AWAKENING THE WILD CHILD

Leap a little, do a bit of an Irish jig,
perhaps every day,
perhaps while standing in line at the Post Office.
No, because you read it from my mind,
do something different, something fresh
on your own:
like singing opera at the gym
during a "serious work out",
or walking down the isles at the supermarket
playing a harmonica, smiling at everyone.
If you are a woman, do something wild
and Lilly-like every day:
like giving a purple or golden scarf
to an old woman in a nursing home
and fashioning flowers into her hair...
or, out-crazying the children,
riding their makeshift pulley out to the stars.
If you are a man, do a prophetical act everyday:
like running out of the office
and digging your hands into the earth,
rubbing it into your face.
Then wash the dirt into the bathroom sink
as you hum sea chanteys
and spit into the waste basket,
rubbing your cheek where a beard should be,
and speaking like a pirate into the mirror,
telling all God's invisible warriors
that you would pour your blood out upon a stone
for one whiff of the fragrance
of a wild woman's spirit,
and that you would just as well grasp wind or fire
as that lady's freedom.

Blake Steele's Poetry


WALKING SERAPHIM

There are some women
—rare as blue horses—
who burn with life,
who emit sparks,
whose words ricochet around the room.
You may ask them a simple question
and their spirits quiver, then suddenly expand
far beyond the boundaries of their bodies
like tidal surges,
like thunderous waves of green water and foam,
flushing away all grayness,
washing concrete down drains.

Blake Steele's Poetry

KISS BY KISS

Poem:

Kiss by kiss we explore the real Universe.
Not by telescopes or microscopes
does it open its secret beauty.
A lover has other eyes
that sees more than two worlds.

Observance:

Left brain looking; right brained luminous seeing.
Left brain logic; right brained leaps into fire.
Left brain getting along;
right brained howling laughter at poverty.
Where is that part of you that licks the face of the sun?
Where have you hidden the naked child
who dances down dingy streets
dressed only with ribbons of flame
flying in her hair?

(Click on title for more poetry.)

IN HER HEART IS A CHILD

In her heart is a child
too innocent to wander wild
in this world.
She suckles innocent Love
from God’s young breasts.
She is a tender child, curious and shy
and longing to be held,
to pour out her freedom
in someone’s arms.
Tough as leather in her stand
against callous death,
she suffers to stay alive
to miracles.
Painting pictures,
colors of freedom, whimsy
and passion of dreams…
she sails her porcelain boat
upon an azure sea
and paints a duck’s eyes
ruby red,
its feet like emeralds
in a field of gold.
When she drinks
rose petal tea
her mind caresses light
and moves
with ease to open her heart,
to drop her clothes,
to embrace the sun
into her circling arms,
to hide the moon
under her hair.

A GLIMPSE

August 4, 2009
Thassos

A GLIMPSE

There are worlds within this world
where the completed ones live.
If they were to glimpse you in a field
or amongst a grove of ancient trees
you would be an ethereal breath,
a fleeting shadow,
with no more substance than wind.
And a lover would turn to their lover and whisper
“I think I saw a ghostly one.
It must have been a mortal being
in a body of shadows.
I don’t think it saw us for God’s sleep
was heavily on it
and it stared at our pure beauty
with blind eyes.”

HEART DANCE

I listen to your eyes
with my whole body
until your eyes open
as my whole body sings
with the beauty of your eyes
seeing my beauty in wonder.

Poems

WHO IS TEACHING THIS THING WRONGLY?

"And they shall return to God
with everlasting joy upon their heads..."
Where is the artesian laughter,
the dancing feet,
the flashing light of freedom
in the eyes?
There is no joy
in a boring God.
Where is the God
that all little children
would spontaneously love?
Let's return
to that One.


THIS POETRY IS NOT YOU

This poetry is not You,
nor any image.
The Bible is not You,
nor any holy book.
The saints are not You,
nor any compassionate deed.
This longing is not You,
nor any answer.
The light in a lover's eyes
is not You,
nor is this body You,
or any truth--
yet You clothe Yourself
with all these
at Your pleasure,
then laughingly
divest Yourself
of all things
to run naked
into garments of sunlight
through invisible snow.




REGARDING THE LAST AND BEST
REFUGE FROM GOD

Should Church be a place
to hide from the naked Heavens,
a place of refuge
from encounters with the world of Spirit?
Why don't church goers meet angels?
If a profound spiritual awakening
should happen to a certain church member:
an opening of the eyes of the soul
to see spiritual halos, departed saints,
angels and devils, and the glory of God
hovering like fire above the altar--
would the congregation be a safe place to share it?
Or would there be murmurs of fear,
anxiety about delusions, hallucinations,
gastric distress, nervous breakdowns?
then castigation or an unspoken distancing.
I think God is too creative and free
for almost all religion:
that is why the seed shell must crack,
the old wine skin burst!
*
One day, the poetry of God
and religion will be one...
The fields will be singing;
the sky, angel packed.

Wild Sanity poetry by Blake Steele

I've been recording and engineering a lot of my poems of which samples are now available to listen to on-line. And even better, three CDs with music, sounds of nature and sound effects are now available to purchase. If you love life, Love, beauty, mystery, wonder and joy, this unique and accessible poetry expresses all this and much more. I hope you will step outside the box and take a drink of all this Life. This kind of poetry lets you directly experience all the joy religion, philosophy and spirituality talk about.
Wild Sanity Samples
Wild Words Sample
Wild Sanity and Wild Words CD Order Page

IN CROATIA

(Poems written June 2006)

Here on the balcony, windows wide open,
the blue sea warming in a hot sun,
the little sea-cooled breeze
playing over my sun-hot skin,
with birds singing in the pine trees
and the palm trees,
with fig trees green and swelling
their hard, green fruit,
and cherries red on the limbs,
with peaches ripe and falling,
with dates, and goat’s milk
and oats and nuts,
I drink in the gifts of limitless Love
loving me to be a gift of Love,
blessing me to be a gift of Blessing—
and the whole thing slides
into the good dream of Love
shifting time and space,
for all the windows are wide open
and angels fly in and out with ease,
as earth becomes heaven
one heart at a time.


ON A BALCONY OVER THE SEA

Who is this who returns and relaxes
open in bright colors,
in the gleaming glories of God?
Who is this who sails blue seas
of the skies with cloudy sails;
who glides as a dove through
wide open windows?
Whose eyes reflect the morning light
as they lift their vision to distant mountains?
Whose heart sings for the joy of singing
such Love into the pool of the world?


PERFECT SILENCE

Perfect silence is perfect listening
the whole soul relaxing
into an ear,
the body, wrapped in glass,
freezes soundless:
the universe without a quiver
melts in Light.



THE SUN KISSES MY BODY

The sun kisses my body.
The breeze flutters on my skin
and trembles inside me.
The sea gurgles against stone..
The earth is pine-fragrant and simmering.
The birds seem inspired
and the bugs excited.
Early this morning, on the terrace with my eyes just opening,
I was surrounded by swallows.
Any day that starts like this
has got to be good.