SELF ABIDANCE

Deep poise in Self alone is sure release
From nescient net of perverse mental pain.
Only a practiced well skilled subtle brain
Can swim the lake of light in perfect peace.
When one's wander-lust does end and cease,
And restless mind keeps quiet on restful plain,
Like dry parched dust settled by summer rain,
Abiding still at heart will calmly please.

By sharp sword of steel discrimination keen,
Between the false unreal and truly real,
The pinioned mortal soul may also feel
Joy divine, detached from worldly scene.
Soon mental mire and wounded body heal
From trouble toil of torrid thought's machine

AGNI

Coruscating bursting Fire, radiant One;
Inside my heart implodes your blazing Sun.
You're burning my worldly dross of slothful mire,
In your white hot crucible of liquid Fire.
I love this fearless Fire! I say yea, and pray
To Agni through darkest night for brightest day!

JUNE IN BLOOM

Fragrant June's fair blossoming garden croons ,
'Never tire from communing with those tunes
Which flow from Self', in silent woods where broad
Beams of golden sunshine fall in full accord
With rippling streams. A dusty lane's your goal,
The way to reach your Heart and make you whole,
To lead you where the higher path begins.
Fresh air, fair horizon blue, and crystal springs,
Lips of dawn where a humble soul may kiss
The hem of heaven's robe in carefree bliss.

Come! let's gaze at God's twinkling stars so chaste
To shine on Mother Earth piercing veils with haste.
Let the pine tree imbued with scented song
In burning breath of noon waltz you along
To lush meadows of soft emerald green,
Where Nature's radiance brings out her sheen,
As on a full blown crimson velvet rose,
That says 'He knows, He knows, He surely knows!
That Love, latent in your breast that's here and now
Will ever bless this sacred, sacramental hour.

SAGE ALL ALONE

THE GREAT SAGE, unfathomable,free from fear,
Stands firm in our wordly field. His solitude
Beats a throbbing pulse of blest beatitude,
For all unseen, who time and space hold dear.

There being One Sheer Existence for the Seer,
No place is left in such placid plenitude,
For dark shadows false or grey, to occlude
His Sun, blazing bright behind clouds so drear.

Now his silence plays upon our weary world.
As his True Nature is Self empowered,
His grace extends,his glory is unfurled,
As lotus flowers, so's his field endowered.

He calls to Man, awake from your mundane dream!
His Grace is a rainbow robe without a seam.

A MISER'S NOT WISER

A MISER'S NOT WISER

Grabbing hands seize greedily, much too much,
For such, is the maddening Midas touch
Of avarice: never satisfied nor fed
Enough to rest, nor pacified ‘till dead.

Men who crave all day to gain mere riches
Often fall prey to the wily snares of bitches.
So sad, is the life of a man pursuing wealth,
So bad, a certain plan to ruin precious health.

A kinder way, to set one’s mind at ease,
Is be poor and happy, then rest in peace.

THE OLDEST PROFESSION

THE OLDEST PROFESSION

Sluttish senses strut the streets and strumpet,
Soliciting, embracing nonsense notions,
Flirting with salacious crude emotions,
When shall back-pack mind cease to trumpet?
Dressed up in opinions, fashion's crumpet,
Vague assertions, intellectual potions,
Intoxicating theorems, formulations.
How to end this harlotry? Best dump it!

Display the wonder of your radiant form,
Your golden tresses, moon-lit eyes of night;
Overwhelm my mind, then service I'll perform;
Stop lurking in the gloom, enter into light.
Let me glimpse the glory of your aura, bright.
Calm often follows tumult of the storm.

MONKEY BUSINESS

MONKEY BUSINESS

Monkey mind performs perfidious tricks,
Watch it trapeze in its jungle of illlusion,
Tangled tree tops of passionate delusion,
Honeyed hills of craving, lust for kicks,
It picks and licks pleasure plums and plays antics
In confusion, falling drunk. In profusion,
It emits ideas, an endless effusion.
So silence it with a punishment of sticks.

But I must accept 'myself', this treasured gift
Of life. Tie me stoutly by a firm rope
Of Devotion, then I'll steady, and not lift
My heart in sham elation, but wait in hope;
Clear headed and sage, I'll be able to cope.
The Truth from the False I'll be able to sift.

BLESSED NEW DAY

BLESSED NEW DAY

Beloved! your bewitching glance of grace,
Stole one dark night into my troubled mind,
And saved my soul; a deed of mercy kind.
Let me glimpse the bright halo round your face
Unveiled. You seized me captive in that place
Hidden deep in my heart, you were hard to find.
The balm from your open palm healed my blind
Deluded mind, all pain vanished without a trace.

I loved you then the only way I could
Unimpeded by the selfish impish 'me'.
You opened the lotus of my heart for good,
Mercy flowed like milk from breasts so free.
Your beauty's all aglow for me to see,
In blaze of Self, I've wakened, understood!

SARTOR RESARTUS

SARTOR RESARTUS*

Mistress! Rip off my mouldy mundane dress,
My crudely cut clothes are custom made,
Strip me naked, I need your urgent aid
To free my soul from dull dress of stress.
My limbs fidget, this body’s too restless.
Fashion me instead a coat less down grade,
For mercy and grace, hard penance I’ve paid.
Seamstress, clad me gladly my soul to bless.

The tailor’s talent is a wholesome art,
Garments are neatly stitched and snipped with care.
Pray weave me a robe of gossamer and air,
Rainbow hues will grace my aching heart.
Hand me that coat which Joseph once did wear,
Dressed in such finery, I’ll play a prophet’s part.

*The Tailor Retailored.

All my book Titles can now be found at https://twitter.com/ Alan Jacobs Poet

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at Face Book Alan Jacobs Poet/Writer/Author

GRATITUDE

GRATITUDE

Thank you Bhagavan Sri Ramana,
For calling me, trapped in world samsara,
And taking this stupid, sinful wretch,
As one of your flock, in order to fetch
And rouse me from dim psychotic sleep,
By your ocean of mercy and Teachings deep,
Pray make me worthy to receive your Grace,
And know my own Real Self, my original face.

A poor forlorn youth fell in the mire
Then was scalded by a forest fire,
The good Samaritan, noting well the scene,
Saved the lad from his nightmarish dream.
He took him caressingly beneath his wing,
Healed the boy , who then began to sing,
“To Thee, dear Guru of my mental field,
In true devotion, my mind, to thee, I yield.

