NOTE: My poem, "The Gift", expresses my Baha'i love for a dear friend who fled Iran under religious persecution and now resides in the United States, where she may practice the Baha'i Faith freely and without fear. Many Baha'is in Iran routinely experience the destruction of their homes and lives . Their bank accounts are seized, education and fundamental human rights are denied and many are tortured and put to death. My friend is an artist and writer whose subject matter often relates to these grave and urgent issues. Over a summer period I was privileged to assist this gentle, loving soul in the translation of her exquisite & heart rending poems into English. During this period I became increasingly aware that one may experience The Divine Poet through the eyes and heart of another. In essence, see the face of The Beloved , hear His poetry and perceive His fragrance.
The Gift Unspoken words swell at the rim of my cup . . . anticipating the sacred moment when finally, the contents overflow and praise flows forth. The Witness within me is speechless, yet cries out with inaudible, tearful joy! O Manna! O Living Breath! O Sacred River! O Bottomless, infinite Soul, How I love Thee. O Eyes of Spirit! Thou art my True Sister. You come as a Gift Sent upon prayer. A Seeker of Souls, You are the Keeper of Hearts . . . and when Thou awardest me with Thy presence, I hear Thy exquisite poetry wafting as a Rose Attar upon Attar. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 .
A Golden Future These dark days will pass one into another and flow away down eternity's infinite river. There will come a day when in our innocence and light, we will not remember how it was. And we will look to history to enlighten and share a probable cause. We will recite mythological tales from long lost books on ancient, apocalyptic wars and of destructions' mysterious, golden paved road to the Universal Peace. Yes, let these dark days pass one into another. . Martha Meshberg Copyright 2001 This Forest We walk in this forest together, eyes lowered and searching. Ears tuned to every note...listening. Our nostrils inhale life around us and our hands reach out to touch. Our bodies merge in unison until our souls cry out with love. In day and night, black and white, hot and cold, young and old, breathing out and breathing in where life begins and duality ends... where all things become One... we walk in this forest together... Martha Meshberg Copyright 2001
The Unfaultering Wine I would choose to be kind, compassion forever embedded in my heart and mind. Then why, when I've made the noble choice do I falter on a whim? Do I only stretch my sandy tongue toward a mirage ? I am waiting to be freed from choice. I seek The Oasis. Does this bliss truly exist? Could virtue be so ingrained in spirit that a mortal could drink "choice" as an unfaultering wine? If mere thoughts may concieve the depth of such, then by a fathomless depth of love and longing the ocean of our souls will surely be touched. Martha Meshberg Copyright 2001
. The Great Mirror This mere human heart, this feeble mind alone and conscious in the microcosm of self faintly discriminates and comprehends " being" among it's own arteries and pathways of human essence. The body of man may be likened to the macrocosm of the universe. Our cells forever flowing and interconnecting, orbiting among the planets and the stars. We, a galaxy of spinning atoms and breath, flowing and expanding, contracting and imploding in death- sucking all, like antimatter into the black hole of inevitable opposites explode once again into great and heavy pregnancy. Being reborn in a "Big Bang" of new, ever expanding universes and galaxy's of life, our very beings reflecting as an image in the great mirror of God's creation. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
The White Native I was that familiar stranger you sought to never know at the Pow Wow's of long ago. You thought I was not of you. My eyes were blue. My hair, golden and flaxen, did not compare to your braided and raven black. My skin fair and pale not Native Indian Red. You thought my dance strange and unaligned, somehow not so Tribal, nor refined. Your beaded Moccasins did not fit into my shoes. Though I danced, you swore I wore no feather... From a lost tribe in time I came to alight upon my ancient claim, to chant Shamanic words of the Dane's Nordic spell, and to hum Gaelic tunes- Irish Stepping as well. To pitch my tent near a meadow and forest and count my family as ONE and ALL of us, to gather Grandmother's rich medicine and lore from the ancient ones at the Great Spirit's door. I call like a bird to you, beaded and feathered ones... Oh, hear me, beautiful red, raven haired brothers... I am Your Long Lost White Sister! Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
On Back Biting Drop an unkind word and it radiates pain in an ever-widening ripple across the water of many souls creating hurt not for one, but for all. Do not make me privy to the darkness of cruel intention for I will protectively cover my ears from this fundamental and evil contagion. Therefore, I will not speak making you privy to my sinister intentions, but I will control my darkened nature not wanting to spread this evil contagion. Drop not an unkind word and compassion will radiate in an ever-widening ripple across the water of many souls creating love not for one but for all. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Inborn Spirit We question our better judgment when we find ourselves floating distantly from the reality of the earth into mystic retreats of longing- to be there - rather than here, grounded and rooted, standing like trees solidly planted on the earth. We may believe the earthly soil intended for our growth must weather every draught and flood, must undergo every seasonal change prior to passing with readiness, into the beyond of other promised worlds. Still, having stretched our branches seemingly over eons of time toward the beckoning light can we be blamed for our yearning? It is the inborn spirit of continual growth that prompts our aspiring thirst! Where we given a choice, we would not go later- we would go first! Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
