Poetry Celebration and Contest (thru August 30)

[Jeff Aitken]

Did any of the poems on this list affect you? Was there a net of words that caught something of beauty or meaning for you, even if only for a moment?

I invite you to acknowledge the author of that poem (or authors of those poems) by offering your five votes to them. You don't need any special expertise; only to notice if the words affect you.

You may send your votes to ME by next Monday, August 30, at midnight California time. DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL OR SEND THE VOTES TO OSLIST. Send your votes ONLY to Jeff Aitken at mailto:tzimtzum at earthlink.net

Here are the poems (for the final time); thanks for the space for poetry on the oslist.


1.

Butterflies and Open Space, Any Form

our original thought wanders into chaos,
and dissolves
into a liquid body suspended weightless
at the wild and quivering edge,
ripening with the passion fruit of silence: yes *and* no

we re-mind
we re-member
the pattern of Our Body re-forms, and
the radiant chrysalis Opens
at just
the right

time

this is living in truth, and beauty,
in conflict, confusion, and love
these wings whisper into unexpected being
the fierce light-net that cradles the grief

this is the World to Come:
now
here
this

-Christy Lee-Engel


2.

summer coast glowing gray in fog.
sea lions shout their lazy tales.
and here along the moist forest trail

el dorado appears: a grove of eucalyptus
dripping with gold. paper thin flakes,
tarnished with black: a thousand gently resting

butterflies. this silent miracle can only
take place because they dare: to
follow their hearts for a thousand miles.

-Jeff Aitken


3.

The Butterfly


Always peers through narrowed eyes
is the attraction genuine
or merely desire peeling
from a moving wall?

For she cannot see
beauty on her back,
the challenge of her design,
the random, nested within
age-old patterns, in the half-light.

I must learn to pace
alate flutters, sultry mornings,
ventures in silence
to be seen reaching
deep into the nectar.

-Ralph Copleman


4.

A momentary monodrama


Butterflies we experience
as flimsy, fleeting,
fragile, beautiful,
incomprehensible.

A colleague does wondrous
graphic recording of the conversing
through which self organising manifests
when space is open.

She also brings a harp
to add to the harmony through which
co-creation emerges
in a vibrational realm.

Recently a plucky participant
took time alone to strum on the strings
while others got on with the
serious play at hand.

Did this bobbing and wafting
aligning of tender vibes
contribute to a transformation
which almost strained credulity?

-Alan Stewart


5.

PORTALS

In the green heart of the wild wood,
Woodpecker is knocking:
at midsummer the air is as green
as light filtered through emerald.
Deer steps into a shadow
And disappears.

I sit by the water drumming,
open my eyes to Butterfly -
a flash of black and yellow
rises up in my face,
soars over my head and leaves me
drumming, enchanted.

Earth holds the weight of tree trunks,
heavy and unmoving,
but in the circle of the sky
leafy treetops bend and shake,
playing a wild game
with the wind.

The air is interlaced with open spaces,
this world and some other
lie as close together
as a leaf lies against the air -
a blink of an eye, shift of imagination,
will take me there.

And my heart is captured by longing,
restless with the thin veneer
over the surfaces of things,
watching for the moment of invitation:
a trembling leaf, Woodpecker knocking,
a new note in your voice . . .

The world on fire burns with a green flame:
I will not trade a precious moment
of the chaos, joy and pain
for a life with no surprises,
for a day with no time
to let you in.

-Joelle Lyons Everett


6.

I had an admiral in the house.
He got in through an open window
and he fluttered around
trying to push through the glass
to get outside again.

Butterflies always point to the open space.
They move to the edges and transcend the boundaries
drawing our attention
to what is over there
outside even of the space we think we have opened.

My admiral, white stripes on black wing,
flew free when I opened the window
and let him go.

-Chris Corrigan


7.

For Harrison


the old skipper commands the bar.
all around him the hotel is in storm,
waves run thru the halls, ideas crackle.
but his stories roll on,
his hand light on the wheel.

his tattoo is a butterfly!
no need for bravado.
he has traversed a darkness,
cut free from a chrysalis,
felt the strength of wide wings.

he knows that the calm always comes once again.

-Jeff Aitken

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