WHAT THE SONNET IS

WHAT THE SONNET IS

Proud philosophy proposed to Poetry pure,
Coaxing, cajoling her to serve him as his Queen.
Reluctant she succumbed: hair dragged to his lair,
Lured and bedded behind his mental screen.
Uneasy waged their wedlock, heavily hard to bear
Her fairy fancies with his rigid thought machine.
Divorce seemed certain, ‘til from who knows where?
Fourteen lines of metre, meandered on the scene.

Philosophic sonnets solved their crisis soon,
To knit ideas with verses in a subtle form.
He shone as Sun, she swanned as silver Moon
Reflecting wisdom in stanzas, heartfelt, warm.
They seized the avid reader like a thunder storm,
Philosophic sonnets now were born, the cultured norm.

Alan Jacobs

QUESTION

QUESTION

In a musky antique book shop, very old,
Lay a dusty volume, but still unsold;
Gold blocked, with embossed crimson cover,
That a bees wax polish would soon recover,
Imparting a perfume of honey and thyme,
Reminding one of a balmy summer time.

Inside were poems filled with natural beauty,
Ballads of heroes, who performed their duty;
Fought battles, ‘til their gallant souls did fall,
Such glories did these tales of old recall.
Some leaves uncut after decades of time,
It made me question, with thoughts sublime.

In our book of life are their uncut pages,
Left to resonate through endless ages?

HE FEEDS AMONG THE LILIES

HE FEEDS AMONG THE LILIES*

“Fair is my love that feeds among the lilies”
Bartholemew Griffin


“You’ve called me to your inner chamber King,
Warm me with kisses from your honeyed mouth,
Freshest fragrance from thy lily lips I bring;
Of love I sing, strong wine from sunny South.

No wonder my modest maids adore you!
Abduct me Sire, seducer, hurry, haste!
For dark am I and ardent, a maiden true,
Singed and seared by blazing sunlight to taste

Your love. My brothers angry, made me care
For their sour grapes, because I neglected mine.
So tell me dear, where graze your flocks so fair,
Where feed your sheep and kine at high noon time?”

“Oh ignorant maid, trace their feet, my fair;
First feed the fold beside my shepherd’s tent.
I compare you to a fine Arabian mare,
Your cheeks are gently rouged, bedecked with scent.

I’ll hold your bracelet, sheered from finest gold,
I’ll fashion for your ears some diamond rings.
While we supped, it was glory to behold
Your happy smile spread her peacock wings.

Rest in me, oh sachet of marvellous myrrh,
Nestle through the night between my breasts of light.
My house has cedar beams, rafters of fir,
My bed is soft, your eyes like doves in flight.”

“I am red like the crimson Sharon rose,
Found with blanched lilies in the valley deep,
As the holy lily among the thistles grows,
I’ll hold you in my arms while you gently sleep

As the golden apple found in trees of wood,
So do you my love, stand above my youth,
The fruit of love is sweet to eat like truth,
I rest beneath your gaze, so deep, so good,

Grace urged me to come to your banquet hall,
Your cloak of calm which clothed me, was your love,
Fortify me with your strength before I fall,
Or I’ll faint from the force of the One above.

Your firm left hand rests on my aching head,
Your right arm’s placed to embrace my heart,
I charge my soul, in case from fear she’s fled,
Be not afraid, for his love’s aroused to start.

Hear his voice now bounding, skipping over hills,
My lover leaps like a stag or young gazelle,
He shouts through the lattice, calls over sills,
‘Come arise, cruel winter’s past, all is well!’

The pelting of the rain has stopped and gone,
Millions of blooms dance on the stage of Earth,
Warbling birds chant hymns of praise in song,
Softly croons the dove heralding my new birth.”

“Pomegranates and ripening grapes renew
The strength, which flows through the blood red wines,
Let me glimpse your original face and touch you,
We’ll catch the little foxes that maraud our vines.

I am his, he feeds on the lilies of the field;
No sleepless nights, when boredom breeds bad bed,
‘Till day awakes, I inward turn and yield.
I dress and wonder round the town so led

Through streets, praying, then I recanted.
By-ways I searched for that one I truly love,
I failed to reach you, for whom my soul has panted,
I asked,‘had they sight of him for whom I strove?’

Bereft of hope untill by nightwatchmen found,
We scoured the town searching for the King,
Then I found him hiding in my body’s ground,
It is of this one great love that I now sing.

To my breast I clung and clasped him, not to lose
Nor let him go, until safe in my mother’s room.
‘Daughters, I charge the stags, the harts, the roes,
Waken not my heart, ‘til it pleases Him whom

I truly Am!’ See now in this strange story,
Solomon for his wedding day is crowned.
He rides from the desert in fire and glory,
Purple robed, sixty valiant chiefs surround,

Flashing swords on high, their reins they draw,
His car is drawn by steeds named Love and Awe.

*A free versification of part of The Song of Solomon

THE BEAUTY OF MAYA

THE BEAUTY OF MAYA

Pink primrose painted with a purple eye,
Reflects the bright blue gleam of sapphire sky.
Snow capped mountains glow in rose-pink dawn,
They blush with ruby cheeks when breaking morn.
Mother of pearl glows with subtle rainbow hue,
Morning glory blooms with bright ethereal blue.
White silver Moon throws out her gracious light,
Softening the black jet velvet of mother night.
Emerald green lawns sparkle with diamond dew,
Scarlet berries cluster on the churchyard yew.
Yet all this beauty is sheer mental illusion,
Maya causes such a colourful delusion.
The sunlight which the retina does reflect,
Forms the colour, which that matter does reject.

ARTICLES ON LUTHAR.COM

I have written several articles which have been published on Lutha.com a widely read web magazine devoted to Advaita and Inter Faith Fellowship, edited by Luthar Harsha. My articles include Diving Into the Heart, Aids to Self Enquiry, Neo Advaita, the Unreality of the World, Reincarnation and Suffering,and the Paradox of the Mind.

ARUNACHALA HILL OF GRACE

ARUNACHALA, HILL OF GRACE

One great day, I came to pray at Annamalai,
The blue sky blazed like lapis lazuli;
The Sun lit up the scene with golden sheen,
Earth’s paddy fields glistened emerald green,
Reflecting diamond drops of morning dew,
As if each jewel was meant to welcome you.
I have loitered in world’s shadows far too long,
I yearn for Self’s firm hold, so bold and strong!

The sacred mountain’s fire, glows ruby red,
He leads my soul to His bridal wedding bed,
For Union with his mighty love and force,
The peace and grace of which, He is the Source.
Then the harvest Moon shines bright, that night,
I bathed refreshed, in her gracious, silver light.