On Consultation We suppose being blatantly honest poses too great a risk. We fear honesty will brutalize and level us to a sniveling degree in which our personal perspectives may perish in the mirror of our own folly. How do we offer ourselves to each other in full sacrifice to trust? Will we have to admit that we are wrong? Can we survive that- with dignity? We humans are filled with the fear that our ego's will rebelliously explode into uncontrollable anger, fighting against reason and submission until the last rationalizing breath. We are filled with the idea that our beliefs and personal experiences are sacred. So, we hang on, promoting our views boldly or try discretely to "save the world" with our words in between the lines. But, there is a saving Principle with which I have become familiar. It is called "Consultation". It requires that all available opinions be quietly heard and held as equally valid. No person may make condemning judgements or statements upon anothers thought. All are required to listen respectfully and to contemplate "the clashing of opinions" until, through this process, a truth or answer makes itself obviously known to all. (or the majority) Generally, this trains the mind to leave it's ego behind for the greater good, creating unity and harmony rather than disharmony, argument and debate. Consultation, when used in personal relationships, carries the same benefit. So, how may we offer ourselves to each other in full sacrifice to trust? How do we avoid our fear of being wrong? How do we maintain ourselves in dignity? Through the Principle of Consultation, for "Through the clashing of opinions, the truth will arise" Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Inner Quest Further from the stars than ever, I redesign my plan... I shall capture it's secret within the nine points of the star blanket quilt... and paint with colored sand a healing medicine from my own hand. At night , I shall howl with the wolves into the dark and wait for the answer to echo and fill my heart. All shall be as self-evident as flowing water and wind exposing encrypted layers of redrock meaning from the canyon at the Great Spirit Wall. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 These Hands These hands tell my story of being. They are the keys to what lies within my heart. These hands make music that all might hear life's blessesd song. These hands paint both strife and care from the garden of God's limitless love. These hands pen perfected words to weave tapestries of meaning for open and searching hearts. And these hands collect and gather every living thing with utmost conscious care to proclaim Love and Universal Peace among the highest forms of art. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
A Truth Slicing open the apple, all is exposed before my eyes. For I perceive beginning and end in naked truth. From the central core the seeds of life lie nestled within the moist sweet meat of ripened fruit. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 DNA DNA...the poetry of all life. God's art-forms, like mirrored visions through time, rise from the very Heart of Love. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Offering Continually holding back urgent knowledge as a great secret untold- fearful of failing by offering overmuch, I try to be subtle! Having found the Most Holy Nectar, its fragrance wafts mysteriously among the thirsting honey bees. A knowledge so bright that it compels me to overflow with the absolute sweetness of the flower of my soul. Tasting of my nectar, many cringe in disbelief swearing this saccharine sweetness could not be genuine honey. This offering is for the searching, for those who have left the ancestral hive thirsting for a new golden elixir that will continue and sustain all life. For those who would drink, I offer the open, eternal flame of my full and glowing heart. For those who shrink, I offer a silent, healing prayer and in peace, I depart. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Sentiment God bless the prayers of the peoples of the world. Chanted from the hearts of true believers. God speed Melodies of the Kingdom uniting the cares of all religions. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 -
Having Observed Them on Their Deathbeds It was only the Age that betrayed their simple and transparent self indulgence. Did they really believe that the vastness of life held nothing for them? Self involvement blinded them to their own folly. Innocent fools that they were- (Though their purity may have been questionable). Yes, We heard them bleating and groaning in fevered and depressing tones, coloring the already darkened world with yet, darker shades of despair. Finding in that, an over-intellectualized macabre to righteously share with the competing mobs of those whom they identified as among their own. Wallowing in hell for the sake of it never offered them a wholesome truth. Only that which captured the imagination, molding their simple, weak, and impetuous minds into believing that Hades was all there was. They stuck needles into their arms -to kill the pain (they forgot about doing anything real what would have been the use?) They emptied Vodka bottles and had more sex to fix what couldn't be fixed, Then, blamed it on