Goddess in a Garden (The First Day of Spring) (new poem)

 

Goddess in a Garden

by Tim Kavi

Goddess in a Garden

there she sits!

amidst the plantings

and the nurtured young

the beautiful flowers

and the growing sustenance

that the world needs

for longevity and peace

She stands majestic

glorious Kwan Yin

sitting upon a lotus

I know I saw her there

adorned with green leaves

cushioned by soft earth

tilled and touched by love

by gardener hands complete

there she lies!

every woman in the world

a goddess in a garden. 

MY Grandma the Poet: Gets Published With Her First Collection. Publication Announcement!

 

MY Grandma the Poet: Gets Published With Her First Collection. Publication Announcement! (Foreword by Tim Kavi & Liz Kellebrew).

Today is my Grandmother's 122nd birthday. She was a huge influence on me, creating her own poetry over the years, something I've celebrated and written about on my blog on multiple occasions, always on February 23rd, with entries titled: 'My Grandma the Poet.' Well, today on her birthday,  I am proud to announce that her first poetry collection has been published posthumously. I had the honor of co-writing the Foreword along with my daughter. All three of us are published poets (grandma, just now) and this volume includes poems from all of us, making it a true multigenerational work! Heartland: Poems from the Heart is a moving collection of poems by my grandmother that celebrates family life, resilience, and dealing with wartime loss and grief--as she migrated from a small homestead in Missouri to the Pacific Northwest.  Heartland-- is available on a pre-order basis until tomorrow when it goes live!

Click here to go to Kindle Order Page! #poems #loss #family 

Love you Grandma!~~TK So happy the world can now read your work!

The Flying Monks of Walla Walla! (new poem)

 

The Flying Monks of Walla Walla!

by Tim Kavi

across the purpled

plains they did come

riding on batwings

with cat smiles

minstrels of the sacred

baking bread

in brick ovens

they ate in haste

wires strung

between two cliffs

they did traverse

no need to rehearse

flying loops

gymnasts in motion

they needed no potion

landings were so sure

they climbed

the cliffs of my heart

climbed the soul

of my deepest longings

I wanted to fly with them

but these are skilled steps

they said

so I fled, instead

unwilling to pay the price

really no time

for years of training

just to enjoy their explaining

wisdom speaks

still, some were walking

the rope, a delicate balance

between future's hope

they were

the flying monks

of Walla Walla!

the music fades...

as minstrels applaud

and dance

crowing like Chanticleer!

jest like the joker

revealed in the deck

of cards, luck

brings random dealings

of quantum existence

and luck has brought

these traveling monks

for a diversion

of an hour or two

their flickering images

catching fire borne

juggling implements

while walking across

a gulf, their eyes fixed

on the prize

the other side

of existence

to descend out and down

of the higher place

is a path

every mystic knows

where human darts

await our

descent, buried

in human applause!

so be not surprised

these quantum

lessons, brought by

the flying monks

of Walla Walla!

afterward: the next week, I remained so inspired, that I strung a rope. 

I was born! I began the walk! Thanks be to the monks of Walla Walla! ;-)

Rising Goddess in the Night (new poem)

 

Rising Goddess in the Night

by Tim Kavi

across the majestic sands of time

arises a crescendo of light

from the sounds of crashing waves

the dark moon shines

the horsemen ride

leaving tracks in the sand

to be washed away

like forgotten memories

I thought I saw Her face

there before, She is met

By Herself, there was eternity

in her breath

there is only the longtime

sculpted, across all the faces

of every goddess

there is a reckoning

a sure awakening 

of her might

for she rides in

on the tide

the rising goddess 

in the night.  

What My Artist Says (new poem)

 

What My Artist Says

by Tim Kavi

there won't be any stopping me now

the words are flowing

the lamps are burning oil

the afterfires are burning

and it won't matter to me

because the fire is burning 

purging the blues away

no matter what time of day

what matters is the work

the flowing words that drop

like paint on a blank page

that bring a meaning I never observed

that brings happy memories

joyful sad juxtapositions of place

in the black-shrouded dropcloth

of space, there is only me in the void

can I bravely create?

no shrinking back? no holding back!

until the words are done

the colors set

destroyed by Siva

sands wiped by monk sweeps

in the morning of my next

existence, I will keep saying

words of the artist

painting painting painting painting

I don't care what you think

let me just throw paint!

damnit, help me

or get out of the way 

can't you see my tears 

are starting to flow?

to the spaces, and creases

I don't want to go

but when the work is finished

is it a work on me?

or something I needed to say

to help society?

I don't know, I just want to throw

to hurl paint

at the whispering wind

the canvas of Nature

catches it, as it is expressed

in my deepest heart!

and around the next bend

the curtain is pulled back

revealed for what the deeper 

purpose has wrought

until the sands of time

move someone else to say it again

and again, fooling transcendence

but never cheating the permanent void

there is the going, the turning

the burning nights, the glorious sights

of Her reveal, muses eternal

proclaiming what is to be read

because on Her lips it has already

been said, across the ancient skies

since time has been born

down below her hips

the birthing of all that is

in countless stories told, 

pages worn, heartbreaks torn

in the light of history's torch

frames of flickering images

burn my sand burned eyes now

tell more stories, with much 

more disguise, but still

flickering shadows reveal 

the cave wall, of artists' 

inspiration, in a great reveal

there it is! There it is!

now showing

no hiding what has been done

just the completed picture

until tomorrow's sun.

PTSD (new poem)

 

PTSD (new poem)
by Tim Kavi

don't touch me

for I am so afraid

that I wonder

if my life

can ever be remade

but I keep on living

keep on trying

just to keep on

your gentle noises

resound like cannons

and gunfire

in my ear

the startle response

betrays my heart

of fear, whenever

threats feel near

sometimes I do not

feel like I am here

but in another place

numbed by grace

and at night, oh!

at night, I am afraid

to go to sleep

for You are there

my abuser, my assailant

You who hurt me

are in my dreams

so many times

it's hard to cope

but I am learning to manage

and rebuild my life

for to not do so

is to lose all hope.  

Afterword--written by Tim Kavi, a sufferer of PTSD!

Wayward Journeys (new poem)

 Wayward Journeys (new poem)

Wayward Journeys

by Tim Kavi

in the wild woods

of Wyeastern winds

I saw the bearded

prophets rise

I asked them questions

about what futures

would arise

they rubbed their beards

they had no answers

there were no easy answers

just pleading eyes

from my beseeching heart

You must never give up

one of them said

My heart is broken for the lost

another one said

yet there is a way

I didn't say it, one said

the wellspring of hope

and transcendent glories

of the human heart does.

We can do it!