CHARTRES

CHARTRES
The glory of God’s gospel glows with light;
Pilgrim sees growing from green on the ground
A tall temple of stone hewn high on a mound.
Her sculptured craft astounds his purblind sight,
He falls down, surrendered, with all of his might.
He’s awed by the magical joy of her sound.
Angels chant psalms, stained windows shine bright.
It’s New Jerusalem, a City of God refound.
Each niche tells a legend set in tinted glass,
Radiant rainbow hue, sparkling like dew,
The inward mind knows her message is true.
Pilgrim feels healed by the visions that pass.
His Soul wakes up, no beam blurs his eye,
Heart’s upraised by her spires, high in the sky.

Her steeples aspire like arrows aimed at God;
Prayers assault her vaults, and heaven’s sought.
The soul’s inflamed to blaze in its earthy clod
By Saints, who from her oaken pulpit taught.
A medieval miracle, fair marvel, to behold!
Amazed by the maze on her limestone floor,
Many parables her painted panes unfold,
We stand in awe before her portal door.
To calmly comprehend the art of Chartres,
Where cryptic Christian chrisms are unveiled.
Start to chart her craft with all your heart.
In masterly masonry, much is revealed.
Her stained glass windows glow like precious gems,
Showing celestial scenes from which truth doth stem.

Ah Chartres! ‘mystere merveille’, enigmatic book
Of God’s creation, you’re an emblematic sign.
Architectonic is your binding, majestic, divine
Your pages etched on alchemic glass. So look
For graven keys in carved and buttressed nook.
Christ points the way the saints and martyrs took,
There were miracles, wan water turned to wine.
On slabs of limestone lies a cryptic maze,
Soul’s riddle, a puzzle in which she’s caught.
Once dancing here, a Templar Master taught
His masons, the measured steps to freedom’s ways.
In Chartre’s stone arches, clues are given,
Sacred tunes for hymns, wend their way to heaven.

Dig down deeply, dive into Self and find
The Chartres Cathedral in your inner heart,
The real temple bides behind the mind.
Stab the stoney slabs of sleep, and start
To plunge within the cloistered well, hold breath
In the sanctum sanctorum in the west transept.
Mind, seeking outwards, may lead to death.
Seek God within, be templared and adept.
Notre Dame de Chartres mirrors the One inside,
Self projects her shrine on a plastered wall;
The Light Of The World behind the door, doth hide.
So step beyond the Gothic shades, uncover all!
The Kingdom Of heaven shines within, not out,
Real Chartres waits in your heart, so turn about.

POETRY FOR THE SPIRIT- AMAZON CUSTOMER REVIEW

‘The poetry of mysticism,’ wrote Evelyn Underhill, ‘might be defined on the one hand as a temperamental reaction to the vision of Reality: on the other, as a form of prophecy. As it is the special vocation of the mystical consciousness to mediate between two orders, going out in loving adoration towards God and coming home to tell the secrets of Eternity to other men; so the artistic self-expression of this consciousness has also a double character. It is love-poetry, but love-poetry which is often written with a missionary intention.’
'Poetry for the Spirit' is an exquisite anthology of mystical verse. Drawing from the greatest literary and spiritual traditions of the world, Alan Jacobs has assembled a unique collection of beautiful and profound reflections on the perplexities of the human condition and the nature of the Divine Self. Structuring the book chronologically, the editor entices us on a poetic journey, taking as his starting point the very beginning of time and space with ‘The Song of Creation’ from the Indian text, the 'Rig Veda' – the most ancient scripture known to mankind:

He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all
or did not form it.
Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily
knows it, or perhaps he knows not.

Indeed, the search for ultimate wisdom and self knowledge is the delicate thread weaving its design through this silken poetic collection, manifesting as symbols and metaphors of the mystical consciousness: from the metaphysical verse of John Donne, Walt Whitman, Vivekananda and T S Eliot, to the romantic poetry of Kabir, Christina Rossetti, Rainer Maria Rilke and W B Yeats; from the philosophical meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Aurobindo Ghose, Thomas Traherne and Lao Tzu, to the devotional ecstasies of Rabi’a, St Teresa of Avila, Rúmí and William Blake.

The quest for mystical experience has seduced mankind since the beginning of time. But as the Indian sage Ramana Maharshi reflects, the Beatific Vision is well within our reach:

As in a well of water deep,
Dive deep with Reason cleaving sharp.
With speech, mind and breath restrained,
Exploring thus mayest thou discover
the real source of ego-self.
The mind through calm in deep plunge enquires.
That alone is real quest for the Self.

THE BHAGAVAD GITA-A POETIC TRANSCREATION CUSTOMER REVIEWS

The Bhagavad Gita (The divine conversations)



Sipping as a humble bumble bee . . ., 13 Mar 2004
By Paula Marvelly (United Kingdom) - See all my reviews


Despite the fact that there are now 279 English translations of the 'Bhagavad Gita' in existence, Alan Jacob's own recently pubished edition is one of the most beautiful. A transcreation rather than a translation, the author has endeavoured to preserve the essence of the nondualist teachings (also known as Advaita Vedanta) interwoven in Hinduism's best known spiritual text as well as introduce his own poetic touch.
Literally meaning the 'Song of God', the 'Bhagavad Gita' recounts a key moment in the ancient Indian epic, the 'Mahabharata'. Set on the battlefield of Kurashetra between two rival royal households, Arjuna, leader of the Pandavas, is rendered impotent in the face of impending bloodshed. Krishna, Avatar and Arjuna's charioteer, thus takes the opportunity to deliver the Dharma or moral code. Indeed, the battle can be interpreted as an allegory of the inner warfare between dharma (harmony) and adharma (discord) within in all of us in the face of life's challenges and troubles.

Together with the author's 'Principal Upanishads', the profundity of this particular edition of the 'Bhagavad Gita' is owing to his accessible and yet exquisite poetry:

This epic Mahabharata
Is a bright blue water lily
Her Gita is the precious pollen;
Sipping as a humble bumble bee,
Relish her sweet nectar
And bathe yourself in her
Honey of Wisdom

Interspersed between the verses, the author offers interpretations of the text as well as cross references to other sages and writers of great wisdom. Jesus, Plato, Shakespeare and Schopenhauer amongst others reiterate the nondualist message - that ultimately, all is the Divine, all is One:

Why Arjuna should I reveal this!
It is enough to know
That upholding this Creation
With a piece
Of My Self, Consciousness,
Peace, Awreness,
I am That, I am.

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1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
The bhagavad Gita, 12 Mar 2004
By A Customer

The most sublime and enlightening version ever published of this great spiritual work. Alan Jacobs can only be praised for his beautiful rendition of the Gita which takes the reader into the undersatnding and experience of non-duality.I would urge anybody to buy as many copies of this book as possible and give them to their friends. Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
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Inspirational, 6 Jul 2007
By Glyn Edwards - See all my reviews

I thought this translation of the Bhagavad Gita by Alan Jacobs was a beautiful poetic rendering of one of the great classics of spirituality. It was the sheer beauty of it that captured my mind. But I also enjoyed enormously the commentary, which was extremely insightful.

