April sea

©mcassapidis 2018

the light- bringers...:Celan

m.cassapidis,2015

The bright stones

The bright
stones ride through the air, bright
white, the light-
bringers.

They want to
not sink, not fall,
not collide. They rise
up,
like slender
dog roses they break open,
they float
toward you, my gentle one,
you, my true one—

Celan

Look around: see how things all come alive—Celan

m.cassapidis, 2015

Speak You Too


Speak you too,
speak as the last,
say out your say.

Speak—
But don’t split off No from Yes.
Give your say this meaning too:
give it the shadow.

Give it shadow enough,
give it as much
as you see spread round you from
midnight to midday and midnight.

Look around:
see how things all come alive—
By death! Alive!
Speaks true who speaks shadows

Celan

*

©m.cassapidis,2014

In what sense I am I

©m.cassapidis,2014

As in Giorgione
the suspense
is eternal.

Carl Rakosi, "In What Sense I Am I" from The Collected Poems, published by the National Poetry Foundation.

~

©fourteenth

lightplay

lightplay©fourteenth

We have come into this exquisite world
to experience ever and ever more deeply our divine courage, freedom and light!

Hafiz

waterlight over sandstone

waterlight over sandstone  ©fourteenth

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things: Gerard Manely Hopkins

open mountain ©fourteenth

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Gerard Manley Hopkins 1844–1889

The longing of no longing : washed stones

 ©fourteenth

All is sand. The way it touches, mirrors and adheres to skin. Crystals clean as winnowed grain. Hot on the surface, cool in the under-dark. Poems distant on the horizon, belly-dancing in liquid heat. This is the longing of no longing. Hearing the far-off soul’s music, with no desire in my hips.

©Ruth of washed stones

We are only passing by.

©fourteenth

Looking down

lines of light reflecting;

little fish around my feet

Fish, light, cool sea-surface--

We are only passing by. We were never really here.

We forget so to remember

pebbles beneath sea surface     ©fourteenth

pebbles beneath   ©fourteenth

Let us be...a poem by Hafiz

©fourteenth

Let us be like

Two falling stars in the day sky.

Let no one know of our sublime beauty

As we hold hands with God

And burn

Into a sacred existence that defies -

That surpasses

Every description of ecstasy

And love.

Hafiz

for {you}

silence

©fourteenth










☯