Category Archives: Wisdom

“The Phrase”

Hazel Reeves3


“The Phrase”

The phrase transcends the pen withdrawn
And so, too, the movement in and of itself.
The notebook’s filled, volumes line the shelf
And there upon a winter’s night, the low straw
Wins and he reviews the lot and finds the flaw
In each. Perhaps a word crossed out, a gulf
In time allows a light to objectivity less the self.
And when the wheel stops, the law
Of averages condemns the thing to sit there
Once again, forgotten, anonymous as a star
That far away, explodes with fireworks
That would consume a galaxy—matter gone berserk—
Ignite and what had no energies now amassed, a pregnant flare
Until at last, one starry night, a whisper reaches earthly ears.
Just so, the incomplete, the Word to words and back again
Traverse the gap as the task of phonemes
Aspires to ascend to higher stations, morphemes
Honoured in this natal happy path. Observe:
Throughout the zodiac of conscious meaning
Stars that matter to velocities in galaxies
Reborn inspire genitive ignition in the gravity
Of natural wisdom’s past and present leaning
To fruition in what was always meant to be.
The moon, in its phase; the sun, its angry season,
The poet writes within a pendulum of forces, reason
Bound, but nonetheless eternal mysteries
Revealed as the Ancient of Days calls behind the present hour
Words from phrases only time, distance and the pen can devour.
As the audience is eternal, so, too, what will compel
The heart and mind to ideal calligraphy; the wordsmith’s nod
Secure. And as “the source of all learning is the knowledge of God,”*
So, too, the gravitas of the nib cannot be silenced, nor the muse expelled.

Hazel Reeves2

*Bahá’u’lláh, “Words of Wisdom”, Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh

…pieces of scupture by Hazel Reeves...

“So Easy to Feel”

“So Easy to Feel”

So easy to feel, to seem to be, to know at last propinquity
As if the light declares the coming glory of the sun at daybreak
Redundant. But as that disk cannot be seen for more than seconds, I take
That certainty of coming morning within me,
Knowing that midnight’s richest prize in ivory
Is forever fixed as is the station of the sun; the moon an intimate
In someone’s flight, perhaps, but even so, as she reveals herself in states
And phases never hers, agitation gains nothing in the motion save in memory
And affectations of the sea within me–force upon another force,
Measured consequence of a functionary that renders boundaries
Of continental pride and the ocean’s doors
Cast aside in the riot of the tides, a natural stampede, no more
Than thresholds of natural accident, the stream and river’s course
Now rising, now again a swelling to apostrophes, eternal inertia born of gravity.

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Mulk or ‘Dominion'”

Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening after sunset or tomorrow before sunset to commemorate the First Day of the Bahá’í Month of Mulk [Dominion]


“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Mulk or ‘Dominion’”

Dominion flows from all that is to all
That cannot be conceived, a bellow’s breath beneath the floor
Of wisdom’s altar fires within the shrine above the inner sight, ignored
For want of knowledge, askew by dint of instruments. The call
Is clarion from below and far above whose covenants defy perceptions:
For each, assured domain; for all, a blessèd bailiwick.
Prescriptions transcend their symbols, transfixed in measure; the quick
And dead retain an atavistic relation where immaculate conceptions
Cannot be confounded by their Goliaths nor by their Davids proscribed.
The seeds of all encompassing Creation, the Primal Cause
Express to each a quality, to all an attribute, a clause
In mortal contracts, revelations, stations sealed, inscribed
With what perturbs all living spirits, inuring all casual inquirers
As the Object sought transcends, Itself, and is, Itself, the Source of all desire.


Elephant sun


Make this known unto them, that nothing whatsoever may shut them out from Thy Beauty, in these days whereon the Christ exclaimeth: “All dominion is Thine, O Thou the Begetter of the Spirit (Jesus)”; and Thy Friend (Muḥammad) crieth out: “Glory be to Thee, O Thou the Best-Beloved, for that Thou hast uncovered Thy Beauty, and written down for Thy chosen ones what will cause them to attain unto the seat of the revelation of Thy Most Great Name, through which all the peoples have lamented except such as have detached themselves from all else except Thee, and set themselves towards Him Who is the Revealer of Thyself and the Manifestation of Thine attributes.”

―His Holiness Bahá’u’lláh
“The Prayer for Naw-Rúz”
Prayers and Meditations by Bahá’u’lláh, p. 68

“It Won’t Take Long”


“It Won’t Take Long”

It won’t take long,
But even so
I’ll wait in the snow
And rain while the day’s song
Plays on. I do not know
What you won’t see
Nor do you care where I will be;
What the step or where the cold
Staircase up or down;
What fortunes drown,
What age or travels, old
Or new-found; what sight, what sound
The hour brings nor what we answer for
When all is said and done. Who reckons,
Finds himself in error; who seconds
The thought forfeits game and score
No matter who he is and what his goal;
Shares short or long, the interface is immaterial
To the whole. Whose beside the Etherial
Affords a vantaged seat above the young and old?
Whose beside the Ancient of Days travels
Length and breadth of paths-cum-streets, with or without terminus?
Cum adsunt testimonia rerum quid opus est verbis?*
What Creation weaves no man fathoms nor unravels.
Perfidious the thought of negation;  if anyone declares otherwise
He sells himself something that even fools learn to despise.
The tedious first, the tenuous last;
Closures to the present are ransom for the past.

*When the proofs of facts are present, what need is there of words.




Choices waste themselves in prolixity, the dusts
Of propagation and abuse whose mission misaligns the niche
Wherein we dwell undisturbed but nothing more. The rich
Find paths no less rough-hewn; trust
Me, prairie dust will choke the delicate machine.
Nomenclature, its ideal lubricant, gives life to meretricious schemes
And notions and rust to any fine tuned mind. Notwithstanding reams
Of notes and mental reservations noted in the margins, still it seems
Like such a shame to waste a fine Mercedes
On a cornfield. Gather and surmise, but leave the ploughing to the John Deere,
Levelling and landscape to the Caterpillar, and  fear
Of people to the politicians; to the fox, his rabies;
To the gentle soul, serenities and the honour of his ordained station.
By faith and knowledge emotions breed, by certitude, pure elation.
A judicious pause, no more than what a second
Brings to contemplate the obvious
Confirms what is self-evident; in the common wager, the benefits of lust,
In learning, the risks of conscious knowledge, the need to reckon
What is right or true in what one must do.
So wonderful a tool as simple thought will set the soul
At rest and validate an afternoon. Goals,
Rewards, momentum’s fulcrum follows through
From all that’s gone before to where one must be.
Such benchmarks offer solace to practitioners of routine,
Confound the imposition of countless dreams
Of obligation, incidental norms, and all that only seems.
And we, like all philosophers and thinkers on the trot,
Must step aside and learn to live with what it is we’ve got.