Jacob's commentary, which is not only based upon many of his own thoughts and reflections, but also those of Ramana Maharshi and Shankaracharya, made this translation delightful and inspiring, and brought out the devotional, philosophical and ultimate truths that the work aims to reveal.

CRESCENT JEWEL OF SHIVA

CRESCENT JEWEL OF SHIVA

We gaze at Your splendid full moon so bright,
It beams a cool and gracious light,
A reflection from Your most powerful Sun;
It is Your Crescent Jewel oh splendid One.

Earth’s Your shining emerald pendant there,
You sport her on Your matted locks of hair,
We note your vastness through and through,
You art another name for Self, that’s True-

As is God, and Heart, for All is One complete.
When mind surrenders at Your lotus feet
It becomes like the Moon at noon for You,
Still and harmless, silent in your sky of blue.

NATIVE AMERICAN WISDOM

This Review appeared on Amazon UK and Amazon .COM

Subtitled 'A Spiritual Tradition at One with Nature', this is yet another beautiful collection of poems from the anthologist, Alan Jacobs, whose `Poetry for the Spirit' is already a modern-day classic after four editions.This awe inspiring collection of prose and poetry, songs and speeches draws from the words of the great Native American Indians - chiefs, medicine men and members of their Nations. The book is also greatly enhanced by a scholarly introduction from Dr Mick Gidley, Emeritus Professor of American Studies at the University of Leeds.In recent years, there has been a resurgence of interest in American Indian spirituality: what sets this exquisite volume apart is its return to the ancient traditions of the Americas, a genre that is often overlooked. And yet, many of the poems and prose extracts are surprisingly modern:

SONG OF AN INITIATE

I climbed the blue staircase up to the sky,
I climbed where the roses were opening,
where roses were speaking,
I heard nothing nothing to hear,
I heard silence.

I climbed, the roses were singing,
where the gods were waiting,
a blue staircase up in the sky,
but I heard nothing nothing to hear
I heard silence silence.

[Anon]

This book is highly recommended by the American Libraries Association..

customer review

MASTERING MUSIC WALKS THE SUNLIT SEA
Roundel and Sonnet Sequences
Alan Jacobs. Matador 2008 P.63 Paperback £6.99

Alan Jacobs prefaces his beautiful and melodious poetry with the words that he has endeavoured to compose an aesthetic poetry returning to mainstream English prosody, respecting the principles of musicality, wherever possible rooted in Nature. He certainly succeeds in this attempt. He is indeed a master of the Sonnet mainly using the Italian form beloved of Petrarch .
His Sonnet sequence is mystical in character as the author is steeped in Non Dualistic Philosophy ..
He honours the feminine aspect of the Divine. His titles are startlingly innovative, using natural description to set a mood rather than being subjects of the poem. He delights in elevated language which he feels is most suitable for what Shelley termed the ‘Higher Poetry’
His Roundels expressing Sage wisdom, use a form beloved of Algernon Swinburne, and are refreshing in their ingenious novelty. One detects a Pre Raphaelite influence in his poetry, after all the title is a line from Dante Rossetti founder of the movement which was a revolt against the industrial revolution as Jacobs reacts against contemporary materialism.
His Poetry is a refreshing change from the overworked contemporary free verse with which we are flooded in so many poetry magazines and collections. Robert Frost said that ‘free verse is like playing tennis without a net’. So much nowadays consist of prosaic figures of speech, flowing from the top of the head, casually separated by line breaks. The subject matter is generally mundane rather than ethereal. This is Alan Jacobs’ slender debut collection and we look forward to seeing more of his gifted musicality flourish in longer occasional poems in subsequent collections.

Paula Marvelly

HYMN TO AGNI

HYMN TO AGNI

Crackling, raging sparkling, blazing flame,
Agni, is your sacred beneficent Name!
We invoke and pray you’ll ignite your fire
In the hearth of our hearts to which we all aspire.

Then we can throw our phantom ego ghost,
As sacrifice, upon your pyre. Be our host,
Accept us, and blaze quickly through the dense wood
Of our stubborn minds for our essential Good!

TWITTER

I also have a page on TWITTER which gives my lists of books only.

Reflections Poetry Magazine

I am published regularly in the Poetry Magazine Reflections available by subscription from Reflections

Luthar.com

I have articles published on the Magazine Luthar.com
On Neo Advaita, The Unreality of the World, Reincarnation and Suffering, the Paradox of Mind, and Diving Into the Heart

ALAN JACOBS at FACE BOOK Poet/Writer/Author

This site details all my published books to date. It includes Poetic Transcreations of The Bhagavad Gita, the Principal Upanishads, The Teachings of Marcus Aurelius and Anthologies of Spiritual Verse and North American Wisdom. It also details my forthcoming books- A Novella- Eutopia, Plato's Republic, An Abridgement and Modernisation, and Jesus Went to India.

MYYROBALAN OF THE MAGI

MYROBALAN OF THE MAGI

This is a large poetry collection containing much of my work . It includes Sonnets, Lyrics, Narrative Poetry and Roundels. Published by XLIBRIS and obtainable from them.

Mastering Music Walks the Sunlit Sea

MASTERING MUSIC WALKS THE SUNLIT SEA

This is a Collection of Sonnets and Roundels Published by Matador.
For details and review see Amazon UK and Amazon.com

HEART OF FIRE

HEART OF FIRE

Let’s stoke a blazing fire deep in the heart,
And throw tendencies on that funeral pyre:
To invoke, purified from mundane mire.
That’s indeed the true pilgrim’s need and art,
Although in life, he must play his destined part,
An actor on the screen of life, set to enquire
Who Am I? and to Self abidance then retire.
Thus a fulfilled new life begins to start.

If fate forces you to play a certain role,
Pray do so without anxious attachment,
That’s so essential to make one whole.
Live a tranquil life in calm detachment,
This must be the earnest pilgrim’s goal,
And fill with conscious bliss, heart’s crystal bowl.

Comment from Purnimamujumdar

--- On Sun, 14/6/09
From: purnimamujumdar <purnimamujumdar@yahoo.com>Dear Alanji,What an inspiration all your poems are! Your devotion and pure mind are poured into it by God's grace.Thank you for sharing your inner feelings with us!Your articles on Luthar.com are also very informative and well-put into words. Thanx!Best regards,Nima

AT LAST

Everything in nature is exploding,
Atomic electron to galactic star,
They’re all now speedily downloading,
Whether near at hand, or away, so far.

Whole vast universes are now imploding.
It’s all the force of God’s almighty will,
Whether this seems to be for good or ill.
All emanates from His great primal source,
So jettison, all guilt, blame, and remorse,
We are not the doers, so just be still.

This is the message from an ancient time,
The gateway’s His beauty, His Kingdom’s sublime.
So recognise that Self is Pure Consciousness,
God, truth, existence, bliss and great peace;
Everything is just perfect, and That’s what is.

DIVINE ARCHERY

In His quiver, we’re quickly packed by God,
Great granter of grace to our earthly clod.
He’s honed us, arrow sharp, to hit the mark.
He enters bone and marrow, to fire His spark
Dormant in our hearts, then fans it into flame!
Such is the power and glory of His holy Name.

UNSEEN WEAVER

UNSEEN WEAVER

There’s a huge loom of Time, in duration;
Born of Infinity, from a consummation
With Life, which has never been void of time,
While Sun and Moon as shuttle upward climb.

By weaving to and fro as night and day,
A splendid pageant of coloured display,
Strung on the warp and weft of cosmic unity.
The back of this embroidered tapestry

Is monochrome, derived from that formless One.
It’s face is multihued, radiant as the Sun,
Its tones reflected from archetypal light,
All magically absorbed, an equalled sight.

Only what’s permitted by an unseen hand,
Appears as this moving panoramic band;
A rainbow painting of the whole wide world,
Brushed vertically: each single thread is whirled

Without the dimmest dint of dull duality;
Bright Light, unique to Self, sheer Reality!
Coated with golden fleece and angel wool,
Dyed in the deepest vat of Destiny’s pool.

So does this sacred cloth, woven in Love,
Quarrel with its weaver who reigns above?
Wrapped in his Joseph cloak at rainbows’s end,
Eternal pilgrim ever loves his Mighty Friend!

MYSTIC FIRE

MYSTIC FIRE*

“To the Great One, the strong in His Force, the Waker in the Dawn,
To Fire, as to one who has vision, let our hymn arise.”*

My hymn I sing to Him in mystic fire,
Blazing fierce with golden scarlet flame:
Flickering tongues to heavenly heights aspire
To glorify His formless sacred Name.
All hearts turn to mystic fire, which inspires
Our souls like glowing souls, to be the same.

Our souls like glowing coals, the same,
Leap like lightning jets of orange fire.
Thunderous claps help humble hearts inspire
To surrender dark ego in florid flame;
Be purified in the lustrous Sun of His Name;
To consummation, our quickened souls aspire.

To consummation, our quickened soul aspires
To find that One of fame, ever the same;
To worship and bow down to His most hallowed name,
And sacrifice prim pride in His white-hot fire,
Transforming our burning dross by inner flame:
To an inward turn, our pilgrim soul’s inspired.

Inward turning, does our pilgrim soul inspire
To God-heart, making harrowed soul aspire
To wax hot, worshiping by candle flame
To reach that Oneness, evermore the same.
All change is wrought about by mystic fire,
Renouncing arrogance, for Thy holy Name.

Renouncing arrogance for Thy holy Name,
With hymns to mystic fire, our souls aspire.
The spark within fans fierce as fearless fire
To God. The blazing brand abounds to inspire,
And burns to learn His Oneness is the same,
As naked soul immolates in flickering flame.

As naked soul immolates in flickering flame,
We chant and sing loud praises to His holy Name,
‘Til crimson dawn awakes, and we become the same.
So pilgrims, let hymns of mystic fire inspire
Us Godward: may our joyful souls aspire
To be chastened, in His crucible of mystic fire!

Our souls inspire, and to Almighty God aspire:
To become One, and be the same as that formless Name,
Born in the sacred flame of His holy mystic fire.

*Hymn to Agni, Rig Veda , Mandala 1, Sukta 127, Vs 10.

*3 sonnets-1 subject-same rhyme endings

PHOENIX SESTINA

PHOENIX SESTINA

Enrobed in scarlet, a brilliant blazing bird,
With eagle’s strength, the child of sacred fire,
She sounds a cry, that’s forever heard
When consumed in Self-lit flames, she does aspire
From the funeral pyre, to show the world
Herself, reborn from death! Mankind she shall inspire.

In ancient time this wonder did inspire
Heliopolis, where flew this fabled bird,
To reach the Sun, lamp light of our shadow world,
And immolating in his mystic fire,
Her Being rose from ashes to aspire
To know new life, such tales we heard.

When this Egyptian legend was first heard,
The daring thought was one that did inspire
Each soul, that now had right to so aspire,
And follow the lead set by this courageous bird.
If self dares to die upon the sacrificial fire,
Pure Self will emerge as victor of his world.

This paragon is an emblem for our world,
Proclaiming news, that everywhere is heard,
Setting the wooden minds of men on fire,
The deathless spirit mocks at death to inspire!
Thanks to the valour of this wondrous bird,
The Soul of man, can to an after-life aspire.
So people of all lands can after all aspire
To reach the peak of hope in a worried world,
And pursue the flight of virtue like this bird.
So blow the golden bugle and be heard,
Men can know such transformation can inspire
To be born again in sacred sacramental fire.


The petty self is scorched in conscious fire,
And from ashes, the Self does once again aspire,
To such new birth, and the hearts of men inspire
To transform their dismal dreary world.
Joy again, can everywhere be heard,
All thanks to thee, oh most excelling bird!

By wondrous art she does inspire our world,
It’s vital we aspire to what’s been heard,
Arise from sacred fire, oh Phoenix bird!

RAMANA CORONA*

All beings yearn to be happy, always;
Happiness without a tinge of sorrow,
To enjoy a life of carefree days,
Taking no burden of thought for tomorrow.
When restless mind’s at peace in deep sleep,
What glimpse of worry, grief or despair?
So happiness lies therein, buried down deep.
How to find this treasure, awake, aware?
Ask the question, who am I, and from where?
That’s the essential means of the holy task,
Ending ego’s ‘me’ and ‘my’, that’s there.
No pleasure endures in things of this Earth,
Enquire within, who basks behind our mask?
To regain that Selfhood we lost at birth.

To regain that Selfhood we lost at birth,
First consider well the cinema screen,
To understand that, gains merit and worth.
On the screen there appears a tense drama,
The film begins and we enjoy the show.
Fire, flood, sex, death, a vast panorama;
The screen’s unchanging, but the film’s a shadow.
The simile teaches, strange as it may be,
That both seer and seen make up the mind.
On Consciousness as screen, all action’s based.
To know that is true, is the clue to be free,
A guiding beacon that’s so rare to find.
That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced.

That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced,
We’re taught the silver screen as a metaphor.
Seated in theatre stalls, now we are placed,
To proceed with clarity and enquire some more.
The bright theatre lamp is the light supreme,
Illuminating both actors and the scene.
We see stage and the play only by light,
Yet when action ends, the lamp remains bright.
Just as woven cloth and its colour white
Are never, ever perceived as apart,
So when mind and light both unite,
They form ego, knotted and bound in the heart.
Of all that we’ve ever learned since birth,
That’s the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth.


That’s the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth,
How to make mind to merge in its source?
Only by enquiring with all of one’s force,
The central question regarding its birth,
The ultimate scrutiny of ‘Who Am I’?
As thoughts froth forth like waves on the ocean,
They’ll all be slain by such introspection,
Unveiling the Self, the lost inward eye.
Pearls lay buried on the deep ocean floor,
Attracting divers to search for this goal.
Holding their breath they plunge to the core
Of the ocean bed, for the pearl oyster’s soul.
To gain this gem in the heart’s sacred place,
Just seek for the source where mind is based.

Just seek for the source where mind is based.
You travel alone on a mystery train;
By this metaphor we’re comfortably placed,
To travel by providence free from pain.
So put all your heavy luggage on the rack,
Only a fool carries it on his head!
Be glad, accept the predestined track,
Rest quietly, safe at home on your bed!
Surrender in joyful jubilation!
Surrender utterly to God’s almighty will,
Surrender with total resignation,
Surrender knowing all will be well,
Surrender whole heartedly with one accord,
Take safe refuge in the all loving Lord!

Take safe refuge in the all loving Lord!
For life’s a dream and sleeping dreams are short,
The waking dream is long; both stem from thought.
The Real is beyond both this waking and sleep.
The sword of enquiry slays dream states deep,
So reaching their substratum, numinous,
The state of pure consciousness, Self luminous!
Blissfully aware, yet awake in sleep.
As the cockerel crows ready to sup,
At the roseate dawn of first morning light,
Awareness pours into the near empty cup,
Granting a moment’s taste of Self insight.
This light is the eye that forever sees,
Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’

Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’
The Master who lives in the cave of the heart,
Not separate from one’s Self, being the start,
Of the final search from bond to release.
The Sage appears when the soul is ready,
With strong gaze of grace he says “be aware
That God and his wisdom are already there!”
He acts as a brake to make the mind steady,
While mercy flows freely in sunshine and air,
Hindered only by our being unready.
If you come to him, meekly with an empty cup,
His grace is then bound to fill it up.
The Master’s glance is the grace of the Lord,
He cuts you free with his mighty sword.

He cuts you free with his mighty sword,
To guide you surely, on the upward way
To Self Realisation, your real birthday!
Consummation of ‘That’, the Sage’s word,
Is “rest in the Self”, which is always heard.
In him, place great trust and affirm, say yea
As certainty! Our Real Self blazes away,
Ever surrendered to the almighty Lord,
Revealing great peace for Realisation’s sake,
Renouncing belief that a rope is a snake.
The seeker surely becomes ‘the great find’,
His own blissful being, the summit in kind,
This great Teaching eternally frees,
One with the Self, as the Absolute sees.

One with the Self, as the Absolute sees,
He answers all our prayers and our pleas;
We must first enter that dear sacred part,
Not the fleshy pump that throbs on the left,
But the sacred core: by being skilful and deft,
We find that on the right; is the real Heart!
By harnessing breath, being adept and bright,
We dive with great skill and all of our might,.
There dwelling in depths of our true Heart’s cave,
Lives the shining ‘Unity’ blazing as Self,
Pulsation of I-I, where all shadows cease.
So fixing gaze there, finally, off we stave,
Perverted, wandering, demonic mind elf,
Returning to ‘Self’, our birthright of peace.

Returning to ‘Self’, our birthright of peace,
Is knowing that all this vile body performs
Was predestined before it ever took form.
So from stress, despair and fretting, pray cease!
Our freedom dwells in our natural State,
Renouncing the ‘I Am The Doer’ notion,
Detached from fruit of form’s puppet motion,
Yet grace can avert even predestined fate!
Be like a skilled actor on this stage of strife!
Play with goodwill the part you’ve been given,
No matter how strangely you find you are driven,
Knowing who, truly you are, in this life.
Until fate pulls down the final curtain,
Know you’re Self not body, know that is certain!

Know you’re Self not body, know that is certain!
In this Realisation, there’s no cause to leave home,
You can strive in the city, there’s no need to roam.
To change style of life would all be in vain,
For mind remains with you, until it is slain.
Demonic ghost ego, source and fabric of thought
Create body and world, whereby we are caught.
Change of place, never changed the way we behave,
Whether living at home, in a forest or cave.
There are two ways by which our bonds may be freed:
Either ask “to whom is this strange fate decreed?”
Or surrender false ‘me’ to be then stricken down,
So praying intensely for ‘my will’ to cease,
We leave it to grace, to grant us release.

We leave it to grace, to grant us release.
God will do this through the gaze of his Sage,
He sends down His messenger for every age,
To those who yearn and pray for great peace.
The Realised Sage lives on here and now,
Without confusing the Self with the mind.
Humble, compassionate, loving and kind,
Wisely profound, as his way clearly shows.
He steers the vessel of firm devotees,
Fulfilling everyone’s spiritual need.
In deep silence, he sits, with perfect ease,
To awaken those, whom his teaching well heed.
Graciously, his great glance of initiation,
Drives the mind inwards, to Self Realisation!

Driving the mind inwards, to Self Realisation,
He grants safe passage through life’s stormy ocean;
What frail soul will ever be excluded
From the presence of the holy Supreme?
No matter how depraved or deluded,
His mercy never ends, and will always redeem,
Raising the soul from the depth of depression,
To free one from the ‘I am this body’ obsession.
From passions that churn desire and aversion,
His fair breeze wafts clear equanimity;
Enmeshed no more in worldly adversity,
Never perturbed by praise nor foul enmity,
We learn that there’s the greatest giving
In knowing all are Self, and so truly living.

In knowing all are Self, and so truly living,
We thank the great Sage who is ever giving.
We praise the Lord, who leads us to his feet,
His gracious gaze is eternally sweet,
Without ceasing, he’s forever reviving,
He grants that freedom, our real surviving.
He severs the grip of bondage’s chains,
He frees the soul, where confusion reigns,
He bestows both compassion and deep peace,
He sends out his grace to grant us release.
He teaches the truth that Consciousness is all,
And Self Enquiry to raise us up from our fall.
We praise God Almighty whom is ever living,
This crown of my verses is our thanksgiving!