Jesus, selling their souls as a kind of "right of passage" and were very sure to be cynically vocal about it. Judgement? They dared not speak of it. In self imprisoned wisdom, they mocked at fate, saying: "Let time be the great discoverer of all lies Exposing who and who is not an insult to humanity". We ask: Did they lie in the green pastures or chose their own deathbeds? Being inexperienced, they knew nothing but of their body's ceaseless demands. Craving made it real, made them feel the torture and undeserving horror of it. The Planet looked forward to a time when questioning and honest minds would turn their backs on their own abuse, and recognize that society was indeed a mess. That solitary and selfish complaining would cease, that emotional suicide would only add to the very thing which they so boisterously decried. Verily, having wanted to do something about the rottenness of the world, They got up off the couch of inner conflict, then MADE IT A BETTER WORLD. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
Spirit of Ignorance Who is afraid of the Specter that comes from the dark night of the soul? What veil obscures the vision of the ones who look upon evil with blinded eyes? What spirit possesses minds and drowns tender hearts? What wicked entity is it that tears this world apart? Every man fears his own reckoning, his darkest reflection staring back at him from the mirror of his soul... veiled blind by those material conquests for power and gold which hold hostage as pawns our poor and unfortunate brothers to the spirit of greed and power hungry nations. It is the Spirit of Ignorance which animates and gives life to the wickedness of prejudice and all hostilities steming from race, class, religion and gender. Is it no wonder that we find fear in our own faces? That we are challenged each day by what is held deep and hidden within- inside the eyes and soul who we are? That we are indeed the individually responsible guardians for the outcome of the world? Searching my heart at the end of each day, I call myself strictly and consciously to account. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
"Feast" My thirst leads me to the Fountain flowing with the Water of the radiant Friend- Faces beaming with light, warm, sparkling eyes beholding me, knowing me, bathing me, in unconditional acceptance and exquisite love. Lord, It is not the venue nor structure of the program or the arrangement of chairs or the long sequence of messages, devotions and prayers that finds me continually returning there.... It is He Whom I meet and greet- in every loving embrace and gesture, in all of these sensitive and deep regarding eyes, in the spiritual rapture of devotional sighs, in the sweetmeat of simple, joyous, and contagious laughter, in the sacred, encouraging, inebriating wine of life giving words. It is He that personally fills this chalice to overflowing from a Fountain of love and peace- that I may drink the Wine of Bounty freely flowing at every spiritual "Feast". Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
The Coming The icy cold whispered crisp and lonely like a breath of impending death raising goose flesh... Stark, stagnant words, like fall leaves, floated desolately then sank, merging heavily below a slushy surface as an arrested wind transmuted into sheets of transparent glass covering and trapping the water in a frozen winter of anticipation... You spoke: "Be" and the half buried and hibernating burst forth into the surging ice flows of regeneration, the Divine Springtime of new life. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
For C. My sweet, dear one be not dismayed... These human thoughts are a shared quest, in the hopes of solving the greatest puzzle. We, being of similar minds, meet and touch briefly in our longing "to know" of a universe filled with so many answers that we are blinded by the multitude of choices... like so many stars whirling within galaxies of space. Still, we find flowing there a common thread and single point. The undying law, not multiplied...but wholly One among the All. There must be no point of contention here, having grasped the eternal certitude! What lies within the searching, grateful, and soulful heart reflects the orb of the self-same Sentient Sun. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
The Great Offering Love offers itself in purity and without guile. In perfect honesty risks the sacrifice of mind and lays bare the soul, prostrates humbly before that which holds power to condemn, reject and destroy. All this love does for a taste of bliss, for love itself, returned. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
The Turning Point (Sept.11, 2001) Innocent white doves ensnared by the talons of the birds of prey become the instrument of calamity and tragedy, circling the skies with helpless cries. The piercing eyes of evil target the lambs of slaughter and topple towers of devastation, anguish and bereavement into the consciousness of the global mind. WE are left here in stark loneliness cast into the abyss of outraged grief, meeting evil face to face in his depravity and vile wretchedness, bleeding, wounded, and numbed with despair- all by the abominable perversion and abased miscarriage of a Prophets words. What an acrid infamy! In the name of God Almighty, this was done! In the name of fundamental fanaticism and hatred, the whole world shall be branded and tried by this satanic fire! Yet, our spirits, as a sacrament, shall not yield to these wicked ones nor shall our bodies succumb to holocaust without notice or care. A prism of light shall shine with resplendence from the hearts and actions of All who have suffered, at the hands of those incarnations of evil. A holy wine shall flow from those who have been martyred, who have offered their lifeblood both bravely and innocently- in a quest for global peace and Divine Justice . From these crimson stained ashes, the Divine Phoenix shall rise- resurrecting the soul of our melancholy world with new life. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
