Bahá’ís throughout the world celebrate this day [beginning at sunset] as the Day of the Covenant, the Celebration of the Eternal Covenant between God and Mankind through His Manifestations and Prophets, eternal in the past, eternal in the present, eternal in the future:
“His Holiness Abraham, on Him be peace, made a covenant concerning His Holiness Moses and gave the glad-tidings of His coming. His Holiness Moses made a covenant concerning the Promised One, i.e. His Holiness Christ, and announced the good news of His Manifestation to the world. His Holiness Christ made a covenant concerning the Paraclete and gave the tidings of His coming. His Holiness the Prophet Muhammad made a covenant concerning His Holiness the Báb and the Báb was the One promised by Muhammad, for Muhammad gave the tidings of His coming. The Báb made a Covenant concerning the Blessed Beauty of Bahá’u'lláh and gave the glad-tidings of His coming for the Blessed Beauty was the One promised by His Holiness the Báb. Bahá’u'lláh made a covenant concerning a promised One who will become manifest after one thousand or thousands of years. –`Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í World Faith
“As the Sea”
As the sea swells, so the Covenant remains, promises fulfilled.
Through Abraham the Friend of God, and Moses, Giver
Of The Law; fruited and confirmed in Jesus Son of Mary given
In His Person more–the Love of God–and through His Will,
Submission under God in Hijáz through Muhammad, Seal of Prophets;
From the East, Lord Krishna of The Three, The holiness of Buddha in Purity;
The Fires of Zoroaster from the mountain; security from casuistry
Within the Witness of The Báb, and Justice in Bahá’u'lláh
`gainst the nursery rhymes of sophists
And the worship of Creation over He who did create
The whole with but a single Word, “Be!” Hosts exclaim and expiate
Their cavils at the Word through numbers, and the terror of the tribes.
Their synergies against the tide of history, bow the knee to what they rape,
And call it truth. By God! The earth is weary of their weight.
The Word alone remains; the Covenant alone withstands this dreary freight.
Posted in Bahá’í, Covenant, End Times, Hope, Lyric Poetry, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Bahá’í, Covenant, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Infinity, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
…back again by popular demand…
“She Asked Me How I Knew”
She asked me how I knew, and all I knew,
And all of this in less than what it took
To give a sign, and say, “What floor?” It shook
Me up a bit, to tell the truth, but then I view
These close encounters in the light of years
These days, and find that nothing sways me so far off the path
That I’ve lost sight of who I am, and how to laugh.
And so I answered her, I did that thing. And then the tears.
The double-arched eyebrows, the look of terror in her eyes when I
Suggested that between our floors the elevator flies
Too quickly for a studied answer, but not to worry, I’d
Be willing, yes, perhaps, someday on some long train to try. .. .
She took a rain check, though, and said she had to go;
And, when she asked my name, I knew she really didn’t want to know.
Posted in Emotion, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Love, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet
“Abruptness Applauds Aplomb”
Abruptness applauds aplomb, a golden draught of curt cessation
Of hostilities. Enter antistrophe, the tenuous hymn, a nervous truce enforced
By dreams that hearts discern what in the discourse
Is impossible for speech to register as a plea. Listing on a sea of abnegation,
Content, superfluous ballast, the stuffs of odes leach a certain rush of sadness
In the breach for lack of evidence on the table; withdrawn from all others,
Comes a welling of overwhelming selflessness that smothers
Second thoughts, shuns advice and admonition and opts for simple gladness
Redolent in its radiant acquiescence, futures steeped in martyrs’ crimson inks
at first stirrings of anagnorisis. Here dwells dull
But conscious resignation to what appears to be defeat of all mottoes
Writ in luminous capitals: “The Thing’s Not Working!” And in the grotto,
Then, the chorus strikes the penultimate invocation, the last bull,
The space between the lines, in turn the very eye of so vainglorious a day,
“This cannot come to good!” as fools react where wisdom merely prays.
Posted in Aplomb, Poetry, Raw aplomb
Tagged Age, Aging, Aplomb, End Times, Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw
Three seconds to midnight and some decision
Rests on where the sun lies.
Someone there beyond irrational skies
Says it’s time to rethink revisions
In the rhythm, a shift in keys, camouflaged divisions
In the lighthouse. Seductions blind the eyes
To icebergs in retreat as volcanic sulphurs advertise
The truth and souls prepare for sanctity and circumcision.
Two seconds and again the Star will make His move,
The Prodigal. His flock devoured, He concludes His fast
To claim His bride while tyrants cry, “I cannot breed!”
In one last united choking, all souls that bleed
For freedom like eagles in the heights above prove
The strength of dawn at first and all humanity at last.
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnets
Tagged Ecology, Imagery, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Nature, Poem, poetry, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw
Once spoken, lost forever. Sacred silences;
Better to hold the peace, adjust the pace,
Lean forward to sanctions in an empty space.
Wisdoms must be guarded. Lesser pilots,
Through the straits—amateurs—negotiate the islands
To the other shore, race to embrace words, supports in granite, pylons,
Marble; capitals, bronze; palladians, bygone
Grandeur chiselled in obsidian, the science
Of tact among the mortal redwoods and all fares
Paid, and yet, regard the loss, the singular gesticulation.