To regain that Selfhood we lost from birth,
That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced,
This is the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth.
Just seek for the source where mind is based.
Take refuge in the all loving Lord,
Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’
He cuts you loose with his mighty sword,
One with the Self, as the Absolute sees.
Returning to Self, our birthright of peace,
Know you’re Self, not body, know that is certain!
We leave it to grace, to grant us release.
He drives the mind inwards, to Self Realisation,
In knowing all are Self, and so truly living,
This crown of verses is my thanksgiving!
RAMANA CORONA*

All beings yearn to be happy, always;
Happiness without a tinge of sorrow,
To enjoy a life of carefree days,
Taking no burden of thought for tomorrow.
When restless mind’s at peace in deep sleep,
What glimpse of worry, grief or despair?
So happiness lies therein, buried down deep.
How to find this treasure, awake, aware?
Ask the question, who am I, and from where?
That’s the essential means of the holy task,
Ending ego’s ‘me’ and ‘my’, that’s there.
No pleasure endures in things of this Earth,
Enquire within, who basks behind our mask?
To regain that Selfhood we lost at birth.

To regain that Selfhood we lost at birth,
First consider well the cinema screen,
To understand that, gains merit and worth.
On the screen there appears a tense drama,
The film begins and we enjoy the show.
Fire, flood, sex, death, a vast panorama;
The screen’s unchanging, but the film’s a shadow.
The simile teaches, strange as it may be,
That both seer and seen make up the mind.
On Consciousness as screen, all action’s based.
To know that is true, is the clue to be free,
A guiding beacon that’s so rare to find.
That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced.

That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced,
We’re taught the silver screen as a metaphor.
Seated in theatre stalls, now we are placed,
To proceed with clarity and enquire some more.
The bright theatre lamp is the light supreme,
Illuminating both actors and the scene.
We see stage and the play only by light,
Yet when action ends, the lamp remains bright.
Just as woven cloth and its colour white
Are never, ever perceived as apart,
So when mind and light both unite,
They form ego, knotted and bound in the heart.
Of all that we’ve ever learned since birth,
That’s the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth.


That’s the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth,
How to make mind to merge in its source?
Only by enquiring with all of one’s force,
The central question regarding its birth,
The ultimate scrutiny of ‘Who Am I’?
As thoughts froth forth like waves on the ocean,
They’ll all be slain by such introspection,
Unveiling the Self, the lost inward eye.
Pearls lay buried on the deep ocean floor,
Attracting divers to search for this goal.
Holding their breath they plunge to the core
Of the ocean bed, for the pearl oyster’s soul.
To gain this gem in the heart’s sacred place,
Just seek for the source where mind is based.

Just seek for the source where mind is based.
You travel alone on a mystery train;
By this metaphor we’re comfortably placed,
To travel by providence free from pain.
So put all your heavy luggage on the rack,
Only a fool carries it on his head!
Be glad, accept the predestined track,
Rest quietly, safe at home on your bed!
Surrender in joyful jubilation!
Surrender utterly to God’s almighty will,
Surrender with total resignation,
Surrender knowing all will be well,
Surrender whole heartedly with one accord,
Take safe refuge in the all loving Lord!

Take safe refuge in the all loving Lord!
For life’s a dream and sleeping dreams are short,
The waking dream is long; both stem from thought.
The Real is beyond both this waking and sleep.
The sword of enquiry slays dream states deep,
So reaching their substratum, numinous,
The state of pure consciousness, Self luminous!
Blissfully aware, yet awake in sleep.
As the cockerel crows ready to sup,
At the roseate dawn of first morning light,
Awareness pours into the near empty cup,
Granting a moment’s taste of Self insight.
This light is the eye that forever sees,
Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’

Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’
The Master who lives in the cave of the heart,
Not separate from one’s Self, being the start,
Of the final search from bond to release.
The Sage appears when the soul is ready,
With strong gaze of grace he says “be aware
That God and his wisdom are already there!”
He acts as a brake to make the mind steady,
While mercy flows freely in sunshine and air,
Hindered only by our being unready.
If you come to him, meekly with an empty cup,
His grace is then bound to fill it up.
The Master’s glance is the grace of the Lord,
He cuts you free with his mighty sword.

He cuts you free with his mighty sword,
To guide you surely, on the upward way
To Self Realisation, your real birthday!
Consummation of ‘That’, the Sage’s word,
Is “rest in the Self”, which is always heard.
In him, place great trust and affirm, say yea
As certainty! Our Real Self blazes away,
Ever surrendered to the almighty Lord,
Revealing great peace for Realisation’s sake,
Renouncing belief that a rope is a snake.
The seeker surely becomes ‘the great find’,
His own blissful being, the summit in kind,
This great Teaching eternally frees,
One with the Self, as the Absolute sees.

One with the Self, as the Absolute sees,
He answers all our prayers and our pleas;
We must first enter that dear sacred part,
Not the fleshy pump that throbs on the left,
But the sacred core: by being skilful and deft,
We find that on the right; is the real Heart!
By harnessing breath, being adept and bright,
We dive with great skill and all of our might,.
There dwelling in depths of our true Heart’s cave,
Lives the shining ‘Unity’ blazing as Self,
Pulsation of I-I, where all shadows cease.
So fixing gaze there, finally, off we stave,
Perverted, wandering, demonic mind elf,
Returning to ‘Self’, our birthright of peace.

Returning to ‘Self’, our birthright of peace,
Is knowing that all this vile body performs
Was predestined before it ever took form.
So from stress, despair and fretting, pray cease!
Our freedom dwells in our natural State,
Renouncing the ‘I Am The Doer’ notion,
Detached from fruit of form’s puppet motion,
Yet grace can avert even predestined fate!
Be like a skilled actor on this stage of strife!
Play with goodwill the part you’ve been given,
No matter how strangely you find you are driven,
Knowing who, truly you are, in this life.
Until fate pulls down the final curtain,
Know you’re Self not body, know that is certain!

Know you’re Self not body, know that is certain!
In this Realisation, there’s no cause to leave home,
You can strive in the city, there’s no need to roam.
To change style of life would all be in vain,
For mind remains with you, until it is slain.
Demonic ghost ego, source and fabric of thought
Create body and world, whereby we are caught.
Change of place, never changed the way we behave,
Whether living at home, in a forest or cave.
There are two ways by which our bonds may be freed:
Either ask “to whom is this strange fate decreed?”
Or surrender false ‘me’ to be then stricken down,
So praying intensely for ‘my will’ to cease,
We leave it to grace, to grant us release.

