Found poetry

 
 
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The Guest house

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.— Jellaludin Rumi,

Photo credit: Avrielle Suleiman

@elleirva


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This clay jug

Inside this clay jug there are canyons

and pine mountains, and the maker of

canyons and pine mountains!

All seven oceans are inside, and

hundreds of millions of stars.

The acid that tests gold is there, and

the one who judges jewels.

And the music from the strings

no one touches, and the source of

all water.

If you want the truth, I will tell you

the truth:

Friend, listen:

the God whom I love is inside.

Kabir

photo credit: Kaylee Garrett


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Wild geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Mary Oliver

Photo credit: Yannic Läderach

@yl_photography