Being nothing, less combusts
And all is lost. Sentinels to safeguard trusts
Are posted every mile while eyes stare
Upward to the boiling clouds and all is hesitation.
Posted in Aging, Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, Relationships, Sonnet, Wisdom
“So Goliath the Proportions”
So Goliath the proportions, so small the stone
That in the hands of a single upstart
Derail the plan, the science and the art.
Just so, the protocol of all within the home
And in the workplace, and in the greater
And lesser notes of the finest filigree
Or within the bowels of a diamond. Tree rings
Record a tale of atavistic misfits and golden satyrs.
Centuries, as well sign the same glad tune
And as the planet warms and swarms of pundits chant
A melody of surest knowledge, the icebergs rant
And bellow as they roll like rune
Stones in the seas neglecting reassurances
That the truth is one and not expressed in nuances.
Posted in Ebb and flow, Glaciers, Goliath, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tree rings
Tagged Ebb and flow, Ecology, Economy, End Times, Glaciers, Goliath, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Nature, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tree rings
“She Drops Her Mysteries”
She drops her mysteries, her veiled hints,
And off! “And I’ll be back,” she says, she will
Return with more. The wineglass chilled,
He’s left to savour what remains, discarded lint
From promises that have no manners. What remains
Is no concern: “We’ll touch on that when I return…”
And in the vagaries of something learned
In all of this lies a pattern, some blue vein
Of thought, a misnomer finely wrought
In filigree though no one really cares to hear the tale. Here,
Perhaps, the story should end, so then of course he waits, preferring fear
To anger in the end to fuel the blight and conjure bitter thoughts
That were the table turned there’d be a fresher start,
A simple dinner leaning more toward matter and very little art.
…painting by Fabian Perez….
Posted in Emotion, Fidelity, Imagery, Imagism, Love, Lyric Poetry, Pain, Patience, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Fidelity, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Pain, Patience, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet
“Who Tolerates the Touch”
Who tolerates the touch of palm and fingers
Triggers the tympanum’s lover’s voice,
The involuntary arch of eyebrows, that choice
Of recognition that addresses doubt that lingers
Yes! a while on what once was until it reconnoitres
Long enough to serve the summons; reaction’s invoice,
Undesired but necessarily what is required, yes! A void
Is not an option to the unbelieving mind. Ligatures
Every particle seeks are sealed with audience, weight,
And purpose in immaterial cycles that begin and end
In memory. Its regeneration suspends
Belief, it’s true, but, none too late,
Its own relief and use within a measured time.
For him who wills she can neither resist nor hesitate.
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Suspension of belief, Touch
Evidence is impertinent; knowledge the more so.
What’s required’s what’s requisite:
It is better to receive than to give, to sit
Than walk, rations and stations notwithstanding—to know
The hairline partition between the profound and shallow
Knave and his belief, both seeds—deposits
Less for harvest than to overthrow the field itself that profits
Nothing from the plough and even less remaining fallow.
What does a man whose fame is paraffin,
Whose reigns are grace and sin, egregious loss and win
Whose draw is driftwood, the simple work of artisans and tradesmen,
The complex afterbirth of artists and doctors of acumen,
Whose words and produce are the sums
Of circuses, possibly media feed,
Certain the prostitutes of avarice and greed?
Posted in Evidence, Grace, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sin, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged End Times, Evidence, Grace, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, News Media, Poem, Sin, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“These Single Seconds”
These single seconds, presentiments of all
And nothing in eternity, everything in being
So alive; so much ado for yet another death in Venice, the seam
Of what is past as in a single passion’s pall
So sharpened in the moment that it’s cut
Is never noted until the point of infection. Minutes and the hour
Record a simple causal pause, time enough to harvest flowers
That will surely wilt so thoughtlessly. But
In the common flush of extremities, the blush, the rush, the flow,
This now is always yesterday’s dream, the stuff of self-deception,
Always what has happened just before, some weak inflection
Of realities and truth but crudely reckoned, a seed but newly sown
That only time can nourish. I’ve lived through nearly seven times ten in years
Through veils of unmitigated grace and holiness amassed in arrears,
Still, it is within another winter’s votary thought at last;
I know I will not be with you here beyond the death
Of these same embers in the hearth, this house arrest
Of days and nights so beauty-worn. I am the fast
In winter’s moonlight bringing closer all who see
So little light save in one another; days begun and then recessed
Before their time. And so it is with graduated rest
From daily obligations, time enough to dream, at least to seem
To one another safe enough for one brief season, a familiar in the close
Encounter with so little interest but in the present evening’s run
To fetch a cow within, a log from out back, to secure the barn.
Barely born, the moon grows reticent as the rising sun discloses
Evening weeds and as we build the fires and take the steam,
The fire’s warmth is strong and so is love…as so it seems.
Posted in Age, Aging, Death, Detachment, Double Sonnet, Emotion, Existence, Fidelity, Hope, Idolatry, Illusion, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Immortality, Love, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Pain, Patience, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Reality, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Death, Death in Venice, Delusion, Double Sonnet, Emotion, Existence, Fidelity, Illusion, Imagism, Immortality, Love, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Pain, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets