Image: Created by Grok & ChatGPT Inspired by “In the Shelter of Thy Glory”
In the Shelter of Thy Glory
I am here At Thy call. I do not see Nor hear Thee, Lest Thou dost flee, Yet Thou dost flee, And I glide With illusion. But disillusion Will return me When at last I know I need rest.
I am feeble But Thou art stable. I am now humming Near Thy name. Touching the hymn Of Thy word, I will sing Thee into being, Calling Thee Father, Mother, Divine Friend. Resting in Thy love, My soul’s light grows In the shelter of Thy glory.
Image: Created by Gemini Inspired by “The Open Window”
The Open Window
Seven Rimed Couplets for Sister Parvati
As the Divine Belovèd reveals The closing door, all melodrama repeals Her burden, and to the open window grand, She will step into the light and stand. Peering into the blue of mystic seas, She will bask in the divine restoring breeze. With the Creator of Souls will her soul glow— The Divine Mind her mind the mystery show. He taught her to remember that the soul Through eternal tranquility remains whole Though the mind darts hither and yon And the body equals dust, dusk to dawn. She will practice the joy of love night and day, And to earn the bliss of stillness, His word obey.
Image: Ron & Linda – SRF World Convocation – Lake Shrine – Los Angeles, CA
In Our Own Paradise
for my belovèd husband, my sweet Ron
So, what if the sidewalks were painted yellow? Something horribly bright might happen: A ball of brine might replace the moon— Yet we would still find our favorite table At any café in any town we choose to visit.
You would still smile every time You remember where we have been Each year as we have followed the map— Unfettered, unafraid, roving in Joy. Shining mugs clinging to our Solace.
Scoffers have long been repudiated. We have snuffed all their guesses That we would part bitter and repentant. You have remained my better hero, And I have become your solid half.
Image: Ron & Linda – SRF World Convocation – Meditation Gardens – Encinitas, CA by the Pacific
I take flight in words to remind you Of your quiet beauty, and the stars remind us That we were long aligned to follow a shared destiny. We have crafted on earth as near a heaven As is allowed by this dual-powered Maya delusion.
Our home allows us to breathe, stretch, and be still, Embracing the boundary that holds us In the evanescent glory that the larger world tries So hard to conceal in pettiness and selfish riots, That work so hard at tarnishing with its lies.
Image: Our Backyard Sanctuary – The Cosmos in Bloom
From the pocked past, we have grown smooth edges. Each a different spiritual identity, united yet unique, We go about our days in harmony and balance, Practicing spirit as the world traffics in mud-clod ways, Stewing in caves of ignorance and deceit.
Forsaking the past has become a blessing And even if we must recall certain evil acts Practiced against us, our ark points toward Eternity, Where we will abide in the land beyond dreams— Yet, for now, in-but-not-of this valley of sorrows.
We are perfecting skills, leaving this Maya dream behind us; Thus, we have learned to breathe in our own paradise.
Reading
Image: Our Backyard Sanctuary – Governed by St. Francis, Birds, and Flowers
Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by “A Soul Escaping the Soil”
A Soul Escaping the Soil
I’m not the little girl I once knew. My womanhood blooming like compost: Roses growing from my cheeks. My hands pushing up daisies.
I was always a quiet woman. That stone speaks louder than I ever did, Announcing my name and age To every eye that passes by.
I’m not the same woman anymore. My neighborhood hovering over hers. She pulls at me, though, as if I still had heartstrings. I left her slowly, the bird accustomed to its cage.
My skin of light is not hers now. She lies stone still in her motion of decomposing.
Image: Create by Grok inspired by “Serendipity on a Gentle Breeze”
Serendipity on a Gentle Breeze
Summer wears a smile all winter long Waiting in the wings for wings and things.
Spring poems fill their pockets with sharp Little stones, musical shells, and wispy feathers Of the tall grasses at the edge of the yard.
She will not go outside unless A cerulean garden calls her name & offers her hot peppers, Tomatoes, and squash.
Then she will fly the cloud flag of heaven As the blanching light of the sun Crosses the path around the rim Of the house where she resides Full of moonbeams Praying for constant brightness Less severity from her fellows & an autumn decked out in a riot Of rustic hues that flame to the touch Of the eye and rustle in the ear.
Now when winter burns, she will scorch Each word and torch her soul Back into the arms of paradise Waning in the world but waxing in her heart As a warm memory flows along the mind Like a balloon carried on a gentle breeze.
Image: Created by Grok inspired by “Lonely Offices”
Lonely Offices
“What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?” —from Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays”
At her invitation, He appears in her dream Visiting the farm Where she was raised.
Years have separated their paths, Through schools of anxiety, And she is chasing a phantom Down the fog-dusted dreamscape.
He appears with briefcase in hand. Instead of facing her in conversation, He spreads a pile of papers over A large table, begins studying them.
Offhand, he asks her what she wants. Dream fog swallows her answer, But he empathically asserts, “Any response will cost $192,119.46!”
A price she equally emphatically Rejects as she gasps, Trying to grasp his proposal To prostitute himself.
Yet she knows she will never comprehend The offer and even if she had the cash, She would never hand it over. She picks up her guitar and walks forward
Saying, “I will sing some of my songs for you— For free.” He rejects the offer, stuffs his papers Into the briefcase, and without a word or gesture Of farewell, walks back into the fog of illusion.
inspired by Paramahansa Yogananda’s “Consecration”
A sonnet’s full throat hast Thou, my Guru, Placed in Thy opening lay of “Consecration”— In Thy masterful Songs of the Soul— Where shower meets flower as grown follows born Where the loneliness of seeking Finds the seeker found.
A second sestet bursts into a humble offering— Thou spreadest before the All-Seeing Divine Thy sheaves of leaves—the best flowers From Thy garden of verse. Thy flowers’ scent exudes, soul-inspired. Thy riming power leaves the petals in tact.
Would that I may follow Thy lead, To that Cosmic Home in verse and in deed.
Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by “Would that my sonnet shine”
Would that my sonnet shine
Would that my sonnet shine like burnished gold So thou canst marvel long at its pure gleam: A sonnet so warm that banishes cold And serves to guide and guard through a dark dream. Its lines would keep the heat of noonday sun. Their beauty would catch fire—a burning crest. The fruits of its labor would let it run To hearts and minds so sore in need of rest. Would that my sonnet be velvet to touch To show that truth is always here to serve. Would that each word become a star or such As any lantern lighted works with verve. I hope that riming truth thy soul will feed, And that my sonnets work to meet thy need.
Linda's Literary Home 