stillness poetry

grade 3

The whole class is talking
There's nothing to do
I guess I will sit here and
Bloom

by Adam Cooke

Keeping Quiet

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about...
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

by Pablo Neruda

Yes, we can talk

Having loved enough and lost enough,
I’m no longer searching
just opening,

no longer trying to make sense of pain
but trying to be a soft and sturdy home
in which real things can land.

These are the irritations
that rub into a pearl.

So we can talk for a while
but then we must listen,
the way rocks listen to the sea.

And we can churn at all that goes wrong
but then we must lay all distractions
down and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight
I too feel alone. But seldom do I
face it squarely enough
to see that it’s a door
into the endless breath
that has no breather,
into the surf that human
shells call God.

Mark Nepo

Utterance-that-rises-briefly-from-the-source

Peace is an odd word for the bubble of all there is
breaking repeatedly on the surface of the heart,
but I know of no other. The Native Americans
come closest; nothing between inner events
and what to call them. I see you and you always
glow. Why not call you One-who-shines-like-a-
sun-upon-first-meeting. Why not call the moment
of doubt and fear: Dark-point-spinning-loose-
that-presses-on-the-throat. Why not call the
moment of certainty, the fleeting moment
when everything that ever lived is right
behind my pounding heart, why not call
that moment: Beat-of the-thousand-wings-
of-God-inside-my-chest. When I feel it so much
that it cannot be contained or directed at any one
thing or person, why not call it: The-stone-at-the
bottom-of-the-river-sings. Why not call you: The-
hand-that-plucks-me-from-the-bottom-of-the-river.
Why not call this miracle of life: The-sound-that-
never-stops-stirring-the-lost-within-the-sound-that-
never-stops-soothing-the-living-within-the-sound-that-
never-stops-sounding-in-the-eyes-of-dead-things-coming-
alive-again-and-again-and-again….

by Mark Nepo

The buddha in glory

center of all centers, core of cores,
almond, self-enclosed, growing sweet -all
the universe, to the farthest stars
and beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit ...

Now you feel how nothing clings to you;
your vast shell reaches into endless space,
and there the rich thick nectars rise and flow.
Illuminating your infinite peace,
a billion stars go spinning through the night,
Glowing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.

by Rainer Maria Rilke