The Gates of Hell The gates of hell stand open and gaping in the dropped jaw of shock and agonizing anger.... Fire blazes high singe-ing human hearts, wafting acrid smoke into vengeful, screaming lungs, devouring the splintered dried wood of lost spirits as tinder for the fire of "America's New War". Raging and red necked we feel our lowered horns sharpen as daggers... Will we witness our own tongues flicker in prejudicial hypocrisy as we brandish a "righteous" cross... spilling more innocent blood for the sake of our hatred and vindication? Will we stop short in time to recognize our Brothers and Sisters who have committed no crime? Will we try, convict and annihilate a whole culture rather than the guilty few? God save us from ourselves and such gates of hell opening and gaping wide. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Get a Grip I want to quell this nauseating fear, to somehow face the trivial stack of dirty dishes looming and piling high in my kitchen sink, To turn off the flowing tears of music capturing and holding me hostage to a world of grief... To remove the absolutely rude and blaring TV recounting the surreal varieties of our "western mentality". To erase the catch phrased, mind numbing and over-produced broadcasts of "America's New War" from my vocabulary. I long to bury my head in the sand, to plug my ears and cover my eyes, to go to bed, pulling the blankets over my head... to not dwell endlessly on the innocent, martyred dead....or to reckon on those whose precious lives and futures may end in the bloody battles of the morrow. Yet, we are all hostages here, trying to get a personal grip, to steer our fragile and damaged ships- tossing helplessly in violent, turbulent seas, treading water and floundering, in these nameless and countless expressions of human anger and inconsolable grief... reluctantly awaiting from the hidden quarters and fathomless depths beneath, those shredding teeth of bloodthirsty, hungry sharks circling silently and stealthily ... targeting the soft belly of all mankind. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Dearest Mother She is now ill... weakened and wearied by the replayed sorrows of time which have led her innocently down a re-paved road of wars nearly forgotten. Her deeply sorrowful eyes gaze moistly and fearfully into mine- knowingly, framed by her beautiful silver-white hair of history and calamitous times. As I grasp delicate and aging hands, her helpless tears brim and seep into my bleeding heart. Mother, my dearest Mother- These "Rumors of Wars" shall never tear our grateful, luminous and loving Baha'i spirits apart. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
"Grains of Sand" Continually eluding, love teases us into thinking it may be confined and defined by craving and desire always seeming never quite within our reach. Perchance, we may witness it, once grasped, slipping through our hands like so many grains of hot desert sand Trickling slowly to depletion within our allotted hourglass of given time. As the last grains sift narrowly through the graceful curves of glass, love remains captured, ever- present and matured in it's measured amount in the opposite end of a cycle of time. Have hope, all ye broken hearted- for the hourglass is made for turning over! Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
Note: Click a red star to send poem as an E-Card
Mister Spider Not so rock solid in my gut-level control over instinctual and basic fears, or so "enlightened" in my purported love for creatures great and small, I was totally "creeped out" by a little spider who crawled blackly across my hand from within the interior of my keyboard as I typed away in innocent and unprepared oblivion. Eeeeeeoooohhh! Flicking the poor little guy to the floor, I made a hasty advance to squish the miserable little intruder into nothingness, noticing as I was about to put my heavy foot down, the absolute bravery and courage he displayed as he reared up on his hairy little legs in a readied and defensive stance, staring me completely down! Seeing him there, all up front in his right to eight-legged Being completely changed my heart, so for now, we're never really very far apart- He's just another part of my computer... Awww, poor little guy, I just couldn't do it! Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 My Admonishment You speak oh so graciously of "not having seen" me so often, that it seems to me you judge me as absent from my spiritual post... as not living up to your defintion of duty and community obligation or social expectations. I hear your mime loud and clear: an invisible pointing finger of stern admonishment coming my way with a rude and unthinking sway... Won't you take the time and care to see and understand the real ME... please? I am not a clone prone to polite, crossed legged decorun or "genuflecting sanctimonium". I am a Baha'i, like you, devoted and steadfastly married to the Light of God's Word.... to treat me as anything than other is completely absurd! I am a solitary artist (unlike you), devoted and steadfastly married to manifesting a prisimed share of God's Diversified Light- I am a creative custodian responsible to the blessing of His designated gifts through my all- consuming work... to treat me as anything than other is ignorantly absurd! We are where God has best placed us... wouldn't you agree? Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Precious Love Is hatred so deep a pain that it will never know love again? Where are the bright innocent, loving and trusting eyes, of the dear nappy headed child I once knew? How you push me scornfully and remotely away- what can I ever say or do that you will not receive as just another form of targeted bigotry? So disgusting am I to your cynical outraged and angry eyes. I am helplessly at a loss. There is nothing I can do... to satisfy the rage flaming within you, save allowing you to pull the wings off this broken hearted fly, then squish me and my "patronizing love" into nothing but a moist spot on the pavement... Save, laying down my life in nothingness before you... ..which would be in your view, much "to easy". All I know is that we once loved each other, here, in our colorless hearts. Here, where once mutual tears blended in a compassionate and human, life-giving, surging sea... Is it so wrong of me to continue longing for your precious lost love and racial unity? Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Beached Beached, I try rolling over- sinking deeper into the sand. Lying helplessly here on my flabby side, I allow the salt sea to wash over me, feeling it seep beneath my motionless body- receding and pulling away a few measly grains of sand from a mountain of foundation. So lazy that I can't speak, I draw figures and signs in the sand: "looks like I'll be beached here for most of the week". Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Beyond These Cloudbanks I am waiting to float away on the ethereal journey beyond these cloudbanks of earthly fear into the realms of prisimed light where victorious souls freely gather and swirl. I am longing to chant my heart felt praise in warm melodious tones- joining my soul to the deepened glow of majestic Aurora Lights, To raise my voice among the Maids of Heaven and Angels glorious songs to herald God's mystic and healing notes upon a New and awakened world . Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
Beauteous One I am with you and my gaze is locked at once in mysterious surrender. Your eyes hold mine in an engulfing flow of love nearly too exquisite to endure. For what is written in the heart may be known only between mystic lovers. Living ink flows from one to the other in a silent wind in which the attar of contentment and certitude mingle unhindered. Who is this One but my true self that perceives the All of it? Who regards the Wounded Sorrow of it, the Longing Deseert of it? The overwhelming Joy, Wisdom and Justice of it? It is I, Eye to Eye. Mother to Mother, Daughter to Daughter. Soul to Soul, Spirit to Spirit. A Rose to a Rose. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Here Lies a Danger From deep inside, I rebel against all-knowing, endless interpretations of paradise. Correcting if's, and's, and but's become the main occupation of those competing in self motivated spiritual arena's. They hear not and drivel on in over-intellectualized babble so deep, mysterious, & lofty that mere ants (such as myself) move far from the stomping feet of giants. I unsubscribe from this place of shadows and factional forms. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Love Poem (for E.) My cherished one, Seek beneath the lines on my face, and you shall perceive my translucent and glowing heart. There, within my breast lives my fragrant reality and secret warmth. The deepest knowing radiates from within this hallowed, enlightened place, permeating my every outward act with grace. No word or song can fill love's sacred silence nor fill an empty sea. Naught but Light could compare to the love I share with thee. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Dear Girl Don't you understand that YOU are angry with me? I am waiting for you to share with me truthfully. Must I be made responsible for dragging it out of you? I am not your enemy, but the mirror by which you may discern and free yourself. I would be happy to reflect upon and wipe away your misgivings if you'd give me a fair chance. Instead, you cirlce around me like a sniffing, moody dog... Only hinting at your mistrust...growling in between the lines inaudibly. I'm waiting for you to take responsibility for your pain and your anger. When I reach out to you it's through bars in which you are imprisoned. I want to free you from your self imposed cell, but you must first GIVE ME THE KEY! Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Awake and Striving Oh God! Forgive Me. I remember each mistrusting face, each synical gesture, Every unkind word and misguided judgement. And I try not to "take it personally." Deep wounds refuse to relinquish me and I remain enslaved to powerful scripts from the past. Slowly dying here, I grope for ownership of a new and reborn empowerment not dependant upon others' reward or rebuff. Oh Lord, Let me not judge those who judge me. Nor let me be blinded by my own refusal to take in the manifest lights and attributes in front of my face! We are all so small in our self orientated worlds. In this I am surely not alone. For this, I might take it upon myself to bestow mercy where none may be returned. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001 Amphibian I live within two realms like an amphibian who balances life between water and air. I am a captive of earth while my spirit resides in the World of Light. Unlike the frog, I have no lillypad to support me as I hang in space clinging to the threads of Divine Word. Within these limits I am bound and expected to survive; to shed a glipse of God's universal light unto the dark sepulcher of a dying world. Martha Meshberg Copyright ©2001
Note: All poems are protected by copyright and may not be reproduced or reprinted without the authorization of the copyright holder/poet.