Of Storm and Light

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Mighty grey beast Of the royal blue sky
flexing with all your flash and color,
Stealing the crystal prism from the king,
you try to run off with his noble robe.

A single manifestation of the noble place
acting as if you do, when you are being done.
You live with all the thunder of your maker
And yet subtly fear the return home.

You rage on into the late hours of night,
engaging senses of everything you meet.
Your temporal form holds an open space
For awe striking light to seep through.

When the sky draws you back in like a breath
I bet they will all write stories about you,
Remembering the feelings you would pull
From their dormant chests, remembering

How you lived brightly in that moment
While they boarded up windows and doors.
Hiding from the beauty of your light
Hiding from the beauty of their own light.

– jeffrey vionito

Ever Ripening Me

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Can you tell me, please,

where does the human heart go

when the mind wanders?

 

And what do the eyes look upon

when the world becomes a beggar’s stage

of flashing desire and chaos?

 

I’ve spent my life as a blind man

with hands over eyes and not on my heart;

too busy hiding from feelings,

 

instead of holding onto the rhythm

nestled within my hands like a new born,

to cradle its bold tenderness

 

till I lose track of time

and lose sight of this fickle world

and all the propaganda

 

that tries to replace this

sweet romance. Today I placed an open hand

on my heart, as a cheek upon cheek,

 

and made dancers of us.

Together, we can turn this world into a paradise

Together, we can turn this life into joy.

 

And yes, there will be times

 

When I will grow a marvelous belly

Full and round with a feast of over abundance

And yet my heart will still teach me acceptance.

 

Or times when I grow a long straggly beard

Of bushy, curly brown and grey strands of rebellion

Manifesting self-acceptance to the many strange stares.

 

or there will be months on end

When I wear the same pajamas everyday

And watch the neighbors,

 

as they grow disturbed in

doubt as to whether I wash them clean

or let daily dirt gather on its cloth.

 

To this I grow untouched

as mockery and judgment consumes them

I will grow bright bold wings

 

falling away from this conditioning

that society uses to keep me under control;

coming unglued I will learn to fly.

 

Or even if I

 

Fall down, crashing into obsessions

I wait for love to pull me out of each wreck,

or leave me there until I search for her.

 

And when we meet each other

oh how I will be like a young school kid

making secret hiding places

 

for the shame and guilt

of all of my many mischievous ways

as Love uncovers them one by one.

 

And when I awaken from each place

 

where this heart has tucked me in,

as we dance through these beautiful imperfections,

with clarity I begin to see

 

Everything in its perfection.

Slowly, I am starting to uncover these eyes.

Slowly, I am letting go of each sour fruit.

 

Oh humble heart of mine

I feel the sweetness of what remains

In the bushel of want, unpicked.

 

Oh humble heart of mine

I am learning to hold your rhythm–

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump,

 

I am learning to feel,

 

the pulse of your ancient roots,

as they reach up through my core

ever ripening me.

 

 

  • Jeffrey Vionito

 

Picture by: Marina Cano

Perceptions

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Some people say

the water doesn’t speak

But listen,

 

As it drips through

A mind in the middle

Of midnight’s sleep.

 

They say the fire

has not a pair of eyes,

But watch

 

As it burns in a gaze,

Lighting up every emotion

found in a moment.

 

There is a doubt

that air can touch freedom.

But feel

 

As it washes over

Skin, caressing obstacles

And moves beyond.

 

Many question

that the earth can breathe.

But inhale

 

its coarse skin,

exfoliating a scent of nature

through its pores.

 

The world hungers

with a soul emptied palette,

but feast divinely

 

as emptiness looms

in the mortal belly. Abundance

rises from beyond

 

the five senses, subsiding —

higher perception is the ethereal table

that leaves no one hungry.

 

–          Jeffrey Vionito

Picture by: http://filetraffic.eu/s/four%20elements%20game

 

The Hammer and Chisel

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I feel my heart beating

as a hammer does to a chisel,

carving out wild waves

of thought, converging

onto a water pump,

beating itself open,

turn by turn, yet soft,

and smooth as lavender silk

unveiling a mystery, I keep

deep in murky depths.

And when I offer myself up

to the creator within my heart,

the raging waterfall subsides.

And I start to feel each wave,

drop by drop. I feel each beat,

from heart to distant heart;

I feel my hands, tiny as a baby’s,

pressed against the chest

of one united people.

Hand over heart I find the pulse

of peace growing, from the stillness

of a living, breathing valley of water

merging into an ocean of One.

 

~ jeffrey Vionito

Picture by: http://www.togetherarts.in/home/gallery-machu-picchu-antra-shruti-srivastava-from-secunderabad-india/

 

Being Here Now

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Being Here Now

 

Being here now is a winding labyrinth,

following its own ebon gaze

through each pathway as a puzzle of life.

Each turn, wind, or victory is a surprise in life,

it makes you who you are.

 

Being here now can also relate

to a hand woven quilt, each pattern

stitched with love and affection.

Each pattern can relate to a specific

time of emotion, and brings back

memories with the feel of fuzz

from a delicate bumble bee.

 

Being here right now,

at this very moment is a gift,

you might say,

and indeed it is.

 

 

~ Rebecca Vionito ( at 11 years old )

 

This poem was written by my daughter while she took part in one of my Poetic Gathering Workshops.  After a guided meditation, each person drew three pieces of paper out of 2 bowls.  One bowl contained images to include in the poem they had to write.  The other bowl contained a topic.  Her topic was ‘Being Here Now’  The other 2 images were, ‘Labyrinth’ and ‘fuzz of a bumble bee’.

 

 

picture by:  http://www.visitbritainsuperblog.com/2011/12/top-10-ways-to-start-the-new-year-in-britain/