poems from the book.
APART FROM WHAT WE SHOW
So strange a thing, our human expressions
that speak of matters we find in sessions,
a funny thing; we show many faces
we convey our moods and what else graces;
like clouds, we go through far more than we know,
we seem apart, distant, from what we show.
We feel our feelings, think our thought
we say what words say, yet much comes to naught,
a game of winning a point, so hard pressed,
we never know the bees hum who buzz best,
one truth or other forms such a strange bond,
we hardly know anything that’s beyond.
I HEAR YOUR VOICE
I hear your trumpet call on grassy slope,
you utter messages of loss of hope,
and blow up your issues to break the ties,
thus follows swollen red in burning eyes.
I hear you far away from where we met,
with you and I at odds over what we set,
we’ve made for another trial of noise,
and held to these stands on which we still poise.
We speak of something, very old and tired,
on thunder clouds, we find our mind got wired,
we slip back into warped and crusty ways
and then we feel the burden that dismays.
Your sudden change can see the end is nigh
to calm your stress, to fade away the cry,
discharge all your habits that you endure.
and find a shelter in the storms for sure.
What we say fuels even more our mount.
What makes me think of matters to account?
We struggled once again what we mislay.
What are the ways to meet without delay?
Our endless plight will meet exposed howl
let’s stay content; avoid the moods so foul,
an act of love will change the landscape’s view,
so pouring rain can soak our souls anew.
.PLUNDER YOUR EGO
Why must we wait for things to happen?
Let’s go and blow our mind from things loved dear,
a force, a lightning rod, a rocket launched,
it comes from depth of our being very near.
Welcome the volcano to light the sky,
your way is never just yours , not just for you;
you sense your power, real sacred moments too,
events emerge as rumble gathers true.
Open your life today to present styles,
just see, be clear, you meditate, just that,
submit to love that’s greater than your death,
and shatter any forms you might combat.
You then seize the day just to leap beyond,
you have no need to bounce like cork on wave
or toss and turn to try to get things right,
to know the end of things you once did crave.
For we are made of more than bobbing stuff,
our daily dreams and fears obscure the way,
eruptions hold the greater chance for change
to shake the heart, the view, and then display.
Open your life to take the mind away,
you have a right to hasten ego’s fall,
to know the things you never thought at all,
your life becomes a song, an art to shine,
to know a truth, to know what is divine.
Dear Facebook friends, Write poems. Share them. Life is poetry as much as anything else.