We leave it to grace, to grant us release.
God will do this through the gaze of his Sage,
He sends down His messenger for every age,
To those who yearn and pray for great peace.
The Realised Sage lives on here and now,
Without confusing the Self with the mind.
Humble, compassionate, loving and kind,
Wisely profound, as his way clearly shows.
He steers the vessel of firm devotees,
Fulfilling everyone’s spiritual need.
In deep silence, he sits, with perfect ease,
To awaken those, whom his teaching well heed.
Graciously, his great glance of initiation,
Drives the mind inwards, to Self Realisation!

Driving the mind inwards, to Self Realisation,
He grants safe passage through life’s stormy ocean;
What frail soul will ever be excluded
From the presence of the holy Supreme?
No matter how depraved or deluded,
His mercy never ends, and will always redeem,
Raising the soul from the depth of depression,
To free one from the ‘I am this body’ obsession.
From passions that churn desire and aversion,
His fair breeze wafts clear equanimity;
Enmeshed no more in worldly adversity,
Never perturbed by praise nor foul enmity,
We learn that there’s the greatest giving
In knowing all are Self, and so truly living.

In knowing all are Self, and so truly living,
We thank the great Sage who is ever giving.
We praise the Lord, who leads us to his feet,
His gracious gaze is eternally sweet,
Without ceasing, he’s forever reviving,
He grants that freedom, our real surviving.
He severs the grip of bondage’s chains,
He frees the soul, where confusion reigns,
He bestows both compassion and deep peace,
He sends out his grace to grant us release.
He teaches the truth that Consciousness is all,
And Self Enquiry to raise us up from our fall.
We praise God Almighty whom is ever living,
This crown of my verses is our thanksgiving!

To regain that Selfhood we lost from birth,
That’s the Sage wisdom by which we are graced,
This is the high wisdom proclaimed on Earth.
Just seek for the source where mind is based.
Take refuge in the all loving Lord,
Who can be known by enquiring ‘who frees?’
He cuts you loose with his mighty sword,
One with the Self, as the Absolute sees.
Returning to Self, our birthright of peace,
Know you’re Self, not body, know that is certain!
We leave it to grace, to grant us release.
He drives the mind inwards, to Self Realisation,
In knowing all are Self, and so truly living,
This crown of my verses is our thanksgiving!


*A crown of sonnets based on the teachings of Sri Ramana Maharshi

Thrushes Chirp in Russet Maples


PROUD PHILOSOPHY proposed to Poetry pure,
Coaxing, cajoling her to serve him as his Queen.
Reluctant, she succumbed; hair-dragged to his lair,
Lured and bedded behind his mental screen.
Uneasy waged their wedlock, heavily hard to share
Her fairy fancies with his rigid thought machine.
Divorce seemed certain, until from who knows where?
Fourteen lines of metre, meandered on the scene.
Philosophic sonnets solved their crisis soon
To knit ideas with verses in a subtle form.
He shone as Sun, she swanned as silver Moon
Reflecting wisdom, in stanzas, heartfelt, warm.
They seized the avid reader like a thunder storm,
Philosophic sonnets were now a cultured norm.

Myrobalan of the Magih


I GAZE clearly at the palm of my hand,
I see a crystalline nectarine fruit,
I hear Orphic strains hymned by silver flute.
Let’s dance wildly to an ecstatic band,
Get drunk on spirit scalding fire, fanned
By September’s blissful breeze. Deep at root
Of my etheric heart lies an emerald shoot
Of the Primal Sage from an antique land.
That’s the myth of Magi’s myrobalan,
Sacred as frankinscense, red rose, mandrake,
Solomon’s Lily, of which the Holy Lamb
Of God, praised for his dear disciple’s sake,
In immortal words, as part of God’s great plan,
Neither toil nor spin, for I AM THAT I AM.

*A sage said “It’s easier to see the Self than this
Myrobalan I hold in my hand”


Nightingales Moan Midst the Nasturtiums


LOVE shines in soft summer evening light,
Arms outstretched, embracing all with grace,
Yea-saying here, in Earth’s bleak and jagged place.
On crumbling walls of inner courts of sight
The Sage sees daylight even in the dead of night.
Dawn’s blood streaked gold scatters clouds apace,
Spears of glory pierce God’s infinite space
Of massive nature; grace, beauty, love and might.
The plaintive sob of amorous nightingale
Throbs for his beloved with poignant song.
He know his faith in her will never fail,
And they’ll lie breast to breast before too long.
When even dark night falls, his joyful tongue
Hymns harmony, echoing love’s eternal tale.

Firestone


RUBY red amongst women, fiery gem,
Self luminous, radiant, glowing all alone,
Emblem of Beauty, a blazing crimson stone;
I’m not fit to lift your garment’s hem.
You’re the rose, root, shoot, fruit and stem
Of Love; beaming rays from your burnished throne,
Bright beacon enlightening ev’ry boundry known.
Scotch the demons of my mind, destroy them!

Consume gross ignorance in vestal fire,
Crucify me in your crucible of gold,
Wax wrathful as the vengeful Gods of old,
Cleanse dark dross from murk of worldy mire.
Queen of ardent zeal, grasp me in your hold,
I throw egotism upon your blazing funeral pyre.



Roar from the Roof Tops


ALL is very well! to unfold exactly as it should,
Let it roar from the roof tops, all bold seekers tell,
That power which knows the way is truly good,
All is very well!

To rouse sad sleeper from his dream – ring the bell
Of Truth; All is One, non dual! For aeons stood
This beacon lamp to light our gloomy shaded dell.

As green willows grow so sweet in silent woods,
Foolish fear ends. Firm faith tolls the death knell
Of ignorance, for all to wake, who wish they could.
All is very well!


Dive Deep


WHO truly am I? The profoundest question isWho,
Am I? The ultimate, most urgent quest, before I die.
How sad to fly from the body in doubt: who are you?
Who, truly am I?

It’s indeed an easy task to turn and look; a true
Yearning to learn the wherefore, whether, what for, and why
Of I. To dive deep into the heart is our Master’s clue

To live, and be wholly free from dismal care and sigh,
In the Self, of boundless bliss, celestial saphire blue,
Who, truly am I?


Liberty Bell


BE carefree, in an effortless thought free state, dear friend;
Live released from rigid imprisoned mind; That’s the gate
To Liberty! From tiresome strife to gain all goals, the end.
Be carefree.
All tense struggle to reach an aim before it is too late
Creates conflict. To you, an urgent message I now send
Let go of imperious ways, just be quiet, and wait.

So through the golden gate to Freedom, gently wend,
Your tender path’s ‘not doing’, dwell in peace so great,
Rest and mend in a tranquil, unsought place, dear friend;
Be carefree.