Have you noticed how trees regard us with distain?
How they glare through their tight knots of annoyance?
How their creaks complain in concert, irritated by our clumsy husbandry?
How they scoff at our ignorance of their ancient shimmy with the consonant sunlight?
How they wait out our passing?

I leaned on it,
As it listens to the waves of lakeside,
Frothing more than backing.

I breathed with it,
As it stands with branches adorned by golden spots,
Fading yet staying.

I greeted on it,
As it shallows those lost ones with its fragrant of brown,
Healing for the incomparable.

I fell into it,
As if it starts to stray,
Losing while finding.

I invite you to the greenfield,
At the corner of hope and love.
It rests upon the hill,
Overlooking a lake of blue water.

We will be in the company of
A solitary nut tree, heavy with fruit,
An old picnic table carved with scattered letters,
And a chorus of bees whispering to wild pink and yellow flowers.

A beautiful sunset will cast its light across the greenfield,
While the sky shifts in confusion—orange, red, and pink.
A blue butterfly dances, delighting in the gentle breeze.

A playful squirrel nibbles on nuts,
While a nest of birds sing in anticipation of visitors.
Together, we shall let nature read our minds,
Feel our hearts, and speak our words
Through its muted language.

Hussein Dekmak

They clip your wings
‘Till you grow out of their reach
Towering above
Where only the wind and stars
Can touch you
How is the view
From the top of the sky?
Do you see all the birds
And take pleasure in their company?
You’ll grow forever more
But will forget me in time

Prior to Intent
"heart sets up a vibration
echoing as wordless intent
mind translates in symbols
flight of our soul’s ascent
is intent then a stirring
of soul with God conferring"
Unseeking Seeker

________


IN THE BEGINNING
intentions set
luminescent spiralling
quarks already written
as codes at birthing of Soul
from Divine Mind

intricate patterns of
His-Her inconceivable
eternal infinite Plans
tracings of filigree Love
dormantly waiting for its
Time to flower then fade

so Soul descends carrying its
precious curriculum
safely packaged spiritual
missions into Heartspace
many slumbering intentions
of All That Is being embodied

Heart delicate pure receiver
of Soul’s encodings
cradles, embraces, lubricates
acknowledges intent ~
relays God’s codes to
mind to pattern into fruition

before intention unfurls from
mind it glimmering hovers
flickers between Heart and Soul
awaiting Divine Timing instruction
precise moments for exposition
of the new

whispering inside and outside of
consciousness from spacelessness
into spacetime Heart who
recognises light-sound
frequency waves from
IN THE BEGINNING

Divine desire plugs power
into Heart as His-Her Lover-Child
balances presence attracting
right emotion
a globule on Tree of Life flash
need becomes illusion

kaleidoscopic patterns form
spaces fill or empty
intent given shaped form
coloured creation dances
then disappears
God smiles with Soul

Heart in bliss

©GhairoDanielsPoetry

On a busy afternoon i sat on the floor,
and i felt someone looking at me.
Through the glass frame peering into room,
Was an old, brown wood tree.

The tree was old, yet rather slim,
And i wondered how it spent it's day.
Was it by feeling the raindrops fall?
Or by watching the children play?

The tree had rusty green leaves,
Dwelling on its branches all along.
When the wind blew and the leaves moved,
They'd whistle it a beautiful song.

The tree was still and i could move,
Yet to me, it felt more alive.
As i could move, still feel stuck.
And it was still, at peace and thrived.

I often envy the brown wood tree,
As it enjoys the sunset of june.
Thinking that, i get up and realize that I'm late,
To continue with my busy afternoon.

The old pine boughs,
Sway, fold, bend,
The sky’s wind tipping them low,
The tips downturned,
In the waving breeze,
But each bough holds,
Against the formidable winds.

When they fold,
The wind tells them to dance,
To sing against the voice of the breeze,
To sway like a flag,
Red white blue,
The colors of an evening sky.

While the boughs refuse to break,
They are just as a prow,
The swerving, pointed-tip of a handsome ship,
Muttering softly against the ocean,
As it carves its way,
Through the deep ocean’s blue-clear-greens.
The pine sits with its old aerial roots,
Its deep nut-brown chest swollen with pride,
Dark green needles catch some air and fly,
Still connected to the old boughs.

The old boughs watch over,
Through the night-morning-noon-evening-night,
Every storm and frost.

The old pine boughs are as great as a grain of sand,
Alone in the deep blue seas,
For no one appreciates that one old pine,
Its boughs each a prow,
For the wind and the rain.